by Jade Kerrion
“Fortunately, I have assistants I trust.”
“In theory, the government runs itself. Unfortunately, I haven’t figured out why or how my appointment book is always so full.”
“What’s going to happen to the appointments you’re skipping out on today?”
“Both Tristan and my mother said I needed a break; and they’re right. The council members and Conrad are handling those meetings.”
It struck her then in a way it hadn’t before. Varian Delacroix—the utterly responsible, unfailingly dedicated prince of La Condamine—was stepping away from his duties as head of state.
Nithya’s throat closed, making it hard to breathe. Tears stung her eyes. Her voice trembled with the words that whispered from her heart. “Do you have to?”
Varian glanced over his shoulder, pulled his horse to a stop, and leaped off his saddle. Nithya slid off Dandelion into his arms. She buried her face against his woolen vest. “It’s not fair.”
How often had she uttered those words as a child, her arms wrapped around her younger siblings as they huddled against the vicious cold and their empty, rumbling stomachs, hiding from bands of renegade fae who raped witches for their magic?
How often had she uttered those words when she stood in her beautiful jewelry store, alone at night—safe, warm, and full—and remembered her family, still out there, in the merciless, lawless outlands?
How often had she thought those words when she saw how the fae nobles lived, their lavish lifestyles fueled by vast stores of atern—lights fueled by magic instead of wood and coal; vast marble mansions kept warm even in the coldest night—extreme excess, even as witches huddled in peat-lit cottages by the quay, praying they would not be discovered by guards and expelled from the relative safety of La Condamine?
How long had the fae been, if not a bitter enemy, then at least an opponent to be thwarted, an obstacle to be overcome?
She had never imagined she would utter those words, “It’s not fair,” for a fae, certainly not for one from the privileged ruling class, most especially not for the one fae who apparently had it all—the prince of La Condamine.
But that was before I knew him. Before I fell in love with him.
Varian held her tightly, fiercely, as if he, too, craved her comfort as much as she needed his. “You’re going to be all right,” he whispered against her hair. “I promise. You will be fine.”
“I don’t need to be fine. I need you to be fine.”
He chuckled softly, but it was a quiet, broken sound. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t know what it’s doing to people.”
He stiffened against her. “The people will be all right.
Not your preening people and their magic, you idiot. Your mother…Ariel…The people who love you…Me, and my heart.
She squeezed her eyes tight and breathed in his scent, wishing she could forever fill her lungs with his presence.
I won’t be all right.
“You’re cold,” he murmured, rubbing her hands between his. “And it’s been a rough ride out here. Let’s get you up to the cabin. You’ll feel better once you’ve had a warm drink.”
No, I won’t. But there was something endearingly sweet about his absurdly male logic that life’s problems could be fixed with a pat on the back and a cup of hot tea.
She pulled back and stared at his flawless face. Its perfectly proportioned features accentuated by glittering dark eyes reminded her that at least one illusion still lay between them.
Guilt sank a thousand claws into her spine.
No, there were many more illusions that lay between them, almost all of them of her making.
I stand by what I’ve done. I have no regrets.
Those illusions do not matter, not now, not ever, not when we only have twenty-four hours to make perfect memories to last our lifetimes. She fixed a smile on her face, knowing that it quivered. “I’d love a hot drink. Let’s go to the cabin.”
Nithya had not drawn a mental image of Varian’s mountain cabin, but she was certain that even if she had, she would not have done it justice. The cabin was a complex of large, interconnected granite buildings, overlaid with polished wood for a rustic effect. It sprawled over a full acre, and that did not even include the outlying buildings, presumably the homes of the many attendants who swarmed into the central courtyard as the two horses reined to a halt.
Footmen led the horses away to the stables, and Nithya stifled a laugh as she accompanied Varian into the cabin, where several more servants appeared immediately to take her cloak and to offer refreshment. A fae in a white coat scurried toward Varian. “Would you like a warm brunch, your highness? I have prepared tender, roasted partridge, to be served with grilled vegetables and egg soufflé.”
“We’ll have it in the library in ten minutes. Thank you, Jacques.”
“I might have known,” Nithya said as she followed Varian through the cabin, which was only a few tapestries and sculptures short of being as magnificent as the royal palace.
“What should you have known?” Varian asked as he flung open the doors to the library. Bookcases framed the walls, and reading nooks nestled against windows, awash in sunlight. A warm fire was already blazing, and a large table in front of the fireplace was set for two, resplendent with lace tablecloth, delicate porcelain plates, polished silverware, and crystal glasses.
“I thought we were getting away for some privacy.”
“We are.”
She laughed, grabbed his arm, and spun him around so that he could see the servants scurrying across the corridor, apparently eager to ensure that the prince’s rare visit proceed as smoothly as possible. “How many retainers do you have here, in your little, remote cabin?”
Varian frowned. “Twenty; perhaps a few more. And your point is…?”
“Send them away, just for the day.”
He stared at her, wearing an expression of such incredulity that she burst out laughing. “We’re going to freeze and starve to death,” he warned.
