“Why?”
“A punishment.”
His hands tightened on her waist. “Who did this to you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“For fear of reprisal?”
Her shoulders hunched and she hugged herself. Close enough. The truth—Princess Iseabal had included the condition as part of the spell. She couldn’t tell anyone exactly what had occurred, but it seemed she’d skirted the truth well enough.
“So we have three hours? Do you know how I got here?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat, desperate to survive, to savor this time with Sly. What to do? “I can tell you some things, but not everything.”
“You’re telling me I need to phrase my questions carefully?”
“Yes.”
“Will I stay here forever?”
“Once the banns are read, and you are married.” Regret knifed straight through Cinnabar’s heart. Her fingers crept to her lips. He’d kissed her when they first met, the memory of it bringing heat to her cheeks. Longing.
“Tell me about Seelie.” He brushed a curl from her cheek and smiled down at her, the kindness in his green eyes pushing her pulse to fast and choppy.
“Seelie is a kingdom ruled by King Fionnghall MacAsgain. The queen died many years ago, but they had three offspring. Prince Liam, and the twins Princess Iseabal and Princess Katrina. Princess Iseabal is the oldest twin. Princess Katrina is married to Lord Calum O’Gadhra. Prince Liam is next in line to succeed, followed by Princess Iseabal, but only if she marries. Currently, Princess Katrina is next in line to Prince Liam.”
“Ah, which is where I come in as Princess Iseabal’s betrothed. Everything’s becoming clear. But surely the king would arrange his daughter’s marriage?”
“That can be done, but the princess is able to suggest a candidate. That is the Seelie way. No one will object unless you’re clearly unsuitable.”
“Which explains why Lord Calum is treating me like a bug beneath his foot. I present yet another person between him and the king, and by extension, to his power.” He stepped away from her, but before she had a chance to miss his touch, he reached for her hand and twined their fingers together. “Let’s walk. It helps me think. Will anyone else come to the lake at this time of night?”
“I don’t believe so. The security men are more interested in staying warm. To continue with Seelie…the king is ruler of the summer court, and as such rules, the season.”
“Are there kings for the other seasons?”
“There’s a winter king. When the two kings meet, the seasons combine to make spring or autumn, depending on the kingdom in which they meet.”
Sly’s brows drew together. “I haven’t met Prince Liam yet. He’s been busy with his duties and didn’t dine with us. What is he like?”
“Prince Liam is popular with the people. He is slowly changing things. The kingdom is no longer as isolated, thanks to him. He works hard and is often away from Seelie, brokering deals to sell our wool and cloth. I’m sure you will like him.”
“Can I leave Seelie?”
“There are two ways out of Seelie. One is for royal personages, and no one else has the power to open the portal. Security staffs the main entrance, and those with passes may enter or exit. The princess has ordered the security force to detain you should you try to leave, with magic if necessary.”
Sly rolled his eyes. “Great. Do you possess magic?”
“Basic skills. Most of the servants and lower classes possess low-level magic we’re taught by our parents or employers. Nothing close to the powers of the king, his family and the courtiers. They’re schooled from an early age, and have the time and money to keep up their training.”
“I have no magic.” Sly scowled. “The magic system seems unfair.” He halted, stared across the shimmering waters of the lake. “I don’t belong in Seelie, yet the instant I attempt to grasp my stray thoughts, they dissolve. It’s frustrating.”
The idea of not seeing Sly made her chest ache, but she understood his desire to return to his home. “The princess has likely spelled your food or drink to keep you confused. She won’t have spelled all the food, since you ate with the royal family this eve.”
Sly’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps the hot chocolate I drank this morning. It tasted weird.”
“Ah, that might explain why you’re aware there’s something wrong. Beware of taking food or drink that isn’t eaten by others. Drink your hot chocolate only if the princess is watching. As soon as she leaves, dispose of the drink and your mind will remain clearer.”
“Will my memory return? Of my life before I arrived?”
