by May Dawson
I skimmed my hand over the curve of her ass to her thigh, pulling her tight against me. Her lower thighs pressed mine, and she must feel my now-hard cock straining against her stomach. But the two of us kept on kissing, slowly. I didn’t want to rush her.
She was the one who caught my wrist and pulled my hand from her thigh, guiding it between her legs. I smiled against her lips—Alisa was certainly a female who knew she wanted and who took it—then began to tease between her thighs. She ground her hand down against me, her warm honey coating my fingertips. She was so wet for me that it made me feel a strange thrill of pride.
I pushed her gently down to the bed and rose onto my elbow, and she let her thighs fall open, just as I’d wanted. I caressed her in a steady cadence, watching as her eyes fell closed, as her pink core began to glisten between those pale thighs. She was so beautiful, I couldn’t resist leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead even as her back arched a little. She opened her eyes and smiled up at me, then bit her lip as her eyes closed again. She pressed against my hand, and I slipped two fingers inside her, working against her most sensitive spot as my thumb found her clit. She began to writhe on the bed, her hands sliding into her hair, her back arching as those small breasts swayed.
Watching her, my cock strained against the front of my pants so hard that it hurt, but pleasing her was even more satisfying than pleasing myself. Her hips bucked once as her core contracted around my fingers, squeezing me.
My hand stilled, and when her eyes opened, she ran her fingers through my hair, then pulled my head down to meet hers. Her lips pressed against mine, devouring my lower lip, teasing her tongue against my upper lip, and I kissed her back just as wildly.
“Good morning,” she breathed into my mouth.
“Morning.” I kissed the corner of her lips, the place that quirked when she was up to something.
“You made it a good one,” she promised me.
Before we could make it an even better one, someone banged the door urgently. They were already turning the knob as Alisa and I rolled apart, pulling the blankets up.
Arlen faced us, his chest heaving and his face exasperated. “Turic’s been sighted on the border. Fenig wanted to make it clear you have officially overstayed your welcome.”
Really, Turic would probably keep us here once he realized who Alisa was; Fenig was kind to warn us.
“Get your stuff, we’ve got to move,” Arlen said.
Alisa patted my leg and swung out of bed, taking one of the blankets with her. Wrapped up in it, she looked soft and harmless, with her hair disarranged, padding barefoot to dress and collect her weapons. But that was a lie, and the thought brought a smile to my lips. I was lucky to have a girl like that, even just for a little while: someone who was both ferocious and sweet.
I rose and began to dress, ignoring the massive hard-on that was now in my way as I yanked my pants up.
“What the hell are you doing?” Arlen demanded.
“Putting my pants on. Did you want to help?”
Arlen moved to the door, glanced into the hall, closed it. The cell was so small that it felt as if it weren’t big enough with the door closed and just the two of us in here.
“It’s a good thing you’re moving on,” he said, his tone threatening. “Things are precarious enough here in the spring court.”
Right; he loved the girl he’d been with yesterday, Raura, and the friend, and maybe others at this keep. Arlen was obviously winter Fae, but he’d found a refuge here—and apparently he thought that meant his loyalty to the winter court was optional now.
I swallowed my first harsh reminder of who we were, and that our first loyalty would always be to winter, to our fallen brothers and sisters in our court.
My own loyalties were divided now. I couldn’t fault him.
“I’m sure you can protect your friends. I’ve got faith in you,” I said, pulling my tunic over my head before I fastened on my sword belt.
He grabbed my arm, clearly irritated by that answer. “Don’t come back here again.”
“You don’t want to do that,” I warned him, letting some of my power bleed into my voice.
For a second, his eyes widened. But the next second, his expression resolved into insolence. “You think you’re still the king of the winter court?”
“I am always the king of the winter court,” I told him softly, pressing my hand against his throat. His eyes widened in fear this time as I let my power sink through him, and his body shuddered against the cold once before it sank deep through his skin, into his bones, leaving him frozen there, pinned in place with an expression of terror fixed on his face. I knew he could still hear me though when I told him, “Even in exile. Our people will not live in exile forever, and I promise you I will bring you all home. But you will obey me as your king, then and now.”
I drew the cold out of his body in one quick rush of magic, and as I dropped my hand, he fell to his knees.
His hand clutched his throat, where I’d touched him, even though I knew he’d carry no lasting harm. Perin and Dala had practiced that move on me often enough, making sure I knew my powers from the inside out, though no one could freeze another being with the ease I had as the winter king.
He scrambled to his feet, his body still shivering. He looked sulky, but he managed to choke, “I’ll help you out. There’s a back passage.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I don’t want Turic to find out…” he trailed off, then glanced toward the hall.
Azrael’s voice was low and commanding, trying to rush us all to freedom. I threw my pack over my shoulder, determined to once again pretend to be nothing but their faithful servant and grateful best friend.
“Do they know?” he asked in a whisper.
“No,” I said. “And they won’t know until it’s too late for them to ruin our plans.”
Despite my show of power earlier, I wanted to remind him that we were a team.
