Slumber

by Cassandra Dean

  “Why?” came his muffled response.

  “Well, you might be comfortable, but….”

  His head came up, and she almost laughed at his look of horror. “Gods, I’m sorry.” He pulled back, lifting her gingerly. “Are you well?”

  “Yes,” she said as he carried her to the bed, laying her upon it and following her down. “It’s just, there wasn’t much room on the dresser.”

  “Oh, gods,” he moaned, covering his eyes with his hand. “A bloody dresser.”

  “It seemed you thought it a good idea at the time.”

  He peeked through his fingers. “You were the one who had to tell me you burned. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Take me on a dresser?”

  He groaned. “Gods. Don’t remind me.”

  Smiling, she curled against him. “It was memorable.”

  “Of course it was. It was on top of a bloody dresser.” She heard the smile in his voice as his arm tightened around her.

  Wearing her own smile, she kissed him. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” he said against her lips, and she joined him as he started to laugh.

  Chapter Ten

  Sebastian followed Thalia deep into the bowels of the ship. Hair twisted into a knot, she wove through the corridors as great engines roared around them, fed with coal and steam and spewing both into the air as the machine shuddered and groaned. The noise was deafening, the clack and clang pounding relentlessly into his head with rhythmic intensity while heat enveloped him, pushing against his skin as if the humid air wanted to enter his very bones.

  Gods be damned thrice over and rough, he disliked this place. They shouldn’t be here. They were passengers, and had no call to be below decks where only crew should be. No call but that she wanted to, and he, besotted fool that he was, wanted to give her whatever she wanted.

  A pipe spluttered, spewing steam and ash to rain upon him. Sebastian started, and then eyed his soiled coat sleeve with distaste. He must really like her if he was willing to put up with such indignities. He would have much preferred to have remained in their cabin, learning if her skin tasted any different today than it had the previous day, but she had leapt out of bed this morning and announced they were to adventure. If he’d known her idea of adventure was to traipse through mechanics and engines and—gods forfend—grease, he would have left her to it.

  Thalia turned, her face lit with glee, and a helpless answering grin stretched across his own features. How could he complain when it brought her such joy? He didn’t know what it was about these bloody machines she loved so much, but ever since they’d entered this chamber, she’d worn a smile that looked fit to split her skin.

  She yelled something, but damned if he could hear her above the roar of the engines. He pointed at his ear and shook his head. Her expression lit with her comprehension, and she beckoned him follow her. Grabbing a metal ladder affixed to the wall, she started to climb.

  He balked. No way, no how, was he getting on that flimsy thing.

  Four rungs up, she looked down. He shook his head. She gestured he come, saying something lost to the engines.

  “I am not going up that ladder, Thalia. I don’t care how much I care for you,” he yelled, though he knew she wouldn’t hear.

  Determination lit her expression. Climbing down and holding the ladder with one arm, she hooked the other around his neck and tugged his head to hers. She kissed him slowly, her tongue flicking at his lips for entry, which he was all too willing to give.

  Her lips were salty with perspiration, her hair clinging damply to his skin. Wrapping his arm about her waist, he took control and deepened the kiss, bringing her hips against his as her taste exploded through him. She pulled back, her thumb grazing his cheek as he lost himself in her dark, dark eyes.

  Damnation. He would follow her anywhere.

  Cursing every rung of the ladder, he was absolutely certain he would fall to a hideous, ignominious death. Hours, days, years later, he emerged from the bowels onto a platform made of glass. Thalia helped him through then shut the hatch.

  Silence. Blessed, serene silence.

  Warm hands laced though his and drew them from his ears. He hadn’t even realized he’d clapped them there.

  “Seriously? Ladders?” A wide grin split her face.

  He could barely hear her above the ringing in his ears, but he understood teasing when he heard it. “I don’t know why anyone in a mind that was right and just could find this interesting.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the fear of ladders.”

  “It’s not ladders I fear. It’s the great cracking of my head that will happen when I fall.” He looked around them. “Where are we?”

  “Observation deck. It’s where the engineers come when they want to see all the engines at once.” She gave a huge sigh. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Not particularly. Silk organza, that’s beautiful. Mulrano beading, that’s beautiful. This, not so much.”

  “But the form, the design.” Legs braced, hands on her hips, she looked at the engines below them. “Someone designed these to propel us forward, to carve wave and air so we might travel the oceans. Don’t you find that amazing?” She turned on him a huge grin, one filled with excitement.

  His heart turned over in his chest. “I like that you find it amazing.”

  Her smile changed shape, becoming one for him alone instead of gears as she took his hand. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “What else was I to do?”

  “Don’t dismiss it. I know you don’t like this.” She raised a brow. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m extremely subtle. People comment on it. Repeatedly.”

  “Well, subtle or not, thank you.” Sitting, she pulled on his hand, and he allowed her to tug him to the floor, bending one knee and propping his arm upon it. Sitting cross-legged beside him, she traced a pattern made by the faint golden glow of the gear work in the glass.

  Following the path of her fingers with his gaze, he said absently, “What are those things?”

  “Circuits. Carries current from the engines to power the ship. The glass acts as an insulator….”

