The theatre itself was shaped like an oversized star, with points ending in sharpened corners filled with royal boxes separated from the open seating. Down below was the largeststage I’d ever seen, with crimson curtains tumbling to its glassy floor of burnished gold. The stage looked like a reflecting mirror, while the circular platform bled into the elephantine theatre. An innumerable number of candles covered the space, illuminating the theatre with a warm, cozy glow.
I was stunned into silence, unable to utter a word. Never in all my dawns had Ieverlaid eyes on anything like this.
“Join me, my Nahomie.”
Tassarion’s breathy voice set my seven hearts beating wildly. I couldn’t respond, overwhelmed by the beauty before me, and consumed by a ravening hunger for him. He slipped his fingers through mine, threading them together. With my hand in his, the king leisurely pulled me with him toward the royal box.
I scanned the theatre and saw that every available seat was filled. The ebony, diaphanous frames of the Nanmiess littered row after row. But among them were luminous bodies that were of the brightest ivory. Without guessing, I knew. These were the Esprit Tassarion spoke of before. The spirits who freely dwelled in Everthorn Manor.
While the theatre was packed, Tassarion and I were completely alone on this level. The royal box had this floor to itself, surrounded by tinted glass. Burning candles were the only light inside while the front overlooked the massive chamber and the stage below. It had the best view in the place, and it was deliberately intimate.
Tassarion walked to the gilded table to the side and filled two onyx goblets to the brim. Then he walked to the sole loveseat perched in the center, kicked off his boots and socks, tugged off his cape, and sat down. The king tossed his head back over the couch, looking at me with his eyes shining, waiting for me to join him. He crooked a ringed finger and beckoned me over.
“Come here.”
I bit my bottom lip, moving toward him on command. Without thinking, I shed my sandals, too. Instead of sitting beside the king, I slipped into the space behind him. Looking into his eyes, blazing like crackling lightning, I tugged and lifted his crown from his head, resting it to the side. Then I slipped my hands into his hair and massaged his scalp. Tassarion’s eyes fell shut as a small groan escaped those full lips.
“Believe it or not, I’m fulfilling a lifelong dream, thanks to you. Since I was a youngling, I always wanted to experience this at least once. This is my first time. Ever,” I whispered.
Tassarion’s eyes stayed closed, his body leaning into the loveseat, his head resting in my hands.
“And it won’t be your last, mi Phantimèssa.” He tapped the seat beside him. “Now come here.”
The moment I was seated, he used an onyx wing to drag me so close my body pressed into his side. He placed a goblet in my hand. And without thinking, the king tilted his head and drug his teeth along the column of my ear before sensually biting the tip. I gasped, arching at his touch instinctively.
“Phantimèssa,”he breathed down our bond.“I won’t be able to deny myself the touch of your skin, the songs of your breath, the heat of your flame, for much longer.”
Well, that made two of us.
I was too flustered to respond.
Luckily, I didn’t have to.
The voice of the heavens through the lips of an angel filled the theater. So lost was I in Tassarion, I hadn’t seen the candles winking out across the theatre. Didn’t see the warm haze filling the dark, emanating low light. The curtains pulled back, revealing one solitary angel captivating an enthralled audience. Tassarion dropped his left arm in the center of my lap, leaning into me, while his hand rested on my bent knee. I dropped my head onto his shoulder, curling both of my arms around him.
The angel below was a Cherubim—a Lowerrank from the Eleventh of the Twelve Ranks. She was small, with multi-colored mauve and indigo skin, golden eyes and lashes, and shimmering indigo hair. I listened as she sang, wholly moved. She sang a song of longing. Of dawns passed. Of hopes lost and dreams still believed in. On and on she sang, gripping her audience. Emotions stirred within me, lulling me in the threads of her symphony. Tears stung my eyes. I was lost in this glorious experience. Enraptured by the music of the night.
My fingers wound through Tassarion’s hair, playing with his braids as he and I swayed in rhythm, moving with the rise and fall of the song. For a long while, I relished this moment where he and I enjoyed something pleasant and beautiful, regardless of the darkness that seemed to trail me wherever I went. Tassarion lifted my hand to his lips. His rings brushed the skin of my palms as he littered my knuckles with gentle pecks that re-arranged all of my seven hearts.
This was an arranged bond, but nothing about it felt contractual. It was all too real. I was terrified of what that could mean for us. Forme. Could this actually be real? Could Everthorn Manor become my home for life?
Would I be safe? Protected?
Would I find peace?
For so long I had to defend myself or hide altogether. But my Monster King. My bonded wingmate. Would he keep his hands at war so I could rest? Would he vanquish those who sought my life so that I no longer had to hide?
I turned to Tassarion as my thoughts raced when I found his eyes glued below to the Cherubim. The smile on his face earlier from the peace we greedily enjoyed in this darkened space now stretched from ear to ear for another reason. Arm still in my lap, and lips still pressed to my hand, his eyes had wandered and were found by whom he sought.
Hypnotized by the thrall of the music, the magic that made the Opèr feel like being in another world, the pretty little Cherubim had locked her eyes ontomyking. And his gaze was tethered to her.
I glowered down at the Cherubim. She swayed her arms and twirled. She sang to her heart’s content. The metaphysical bond between Tassarion and me burned hot like an inferno. Rage stirred in my blood.
Tassarion Celèstian Everthorn wasmine.
Senselessly, my mind spiraled. The wingmate mark on my finger, and contoured around my hand, started glowing. Markings shimmered in obsidian before turning burnished bronze as they snaked up the length of my arm, then neck, until they curled around the side of my face. The longer the Cherubim looked at my wingmate, the more enraged I became.
“Mi Phantimèssa.”A tug on my chin by a steel-blue tendril.“Look at me.”