“Don’t you know how to light a fire?”
He stared at the fireplace, a furrow between his eyes. “No, not without magic.”
“Ever boiled water?”
“No.”
She laughed. “All right. A compromise, then. Send them away after brunch. If it’s as amazing as it sounds, we’ll eat every last bit of it and we’ll be all set for several hours. I’m sure I can come up with something for dinner.”
“Will it be edible?”
Her jaw dropped before she noticed the wicked gleam in his eyes. “You made a joke! I didn’t know you knew how.” Nithya stepped into his waiting arms. “I promise you’ll have an absolutely perfect day.”
Absolutely perfect was a lofty aspiration, but by late evening, Nithya decided it came pretty close. They had spent the early part of the afternoon strolling around the grounds, and as the day cooled, they retreated indoors and curled together on a couch, reading while sipping tea.
All discussions about Prince Rainier’s unsolved murder and the upcoming spell were set aside by mutual, unspoken agreement. It left them with nothing to argue about, and no reason to be anything but agreeable. Snuggled against Varian’s chest, Nithya listened to his steady heartbeat and to the scarcely audible wheeze each time he exhaled. She rubbed his chest gently and raised her head to look into his eyes. “Can’t the doctors do anything about it?”
He shook his head. “There are some things medicine and magic can’t fix.”
“Like your lungs?”
He nodded.
“What else can’t medicine and magic fix?”
“A broken heart.”
She smiled at him. “Can your heart be broken?”
“By the right woman, yes.”
Am I the right woman? The words trembled on the tip of her tongue, unspoken.
Varian’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “Would you like me to help with dinner?”
His question snapped her out of the misti
ng melancholia, probably as he intended. She retorted with a sassy smile. “You?”
“A first time for everything.”
“You can’t even boil water.”
His arms tightened around her and he breathed a light kiss on her nose. “Teach me.”
If the first half of the day had been nearly perfect, dinner balanced out the illusion of life proceeding exactly as planned. Varian nearly burned water, but only because she had distracted him with her kisses. The potatoes were woefully undercooked, and the meat was left to roast until it was dry and inedible, but those culinary disasters had been his fault for kissing her.
“This is terrible.” Varian pushed his plate aside, his meal untouched.
“What? No false compliments on how it’s the best meal I’ve ever prepared for you?”
He laughed. “It’s the first and last meal you’ll ever prepare for me. It’s just as well neither of us has to cook for a living.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a much better cook when I’m not distracted.”
“Isn’t it the true mark of a professional to consistently deliver excellence while distracted and under stress?”
“I didn’t claim to be that good.” Nithya laughed as she refilled their wineglasses. “It’s a good thing your chef left behind loaves of freshly baked bread, although it’s not much of a dinner, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t need food.” His words were quietly spoken.
The dark gleam of need in his eyes shuddered down her spine. She sipped slowly from her glass, as if considering his words. “On one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That you hold nothing back. That you give me all of you.”
He frowned. “Nithya—”
“All of you, Varian. Why are you holding back?”
Anguish flicked over his face. “I can’t.”
“What can’t you do?”
“Frighten you. Drive you away.”
“Frighten me?” Her eyes widened with shock, then narrowed from the insult. “Do I look like someone easily frightened?” She rose to her feet. “I’ve watched you, Varian. You pursue your vision with so much conviction, so much focus, so much passion, it frightens me. I’ve wondered what it would be like to have all that passion focused on me…what it would feel like to be pursued by you, loved by you, and possessed by you.” She unlaced her dress and let it fall around her ankles, stepping gracefully out of that silken puddle to stand before him.
Varian’s hands tightened into fists, and he squeezed his eyes shut. A muscle twitched in his smooth cheek.
Nithya walked toward him and circled his chair. He inhaled deeply as her fragrance infused the air around him. She continued in that deadly quiet voice. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you hadn’t had any real satisfaction?”
“Yes.”
“You really thought you might have fallen in love with an insensitive, inconsiderate bitch?”
“No, I just…I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Varian, the only thing that will hurt more than losing you is knowing that I never had you.” She stood in front of him and caressed his face, running her thumbs gently over his still-closed eyes. “I know you have a sickness that passes through generations. I know that in a few days, you—” Her voice quavered. “—may not be here. Our time together matters. It may be all we’ll ever have—one moment we can hold in our minds and hearts forever. I want that memory, Varian. I want to give you that memory. We’ve come so far. We’ve earned it. We deserve love.”
His eyes opened and locked on hers. Her breath caught at the raw emotions in his eyes. Deeper than need. Darker than desire. “Your last chance, Nithya.” The rough timbre of his voice shivered down her spine. “Stay or run.”
Her chin tilted up, defying him to meet the challenge. “Stay.”
For a long moment, everything was utterly still between them, then a sudden blur of motion staggered her mind. She found herself on the lambskin carpet, Varian’s hand beneath her head and neck, bracing her against the soft impact.