  Gaze drifting to her face, he watched her lips as she spoke. He had no clue of what she spoke of, the technicalities of gears and circuits beyond his scope and, to be honest, his interest, but she was his interest. Wholly. Would she taste different because her passion was for gears instead of for him? Leaning forward, he cupped her cheek and brushed her lips with his.

  She smiled against his mouth. “Don’t you want to know about the merits of glass-shot steel as opposed to glass-shot gold?”

  Rubbing her cheek with his thumb, he said, “I’m sure it’s fascinating, but it seems for better minds than mine.”

  “I doubt that.” Her lips whispered along his jaw.

  Turning into her touch, he curled his hand about her waist to bring her tight to him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “Why?” She arched her neck so he could access it.

  “Because you’re here. I’m here.” Making a show of glancing around, he returned to her with a wicked smile. “And we’re alone.”

  He kissed her, his tongue demanding entry with a determined stroke. She melted into him, her arms twining about his neck as she allowed him entry, returning his kiss with growing passion. Heat built within him as he moved over her, and she parted her legs so he could make for himself a place between them. She was soft and yielding, and he wanted her so much—

  “What are you doing here?”

  The harsh voice tore Sebastian from Thalia. A mechanic stood in front of a door, her arms crossed and a stern expectation in her expression.

  His mind went blank. Beside him, Thalia rose to her feet, and he could almost see her don the mantle of royalty.

  He couldn’t let her.

  Leaning back on his elbow to enact an indolent sprawl, he arranged a lazy smile on his face. “
My dear woman, we simply could not resist such a vista. This industry is so very...alluring, don’t you think? You cannot tell me you have not taken advantage of such, surely.”

  The woman’s expression tightened. “That is no reason—”

  “I quite agree.” Crossing his ankles, he settled himself more comfortably. “I was telling the captain just that, but he insisted we come here. Didn’t he, my dear?” He turned his smile to Thalia.

  Staring at him, mouth slightly agape, she didn’t respond.

  “My dear, the captain,” he prompted. Damnation, it couldn’t all fall apart because she was thrown.

  Almost visibly, she snapped out of it. “Yes. The captain.” She turned to the mechanic, and though he could tell her smile was slightly sick, others wouldn’t. “He did insist.”

  The mechanic looked unconvinced. “It’s still not a place for passengers.”

  “You’re quite right.” Languidly, he rose and took Thalia’s elbow. “Come, my dear. We should allow this woman to continue her good work.”

  “Yes, of course.” Curling her hand around his bicep, Thalia turned a pretty smile on the mechanic.

  The woman regarded them stonily, her arms crossed. Still smiling, Sebastian ushered them out the room.

  They had passed through one corridor and halfway down the next when Thalia stopped. Turning to him, she ran her hands through her hair. “My god, you’re good at that.”

  Hands in his pockets, he leaned against the wall. “What?”

  Dropping her hands, she raised her brows. “Lying.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Had a lot of practice, my dear.”

  Stepping closer to him, she made it so there was less than a breath between them, and she placed her hands on either side of him, trapping him. Deliciously. “Did it get you out of tight spots?”

  “It did.” Hooking a finger into the waistband of her skirt, he tugged her against him. “Often.”

  Standing between his spread legs, a smile played over her lips. “And into them, I’m sure.”

  “Yes.” A shadow fell over him, a remembrance of things past. Desperation and hunger, and the lies to alleviate both. Joining with other street thugs to muscle for the Cormare, and lying to himself that he did it to survive. Running to Queenstor and becoming Sebastian and eventually tailor, all through the lies he told.

  “Sebastian.” Fingers gentle on his jaw. “Where did you go?”

  “Nowhere.” He smiled, his pretty smile that got him out of most trouble.

  She didn’t seem fooled, but she didn’t pursue it. Instead, she gave him a light kiss and took his hand. “Come, there is more to see.”

  “Are you serious?” he said as she dragged him along. “We just got kicked out of one of your places to see, and it’s only by the grace of most of the gods we weren’t reprimanded more fully.”

  She looked over her shoulder, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened?”

  “I? Frightened?” He snorted. “Don’t insult me.”

  “Well, then, come with me on an adventure.”

  He matched his strides to hers, but didn’t let go of her. Her fingers were slight and warm in his, the pads calloused from working with gears. “This is going to end badly. I can feel it. Remember Prince Martel?”

  She scowled, but it didn’t deter her from her course. “That was a misunderstanding.”

  “Misunderstanding? How can the discovery of the princess royal in the bowels of your sailing vessel with a half-dressed stable boy be a misunderstanding?”

  “I don’t know. I only know that it was.”

  “The newssheets ran that tale for weeks.”

  “Misunderstanding.”

  “They called it Princess Tali Tells Tall Tale to Thelonic Beau.”

  Her scowl darkened. “I dislike that nickname. And he was never my beau.”

  “That was the misunderstanding?”

  She stopped and put her hand over his mouth. “Hush.”