“I’m not sure.” Cinnabar frowned. “I believe that is part of the spell. Your memories will remain locked away until you can break free of Seelie or the princess reverses the spell. Which she won’t. She’s stubborn.”
“I haven’t seen much magic occurring.”
“You haven’t been here long.”
Sly nodded. “True. So, magic is another strength or ability to you all. It’s a common power, and royals have the greatest magic and therefore supremacy over everyone.”
“Yes. That is an excellent summary.”
“Can you do magic now?”
“No. The curse that transforms me to owl has blunted my magical ability. I can do nothing to break the spell placed on me.”
“That makes us equal,” Sly said. “I’m at a disadvantage too. What type of wool do you produce in Seelie?”
“We call the creatures kashmore. They are about this high.” She held up her hand at mid-thigh height. “They have horns and grow a fleece that is shorn. The male of the species is smelly and can be mean. It takes a skilled farmer to deal with them.”
“Ah, this animal seems familiar to me, although I don’t recall their name. I haven’t seen any animals. Where are they kept?”
“The queen refused to have them near the castle. Most of the animals are kept and the weaving is done on the other side of Seelie. Most of the population lives in the village there too.”
“I’d like to see these animals. Do I have a family?”
“Yes.” Cinnabar froze, eyes wide as she waited for an invisible axe to fall. When nothing happened, she breathed again.
“You’re trembling.” Sly tugged her closer. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, the silent comfort bringing tears to her eyes.
The last person to hug her had been Sly. Before that…she had to dig deep in her memories. Her mother used to hug her before she died. Her father, a distant cousin to the king, had spoken kindly but never demonstrated his love. He’d died not long after her mother.
“It’s all right. Nothing happened.” Sly drew back and smoothed his hand over her hair. “Perhaps the princess rules by fear.”
“Not just fear. I have witnessed demonstrations of her anger. When my father first brought me to court, she turned a servant into a bug, then crushed her underfoot.”
Sly gawped until Cinnabar tapped his chin. His teeth clacked together as he straightened, his expression dumbstruck.
Shock. Cinnabar recognized the emotion well. She’d spent her first year at court with terror holding her in its clawed grip. Yet she’d learned to hide her reactions and consider her words carefully before she spoke. Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned to control the clumsiness that came with nerves and that had been her downfall.
“Doesn’t anyone check the princess?”
“Her mother used to keep a close eye on her, and her father often lectured her on kindness and respect. Everything changed after the queen died, and now the king rarely appears in public. Princess Iseabal is older now. More careful and controlled.”
“She sounds like a keg of dynamite about to blow,” Sly said.
“I know not what this dynamite is, but I take your meaning. The princess has little restraint when her temper rises.”
Sly wrinkled his nose. “Now that you mention it, I have no idea what dynamite is either.” Irritation flared in his e
yes, yet he didn’t scare her the way the princess did with her tantrums.
She pressed against him, offering silent comfort until a groan rumbled through his chest. Surprised, she glanced up—and what she saw had her breath catching. The displeasure had shifted, leaving plain heat.
Instinct had her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, and he groaned again, seconds before he swooped.
His lips captured hers, and Cinnabar’s body hummed under the raw male desire she’d unleashed with her innocent attempts to console. She opened to him, and he took instant advantage, sliding his tongue against hers and deepening the contact. The eager pressure of his mouth shoved pleasure through her body. Her heart thundered, and she shuddered, soaking in every bit of the wonderful physical contact. He was touching her willingly, his groan telling her he was enjoying the sensual exchange as much as her.
Her breasts prickled against the plain syncotton chemise beneath her gown. Heat curled to the secret place between her thighs, growing, growing, growing until she whimpered and attempted to push closer to Sly.
The kiss inflamed. It consumed.