The winter court, in exile.
In wait.
He nodded.
“We can raise our court again without tearing apart the world,” I promised him, clapping him on the shoulder as I passed him to the door.
I hoped that was true, but I wasn’t sure myself.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alisa
“Time to go, Summer,” Raura told me as the six of us raced down the hallways. “Turic is quite loyal to your brother.”
“I wonder what he did to deserve that kind of loyalty,” I said drily, because I saw very little that I liked about my brother.
“I wonder what you did to lose it,” she said.
“Yeah, so do I.”
She turned toward the stables. “You’ll have to ride fast—and be lucky.”
Arlen stalked on ahead of us. “We’re taking them through the passage.”
“No, we’re not.” She frowned at him as if he’d lost his mind.
Arlen ignored her. She raced to catch up to him, and Lake joined the two of them.
“We all want the same thing,” Arlen growled at the two of them.
“That doesn’t mean we can trust them,” Raura sing-songed, glancing our way. “Fenig told us to get their horses and get them out of here.”
“Because you always listen to Fenig,” Arlen returned.
“I should always listen to Fenig,” Raura returned. “That’s what you usually say.”
“Just trust me,” Arlen gritted.
“We do,” Lake said, surprising me. The tall red-headed boy hardly ever seemed to speak. “Of course we do. Right, Raura?”
She glowered at them both, then heaved a defeated sigh, pushing her long brown curls back from her face. “Whenever we follow Arlen’s plans, it always ends badly.”
“You literally got us all swallowed by that Gravelbax,” Lake reminded her.
“I didn’t say my plans always go well. Anyway, we’re here now, aren’t we?” Raura said, then plunged ahead down the hallway.
The f
our of us exchanged a look, then followed our new friends.
We ran deeper and deeper through the castle, down steamy corridors and through a long bathhouse that was sweetly scented by the blossoms that bloomed across the walls and ceiling. Past the pool was what looked like a flat wall decorated with elaborate glazed tiles, but Raura pressed on them and a narrow door slid open.
“This way.” Arlen ducked under the door, his massive body making it look miniature, and then descended into the darkness.
We were certainly taking a leap of faith that our new friends really were our friends.
“Can you make sure our horses are returned to the village where we borrowed them?” Azrael asked Lake, and Lake nodded.
The seven of us followed the passage.
“Who else knows about these passages?”
Raura snorted. “No one. And we liked it that way. The three of us happened across them when we were—nevermind.”
“Stealing,” Lake put in.
“Recreationally.” Raura added. “You make it sound so terrible, Lake. We were young, we were just trying to get snacks from the kitchen.”
“That used to be one of your hobbies,” Duncan said to me, sounding almost fond for once, and I would’ve had more questions if we hadn’t been running for our lives.
We finally emerged into the bright sun, all of us blinking. We were outside the city’s wall.
And we were surrounded by Fae guards.
“On second thought, maybe we aren’t the only ones who knew about it.”
“Daughter.” A gray-haired man stepped forward out of the crowd. Hundreds of little gems sewn into his black knight’s tunic gleamed under the sun. He cocked his head to one side. “Always so predictable.”
“Father. How lovely that you’re home from visiting the summer court.” Her gaze flickered among the crowd, and I tried to follow whatever she had seen.
So he must be Turic. Conversation at dinner had not painted a pretty picture of what kind of ruler he was; he wished to be the king of the spring court, but because another heir was still alive, the magic wouldn’t let him take the crown.
“I assume your two half-wit lovers are following your orders as usual.” He raised two fingers, and some of his guards grabbed Arlen and Lake. Arlen’s face was stoic, but Lake’s face betrayed his fear no matter how much he gritted his jaw.
“Oh, you misunderstand our relationship, Father. Unfortunately, it seems half their wits is still too much wit for them to be my lovers.” She smiled at him, and then one of his guards buried his fist in Lake’s stomach, and the smile froze on her face. She watched, expressionless, as Lake doubled over, only to be dragged back up.
The guards closed in around the two of them and began to beat Arlen and Lake mercilessly. My heart pounded in my chest; I wanted to throw myself into the fray and rescue them.
But Raura watched the scene with an expression of polite boredom, as if she were caught in an unpleasant conversation. Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and watched them with disinterest; Tiron raised his arm to stifle a yawn with his sleeve. Azrael had that vaguely smug smirk on his face that sometimes made me want to slap him, as if he thought Turic was an embarrassment.
The temptation to reach up and check that my cowl was still in place was strong, and I thrust my hands into my pockets instead. The sound of fists thudding into Arlen and Lake’s bodies made me cringe, but I kept my face as cool as theirs.
The first rule of life in the Fae world seemed to be not to show one’s true emotions. To show one cared for someone was to put them in danger.
I wondered if I’d been more of a master at that in my past life, because I was afraid I couldn’t keep my horror from showing. From the way Turic and Raura were fixed on each other, staring at each other with a smug look on Turic’s face and a blank one on Raura’s, the beating was meant to punish her, but she seemed intent on pretending it had no effect.