  Against her skin, he grinned. When she removed her touch and started leading once more, he kept up a steady stream of chatter, all about how the newssheets reported the incident, what he’d heard from courtiers of her peccadillo, and things that had nothing to do with where he grew to a man. He could see her determinedly battle to keep her scowl in place, but in the end, her smile won out, and she wore it openly, her grip tightening in his at a particularly virulent claim.

  She glanced him askance. “If I say, ‘let’s go back to the cabin,’ will you stop this?”

  “I don’t know.” He lowered his voice. “What will you offer me?”

  Gaze slumberous, she leaned close. “Everything.”

  Her husky voice tore through him, heating his blood and hardening his cock. Dropping his genial expression, he led her back to their cabin.

  They emerged from below deck to a bright blast of sun. Blinking, he shielded his eyes as he adjusted to the light, the sea air bracing after the heat of the engines.

  Thalia froze beside him. Surprised, he turned to her, but before he could ask, he saw what had felled her. He stared, silent.

  There, in the distance, lay Queenstor.

  Chapter Eleven

  The seat of the king, Queenstor, was the largest city in Dormiraa, four million strong with new arrivals each day. The twelve gates into the city saw a steady flow, but Portstor, the Queenstor docks, saw the most. Travelers, merchants, cargo, workers, all passed through the port along with grain and cloth and a thousand other shipments.

  Pushing through the crowd, Thalia walked on raised toes as she struggled to keep Sebastian in sight. He strode determinedly, never glancing back to make sure she followed, and she could barely see his head above the throng, only the gold of his hair as a beacon.

  Anger curled in her gut. He would not look at her, had looked through her since they’d spied land yesterday. He’d not returned to their cabin last night, instead finding his rest the gods only knew where. She’d huddled alone in the bed they’d shared, missing him and cursing him in equal portions. She had no notion of how she had come to depend on him so quickly. A week only they’d shared their bodies, two weeks a cabin, and yet in that time, she’d come to depend on his presence so much that she missed him terribly when he removed himself so wholly from her side.

  Stumbling in her haste to follow, she cursed him. Stupid, moody man. Why had he removed himself anyway? Could they not have spent their last remaining night together? Could she not have held him, and he hold her, and make for themselves a memory for a lifetime?

  Stumbling again, she righted herself with another, fouler, curse. She could not keep this pace. “Sebastian.”

  He did not respond, that blond head moving with alarming speed. “Sebastian!”

  The blond head turned, displaying features drawn with irritation. “What?” he demanded.

  She bared her teeth in a parody of a smile. “Slow down. Not all of us have freakishly long legs.”

  He glared at her, but he slowed. Now he was only two strides ahead. Oh, happy day.

  Eventually, they emerged from the throng into a wide cobbled street lined with stalls selling everything under the sun. He took off down the wide street, still not checking she followed.

  She stopped dead. Enough. “Where are we going?” she yelled.

  He halted in the middle of the footpath and stalked back to stand before her. “The palace,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Well, two could play this game. Allowing her own anger full reign, she retorted, “I know to the palace, but which way?”

  “Straight up the Mile. It’s the quickest.”

  Fury coursed through her veins. “I know it’s the quickest, but we should choose the safest—”

  “The safest is the quickest way.”

  Gah, he was so frustrating! “Bully for you, figuring that in your head, but that still doesn’t change the fact the Mile is not the safest way, not by a long shot.”

  He shoved his hand through his hair. “I was charged to bring you
to the king, and that is what I’m doing. It is safest to get you to your father as soon as possible.”

  “Then why are you leaving me behind in the crowd?”

  “I—” Scowl thunderous, he growled, “Why are you questioning me?”

  She drew herself to her full height. “I am your princess.”

  “You’re going to pull that one, are you?” He stepped closer, so close she could almost feel the heat of his body.

  “I am merely reminding you of your place, Tailor.”

  “My place? I’ll remind you of my place.” Fingers digging into her hips, he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his.

  Burying her hands in his hair, she held him to her, pouring into him all her frustration and desire and anger that he wouldn’t be with her like this, never again. Lust burst through her, heating her blood and making her wet. His arousal pressed against her stomach, hard and thick, and she wanted him inside her, always, forever.

  Of a sudden, she was ripped from him. Fingers dug into the muscle of her upper arms, and, dazed, Thalia tried to make sense of what was happening. She saw Sebastian’s face, saw passion dull into a sick kind of horror. She saw his lips form her name, heard his shout, and then she couldn’t see him at all.

  Struggling against the hands that held her, she screamed for him, for Sebastian, but he didn’t come, he didn’t come, oh gods, what had they done to him that he didn’t come?

  She needed to find him, needed to go to him. She hit out, punching, kicking, counting her success in the grunts of her attackers. She wouldn’t let them take her, not without a fight, and she wouldn’t rest until she was free. She wouldn’t be taken, not again, and if they had hurt Sebastian, if they had kil— If they had hurt him, she would not rest until every last one of them was punished.

  Digging her nails into flesh, she heard a grunt, but she didn’t stop, instead ducking an arm, crouching, blocking a fist—

  Her attacker disappeared.

  Disoriented, she rose from her crouch, the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh reverberating through her. Vision clearing, she tried to make sense of the sight before her