Cinnabar had experienced nothing like it before and greedily wanted more. As if she’d stated her desire aloud, Sly moved his hands. One slid down her back to cup her backside while the other slipped between them to cup a breast. The twists of sensation grew sharper, her cries needier, and when his fingers teased her nipple, the ferocious heat became too much to bear.
“Please,” she begged, not knowing what she pleaded for, just that Sly must fix this white-hot conflagration burning her body.
“Shush, sweetheart.” He lifted his head and scanned their surroundings. Seemingly satisfied with his perusal of the scenery, he drew her into the shadows thrown by a pile of boulders. “Let me make you feel better.”
He paused, seeming to want something from her. “Cinnabar?”
“Oh.” Permission. He wanted permission. “Yes.”
She might not be a stranger to the act of sex, since she’d witnessed the princess take lovers and had acted as watchman—or owl—but she had never understood the attraction or wanted to participate.
Sly leaned against a boulder, drawing them even deeper into the shadows. He pulled her against him, his chest to her back, and nuzzled her neck while one hand dipped beneath the neckline of her white gown. Fingers to flesh.
Everything inside her melted and her pussy bloomed with heat and moisture. Her nostrils flared, every sense working overtime to catalog sensations. He tugged sharply on her nipple and heat flowed like molten honeycomb from her breast to her sex.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered against her neck.
“Yes.” A million times yes.
With his free hand, he lifted her skirts to bare her to the air.
“No panties,” he murmured.
He sounded approving, so she didn’t answer.
A moan of satisfaction, of frustration and excitement, echoed on the air, the hoarse sound escaping from her throat.
“No pubic hair either,” he said as his fingers smoothed over her mons. “Part your legs for me, sweetheart.”
She widened her stance, her heart thumping against her breastbone as she waited.
Without haste, he traced the seam of her folds, his thick finger stirring a deeper pleasure. She trembled in his arms.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“You do please me, Cinnabar. I searched for you.”
He was remembering things. She was so pleased for him. While she had no means of escape from her curse, maybe he did. Cinnabar bit her lip, not wanting to interrupt since it seemed when he relaxed, so did the hold on his mind.
His finger curled and pushed into her opening. She gasped at the new sensation, the sounds and the smell of him as he drove her body, her senses. She felt the uneven thumping of his heart, the purring sounds of approval coming from him as he stroked her, teased her, drove her higher. He massaged, finding the perfect spot inside and out. His teeth at her neck became sharper, almost painful as they scraped her flesh. All the feelings, all the sensations combined and writhed together, stirring passion and breathlessness. And pleasure. So much pleasure, she ached with it.
He thrust his finger deeper and her skin heated all over. She trembled deep inside, the pleasure knife-edge sharp. Awe-inspiring.
She wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to tell him to continue.
A whimper she couldn’t contain rang out, her hips gyrating, the walls of her sex pulsating. She moaned, and he slid his sharp teeth over her neck. He nibbled then slid his tongue over the spot and danced his fingers over her aching flesh. Up, up, up she went, until one more stroke snapped the tension. She exploded, her channel clasping his finger, the enjoyment stretching for long seconds until she hung boneless in his arms, her breathing rapid.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
He removed his hand and let her skirts fall back into place. A croak of protest burst free, but before she spoke, he turned her in his arms and kissed her with a desperation that eased her vocal complaints.
When he finally lifted his head, he was breathing hoarsely and his man part—his shaft—pushed against her hip. She reached for him, knowing enough from watching the princess’s encounters about what to do to ease him, but he stopped her.
“No,” he said. “This time was for you.”
Before she replied, the familiar prickles of the curse had her yanking from his touch and stepping away. “Thank you, Sly. That…you…mean so much to me.”
Scarcely had the echo of her words ceased when the curse dug in its claws, transforming her to bird. She took one final glimpse of Sly and flew away over the forest.
Chapter Eight
The next morning
A ring-a-ling, followed by a scratch at the door dragged Sly from a heavy sleep. Groaning, he pushed to an upright position and focused blearily, blinking twice before his vision cleared “Yes?”
