Tristan nodded. “Aurelie Lambros. There’s bad blood between the siblings, too. Even though she’s older, August believesheshould’ve been given the position since he’s the only son in the family.” A disgusted scoff parted Cassandra’s lips. “Perhaps the Teles Chrysos have lured him with promises of unseating her.”
Cassandra hugged her arms around her chest. “Okay.” She recalled the way Lambros had leered at her, that night when she and Tristan had encountered him at the Serpent’s Den. And though his interest would likely make her task easier, it wouldn’t make it any more palatable.
When Tristan was anxious, he often ran his tongue along his sharp canines or rustled his feathers. She tried not to be alarmed at the appearance of both gestures. “I hate that the Vicereine is using you like this.”
“Something tells me she’s not a female who should be refused. Don’t worry,” she patted the dagger at her thigh, “I can handle myself.”
The corner of Tristan’s lip tipped up. “I never worry about you handling yourself, Daredevil.” Cassandra’s heart skipped a beat—he’d barely used her nickname this past week. The reappearance loosened something in her chest.
“Then what are you worried about?”
Tristan ran a hand down his face. “There’s a chance that some of the older, more powerful Beastrunner or Deathstalker Fae may scent my magic in your blood.”
She jolted. “How?”
“Their sense of smell is far more attuned to subtle discrepancies than a Windrider’s.” He sat as still as a windless night, gripping the edge of the bench with white knuckles. “There may be a way to mask it though.” He dragged his eyes up her exposed leg, across the tight fabric of her bodice, then lingered on her parted lips. “We’d have to hide it beneath another, more powerful scent.”
“What kind of scent?”
His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I think you know.”
She released a breathless sigh.
She’d suspected that posing as his consort would necessitate touching, maybe even a kiss or two in public to perpetuate the ruse. All of which she felt strong enough to weather for a single night.
But she hadn’t considered that they’d need to do more than that. Didn’t know if her gullible heart could withstand it.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“I’d rather show you. Do you trust me?”
Didshe trust him? Of course she did. It was herself she didn’t trust. Didn’t trust that she wouldn’t fall right back into the trap she’d been snared in during their trip to Meridon. The trap that allowed her to believe they could be something real despite his immortality, despite the laws of separation between their species.
And despite the fact that his heart didn’t belong to her.
She was too much of a coward to bring any of that up now though. Couldn’t bear to hear him confirm that this was an act of protection and nothing more.
She reminded herself that she had a part to play tonight. And if whatever was about to happen between them would help her sink deeper into character, give her some measure of safety among the dangerous beasts of the colony elite, she’d be even more a fool to refuse.
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, meeting Tristan’s molten gaze across the carriage. The blatant hunger in it swept away her hesitations.
“Yes,” she exhaled.
He murmured something into his palm before opening the window and letting the windwhisper float out into the night. The carriage rumbled to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked.
“Because if this is the one and only time you’re going to allow me to do this, I intend to savor it,” he said as he removed his suit jacket. “And I don’t want any interruptions.”
He folded the jacket and laid it on the bench as he dropped to his knees before her.
She uncrossed her legs but kept them pressed together as he inched closer, never tearing his eyes from hers.
A dull, heated ache radiated through her lower belly as she realized what he intended. She’d seen couples perform the act in her dirty memory stash. They were her favorite scenes to watch, the ones she’d returned to the most often.
And she’d been desperate for him to do it since that first night they’d kissed. Could tell by the masterful strokes of his tongue that he would be very,verygood at it.
He ran his hands up the back of her calves, warming and priming her skin. Her thighs shivered uncontrollably as he inched his fingers higher in light, teasing strokes.