The whole scene distracted me so much that I didn’t notice at first the ripple of movement in the crowd.
The guards suddenly broke off and fell to one knee. Turic himself turned, the expression on his face irritated about the disruption, then he fell to one knee.
An eerie silence fell over the crowd, the only sounds Arlen and Lake panting to catch their breath.
Faer stepped into view.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I really thought I’d be collecting your body, sister of mine,” Faer said. “Once the Shadow Man emerged from his long rest to remove a threat to the true throne.”
Faer’s voice carried through the group.
“Is that your story?” I said. “Not that you ordered an assassination of your own sister because she wouldn’t marry the cretin of your choosing?”
Faer shook his head sadly. It was strange to see his face, so like my own, under the golden crown that shone brilliantly in the sun. “The shadow side rises when summer is in danger. Since you’re a betrayer, come to steal the throne from the rightful heir, it’s risen to stop you.”
“So convenient that the rising shadows stopped off to tell you to collect my corpse,” I said crisply.
“Get out of here,” Turic told Raura, and the guards released her men.
Raura gave me a haughty look, but I could’ve sworn there was a glimmer of regret in her eyes. “Until we meet again, Summer.”
“Good luck, Spring.”
I was pretty sure she would need it.
“You’ll be rewarded,” Faer promised Turic as guards bound our hands.
“I want the Delphine to declare that I’m next in line. There is no other heir,” Turic insisted, as if they were picking up an old argument.
“I’ll convince the Delphine. Give me time,” Faer said. “They think they’re independent of the throne.”
He glanced toward me, then Raura and her men limping away, and added, “A thought which seems to be an epidemic.”
“I’ll deal with my daughter and her little rebellions,” Turic said. “She’s harmless. Just a girl.”
I hoped he’d choke on those words one day.
“Take them to the ship,” Faer called over his shoulder to the guards, and my heart sank.
We were loaded onto horses, our hands bound to the pommels with magic, and we rode through the forest until the ocean glimmered through the trees.
The black ship that bobbed on the tranquil, shimmering blue water looked like a blight on the sea.
Raile leaned against the railing, his broad shoulders outlined against the sun above as he watched us ascend the gangway. I glanced at Duncan and Az, thinking of their Sea Fae blood and how long they could stay underwater. Could they escape?
Would they ever be willing to leave Tiron and me?
One of the guards dragged me by the arm across the wooden planks. When I saw Raile turn to face us, yet another arrogant smirk written across his face, I wrenched out of the guard’s grip so fast he lost me.
“Alisa—” Azrael gritted.
I stormed toward Raile anyway, ducking the guard who lunged for me. Fury creased the guard’s face at how quick I was, and he headed after me with his face darkening.
“Don’t,” Raile said, his voice lazy, leaning back with his elbows against the railing. I wondered how hard it would be to slam into him and knock him into the sea, between the dock and the boat. He watched me curiously.
“Still Faer’s lap dog?” I demanded. “Are you really so desperate for my attention that you’ll run along yapping to do his bidding?”
“Oh, your spite,” he said, his lips curling. “How familiar. And here I thought you might have something original to offer me for once.”
The guard grabbed my shoulder, yanking me toward him, and the world narrowed as his fist rose, flying toward my face. I ducked, twisting to one side so he’d miss me.
Except Raile was there, so fast he was a blur, catching the guard’s arm and using it to propel him around. He flung the male over the side of the boat and into the water.
The
n the deck was empty except for the shocked sailors, my men and the other guards. The boat was still rocking peacefully on the waves.
“I said don’t,” Raile said mildly, glancing around. “Did anyone hear me?”
“You were very clear, your highness,” one of the nearest sailors lied.
“I thought so.” Raile looked self-satisfied as he raised his gaze to mine.
“You are a psychopath,” I told him.
“And you are criminally ungrateful.” His posture stiffened, and for the first time, he actually looked energized instead of lazy. “He was going to hit you. I stopped him.”
“So you could lord it over me. How lovely of you.”
“I don’t let anyone hurt what’s mine,” he said.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Raile was ridiculous.
Azrael muttered behind me, “Alisa. Honestly, the dungeon is probably the safest place for you right now.”
“I’m not yours,” I told Raile. “And I never will be. I went to a different realm to escape you, didn’t I?”
Another guard hovered tentatively behind me, not daring to touch me.
Raile stared at me for a long second, then closed the distance between us, so close his chest loomed in my face. He lowered his face toward mine, his voice low and intimate when he whispered in my ear, “You didn’t manage to run far enough, did you? And you never can.”
I stared up at him, refusing to break away from his gaze as the two of us stared at each other. This close, I could see the faintest signs of emotion in that stonily handsome face: the glitter of those intense eyes, the way his pulse raced a little faster in his throat.
“Why are you so obsessed with me?” I asked.
“It’s hard to choose just one thing,” he said, his voice dry. “Perhaps it’s the passion in your voice when you talk to me, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”