Alfric entered, carrying a tray bearing a white mug and a jug of hot chocolate. His thick black brows resembled a caterpillar as they squeezed together, a stark contrast with his sparse gray hair. “Your morning beverage, my lord.”
“Thank you, Alfric.” Sly forced his attention from the fluffy brows, yawned, and tensed as Cinnabar’s warning stabbed his sluggish thoughts. “Just set it there, and I’ll drink it in a moment.”
“Should I prepare your garments for today? The princess indicated she would meet you in the royal salon once she completes her magic study.”
“Yes, please.” Sly figured the man would have a better idea of what he should wear. “Will the rest of the family be present?”
“Yes, my lord.” Alfric strutted across the chamber and opened the wardrobe. It was filled with a variety of colorful clothes. Bold reds and greens and yellows and blues. Alfric’s fingers ran across the different items of apparel. Finally, he pulled out an emerald-green suit, of a style like the one Sly had worn yesterday.
Sly grimaced. At least he’d blend with the plants in the garden when he went exploring.
“Do you require help to dress?”
“No, thank you. You get on with your chores, Alfric. I am quite capable of dressing myself. When should I arrive in the royal salon?”
“As soon as you are dressed, my lord.”
Nodding, Sly climbed from bed and stretched.
Alfric’s eyes bulged, his brows arching to give the caterpillar a curl. “My lord! Where is your nightshirt?”
A prude. This servant, or whatever his job description, was a prude. “Sorry,” Sly said, and reached for the robe Alfric hurriedly plucked from his wardrobe. He thrust his arms into the sleeves and belted the garment around his waist.
He walked over to the hovering tray and poured steaming hot chocolate into the pristine white mug. When he noticed Alfric watching him, he paused. “Was there something else?”
“Ah, no.”
Sly narrowed his eyes even as he fought to keep his expression pleasantly ne
utral. Again, Cinnabar’s words flooded his mind. Take care with what you eat.
Sly picked up his mug and lifted it to his mouth, but didn’t take a sip.
Was that relief? Yes, Alfric knew something. He might as well have a banner floating above his head. That was the face of a guilty man, which made Sly wonder exactly what other duties the princess ordered Alfric to undertake.
Sly set his mug back down on the tray without taking a sip. “Perhaps I’ll shower first.”
When Alfric pulled a face in protest, Sly unbelted his robe and let it drop to the floor. He hid a smirk as Alfric took one horrified glance and backed away.
“You are correct,” Alfric said. “I have tasks to complete.”
Once Alfric left, Sly picked up his mug and took a pretend sip. If the princess had Alfric spying on him, she might have other methods of keeping watch. He wandered into his en suite. Darkness greeted him. He was about to order lights on when inspiration hit. He let rip with a curse. “Fuck! That was my toe.” He tipped his mug and let the contents pour onto the floor.
“I do not recognize that command,” a feminine voice said.
Sly grinned. “Lights on.”
Instantly, illumination showed him the puddle of hot chocolate.
He stepped closer to the red-tiled wall and the part he thought was a shower. “Water on.”
Freezing water bombarded his chest. “Crap! Warm water. Warm water!” he ordered. At least the hot chocolate problem was taken care of. He scanned for soap, but saw nothing obvious. “Soap.”
The texture of the water pouring over his head and body changed and bubbled as it hit his skin. Wow, if it wasn’t for the aching gap in his memories, he’d enjoy this experience. As he washed his hair, he pondered the best way to arm himself with information. Not Princess Iseabal. That’s for sure. He’d gained the impression of a self-centered woman who used others to get what she wanted, and he didn’t think he’d spent much time with her before yesterday.
He thought back to the last thing he remembered. Waking in this room. But prior to that? An ache speared his temples, a jagged pain that told him whatever the princess had done to him came with vicious side-effects. She didn’t intend him to resume his regular life.
Spellbound with Sly Page 8