Nithya opened her mouth to breathe his name, but his lips and hands moved over her body, so heated, so hard, that she could only gasp. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as sensations rippled from his wicked, clever fingers stroking the wet heat between her thighs.
The unrelenting tide of pleasure arched her back as taut as a drawn bowstring. Wave after wave washed over her, each one cresting higher. She was close, so close she could feel the climax layering within her—the pressure in her head, behind her eyes, the almost unbearable sensations stretching from her toes to her fingertips, the screaming need for more, just that little bit more—
He entered her with a smooth, deep stroke, utterly filling her.
She screamed, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm, the world turning black behind her eyes. Her body clenched and bucked beneath Varian’s taut frame, pinned down by his weight and by their entwined fingers.
The rosy afterglow faded in the reality of Varian’s body, impossibly stiff and tense, above hers. He was rock hard, not just filling her, but stretching her, and he held still, as if a single deep breath would shatter him. She wanted to stroke his back, but could not; his arms pinned hers above her head.
She wriggled her hips and clenched her body around his.
His breath caught, and his eyes squeezed shut as if to deny the sensation. “Don’t…move.” His growl was part-warning, part-plea.
“I want all of you, Varian,” Nithya murmured into the space between their lips, between their hearts. “Nothing between us.” She raised her lips, closed the distance, and kissed him. He tasted like dark, perfectly aged brandy—deep, rich, and full of conflicting, yet perfectly blended flavors. Her stomach wrenched with longing, her heart with love. If only she could hold on to the taste of him forever. “Be mine, the way you’ve made me yours.”
Was it her words or her kiss that broke the will he clenched around his need? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter as he began moving against her, angling his entry until she whimpered from the impact against an over-sensitized spot deep in her body.
Her breasts heaved, her nipples abrading against the finely spun linen of his shirt. He hadn’t even fully undressed, she realized suddenly. The mental image of her naked body ravished and writhing beneath him shot a thrill up her spine and squeezed the breath from her lungs.
The sensations swelled like a dam on the cusp of overflowing. The jolts of pleasure pierced harder and grew longer, each one not over before the next began. The peaks increased in intensity, the valleys between them shrank.
When her second climax claimed her, it was like flying into the face of cascading water from a shattered dam. She was drowning, dying, and she didn’t care. Her molten heat clenched around him. He thrust again, and suddenly stiffened, an expression of almost-pain shattering his flawless features.
A long moment passed before the tension drained out of his taut shoulders and back, and even longer before his heaving breaths eased into a normal rhythm. She wriggled one of her hands free to stroke his hair and caress his cheek. He’s mine. My love.
But the soft sheen of relief on his face was offset by the flicker of guilt, and worse, the self-hate, in his dark eyes. She ached for him. It was more than his fae nobility; the weight of his title, the burden of his inherited sickness—he was never without them.
And in spite of that, he gave himself to me.
Varian had given all he could, and it had been everything she’d wanted.
She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and drew him down for a long kiss. Their hearts thudded next to each other, their individual paces adjusting until they beat as one.
Only then did she whisper in his ear, “Take me to bed, Varian. Make me yours, again and again.”
The sun had scarcely broken over the mountains when the granite walls of La Condamine came in sight. Nithya glanced at Varian who rode beside her. His shoulders were relaxed and his face, although not smiling, se
emed at peace.
Perhaps it could be partially attributed to the amazing sexual intimacy they had shared. Knowing Varian, however, it was probably the emotional tenderness that followed, falling asleep in each other’s arms, their bodies coiled together, as if they had always belonged to each other.
As they traveled along the road to the city, she saw a carriage farther ahead, escorted by several armed soldiers, and followed by a cart stacked with boxes and bags.
Varian slowed his horse so as not to overtake the carriage, even though it seemed obvious that they could easily do so.
She stared at the carriage and frowned when she caught a glimpse of the emblem emblazoned on the door. “Isn’t that the royal crest?”
He nodded, his gaze focused on a rider who had broken off from escorting the carriage and was riding up to him.
The fae on the horse bowed his head. “Your highness.”
“Louis. I gather your mission was successful.”
“Indeed, your highness.”
“Wonderful. We’ll see you in the city.”
“Very well, your highness.” The fae offered Nithya a polite incline of his head. “My lady,” he said, before wheeling his horse and riding back to the carriage.
“He was a former captain of my guard,” Varian offered an explanation before Nithya asked. “I know you have to return to your shop soon, but will you come with me, just for a few minutes?”
“If the prince can spare the time, it would be ridiculous for me to say no.” Nithya smiled. “Where are we going?”
The entourage ahead of them entered the city and turned toward the arts district, an upper-class neighborhood filled with large homes that tended toward elegance instead of over-the-top splendor. The people stopped and stared at the carriage as it stopped in front of a two-story house that had recently been purchased and renovated to include every material comfort.
Varian dismounted and walked to the carriage. The door was opened, and he spoke with warm cordiality to the occupants of the carriage. “Welcome to La Condamine. I hope your journey was comfortable.”
