Page 62 of The Poison Princess and the Lord of Misrule

He drags a hand through his damp white-blond hair, smearing the blood from his temple there, and looks at me with eyes feverishly heated. “On your back, jester.”

And gods help me, my body obeys before my pride can object.

Her glistening eyes finding mine, Sera rises over me, flushed and wrecked and sovereign, and I don’t care—I truly, damnably do not care—that it’s his hand steadying my cock as she sinks down, taking me inside her to the gods-damn hilt.

“Seven hells,” I swear, my heart tripping, my hips shifting at the maddening pleasure as it courses through me, from my groin to my calves, damning.

I don’t even mind that it’s his voice at her ear instructing her, his hands guiding her hips, his praise making her clench around me until my vision flickers. She rides me with her palms braced on my chest, right over the hammering ruin of my heart, and Aldric’s hands grip the flared curve of her hips, working them harder, faster—fucking me senseless.

And my hips snap upward to meet each fraught roll, her cunt growing wetter, tighter, robbing me of my senses. He grabs her breast, squeezing, sending her head back as I fuck into her wild—and when I break, I break with her name in my mouth and her nails in my skin.

“Gods…fuck.” The oath is wrenched from my throat as I spill deep inside Sera, my cock pulsing with each trembling, frenzied grind of her hips to wring the last drop of pleasure from me.

She tumbles after me, crying my name. Spent from her climax, she collapses onto my chest, her heart hammering against mine.

Neither of us speaks. Words don’t belong here, in this loaded silence. Her forehead finds the curve of my throat, her hand splays flat over my chest. My lips press to her damp hair.

She lifts her head just enough to meet my eyes, and in hers I see the question of us—the oneneither of us can voice. And I answer it the only way I can, by not looking away.

Then Aldric’s hand wraps around her throat from behind, slow and possessive, and he places a kiss to her shoulder, his eyes locked on mine. And a knowing, triumphant menace flows into those pale eyes like a returning tide.

Whatever we’ve become tonight, I was willing to talk it.

Because that’s where the hidden blade slides home, in the likeness. I hold his eyes with an equal measure of knowing. Despising him. Because tonight, I saw myself in him; the same starved wanting, the same hunger that consumes and burns as if on an altar of worship.

Because I have never known such pleasure in the whole of my wretched life.

And I hate him for it.

As much as I love Sera—willing to do anything for her, to protect her—I fear I’ve damned us, just as I’ve always been damned. A fated ruin thrust on me since birth.

The only difference is that this particular damnation was chosen.

Chapter 19

Seravyn

Iwake to find the king watching me, a look of heated, smug contentment carved into his sharp, beautiful features.

For one halted, terrible moment, I don’t move. I lie still in the wreckage of his crimson bed, my body aching in foreign places that remember the degradation of both Ren and Aldric’s touch.

I keep my breathing slow and even, the way a hunted thing does when the predator is near.

Aldric is propped on one elbow beside me, the morning light catching the white-blond of his hair, the storm-gray ring of his eyes. There’s a faint bruise at his temple, half-hidden in his hairline.

For a brief moment, I wonder if the knock to his head, coupled with the dwale, has affected his memory until he says, “Good morning, my filthy queen. You were quite thesurprise, Seravyn. All that ice, and underneath it…” His thumb drags across my lower lip. “Gods, such heat. I knew the Thorn Court bred wicked things.”

It costs me everything not to recoil.

There’s no fury for last night’s activities, just a lazy, satisfied arrogance. The look of a man who took what he wanted and is pleased with himself for it.

“Your vanity knows no bounds,” I mutter.

He chuckles. His hand lifts, and his knuckles drag down my cheek, almost shockingly tender. “You’re my blushing bride come morning, I see.” His mouth curves. “Maybe I should have the sheets displayed,” he goes on, his voice a low, satisfied rumble, and his eyes glitter as they rove my face. “Let the court see. Let your father’s delegation carry word back to Threnmere that the bargain was honored in full.” His smile sharpens. “Would that please my wife?”

My jaw tightens. “As you wish, My Lord,” I say.

“Aldric.” His grip finds my jaw. “After last night, there’s no sense in pretending, Seravyn.” He leans in, his breath warm at my ear. “I intend to hear you say my name often. In all manner of filthy circumstances.”