by Ella Fields
His hold on me disappeared, the cool spring air blowing grass and clover against my bare legs and arms once more. “In the end, he was the fool.”
I was determined to end this conversation, but I found myself saying first, “Did Zad call you a bastard?”
Ryle chuckled. “No, his heart is far too mortal for such things, but he did not have to. Even when I was a youngling, it was a wide-known fact.” He sat up. “But take no pity, for I showed them exactly what a bastard-born heir is capable of.”
We trekked back to the keep, the silence loaded but not uncomfortable. The path that led the way was worn by feet, only willowy trees and ferns and the many glowing insects buzzing within them to guide us.
The keep was a fortress tucked within the land, but also the land itself.
Its doors towered high, almost kissing the tops of the windows of the second floor, two-headed sea dragons and furbanes carved into the arching wood.
Two rows of sentinels, seven on either side of the bridge that crossed and met over the rushing water, stood eerily still. Silver helmets with black feathers sprouting from the top hid every part of their faces save for their eyes. Etchings in the metal portrayed what the warriors beneath were—whiskers and snouts and snarling metal teeth.
Their armor was a shining dark silver, the night sky reflected in the unscathed metal. I was tempted to ask when they’d last needed to wear it in earnest, due to its pristine condition, when the king said, “In the forge below the city, we have an arsenal of weapons constantly being crafted, as well as armor. If it is dented, it is replaced.”
I scowled at him in question, and he felt it, for he added, “No, I do not possess the power to enter your mind, even if I compel you.” I wanted to know who did. One of the three queens, perhaps. In the many stories I’d been told, that power had been mentioned countless times. I asked nothing and said nothing as he said, “Sometimes when you let that titanium wall of yours down, it is quite easy to tell what you’re thinking.” He tilted a shoulder. “Or perhaps it is merely the wine that makes you easier to read.”
My stomach filled with ice, sobering me substantially.
Inside, he led me through the halls, and I soon discovered I would not be returning to my rooms tonight. I’d wondered when he’d drag me to his own and force me to do things I could not do.
With air growing stale in my lungs and my eyes stinging, I glanced around the fire-lit walls, searching for an excuse, an exit—a weapon.
But he took a sharp turn up a steep, curling flight of stairs I hadn’t yet seen. They spiraled to a large room. A curtained poster bed draped with stained sheets was set into the far wall. Upon the right side sat a long chaise, similar to the emerald one in his rooms, and on the other side, three easels, two of them empty.
My eyes swung back to the bed, my uneasy stomach settling somewhat. Not blood, but paint.
The king pushed up the frilled long sleeves of his shirt, exposing milky muscled arms, and crossed to the easels. “Remove your dress and undergarments.”
Having spent what had to be weeks here now, I knew a compulsion when I heard it, felt the odd vibration traveling with his voice. Yet after drinking the wine with dinner and lunch, I couldn’t so much as try to refuse it.
The white gossamer slipped from my shoulders, Ryle’s gaze kissing my bare back as he instructed, “Lay upon the chaise.”
“You paint?” I asked the obvious, unable to stop myself from doing as he’d requested.
The chaise wasn’t velvet as it appeared, but a dark green moss. Rigid, I laid over it, but gradually relaxed when the king explained, “I do, though I must admit, I am not very good.”
A canvas had been set upon the easel, and with a rhythm that spoke of more joy than I’d ever seen upon the barbarian before, the king began to paint.
After a time, the sun gilding the long rectangle window behind him, splashing ribbons of light upon the paint spotted floor and highlighting the concentration that chased shadows from Ryle’s face, I felt my eyes drift close.
He did not demand I open them, and so I let myself go.
A featherlight touch wrapped around my ankle, tugging me from sleep. The sun was burning in the sky, igniting the golden flecks in the king’s hair and eyes as he lay slouched at the end of the chaise I’d curled up on. Paint covered his hands and his shirt, still wet by the way it glistened in the rays of sunshine. “Come here.”
I did, my limbs protesting from the lack of sleep and the way I’d been lying. Scooting close enough for his clothes to graze my skin, I waited as he studied me with tired eyes. “Hold still.”
Again, that brush of his power, as if he knew he could only get away with pushing me so far without its influence. Like snow flurries melting into my skin, his eyes held mine trapped as his wet fingers painted my arms with circles, swirls, and what felt like flowers.
I wanted to look, but I couldn’t. I didn’t dare look away from the tempest in his eyes.
I couldn’t deny that although I despised him, I was also drawn to him. The compulsion, the wine, only unearthed that deceptive, curious part of me. What I could not understand was why.
Why, when he leaned forward, his fingers reaching for my hand and turning it over to circle my palm, and his mouth brushed my cheek, I could not pull away.
His hold on my body eased.
He was giving me the impossible choice. Kiss him, let him have me, or walk away and face the consequences. I was already living a consequence and uninterested in facing any more.
His lips tasted like the berried wine we’d shared with our last meal of peanut-soaked asparagus and roasted hog. They were softer than I’d have liked, more gentle than I could bear, and warmer than what they should be. His fingers danced over my palm, and my stomach stuttered, my body betraying me in ways I’d probably forever regret.
“We could rule the world,” he said to my parted lips before encasing the bottom one within his. “You and I... we could rule this continent, and yours, we could reunite them.” His breath washed over my mouth, inside it, my tongue tingling. “And we’d be too powerful for anyone to stop us.”
You cannot stop me.
His voice, his very breath, morphed into another’s.
Do not think for one fucking second that I will ever let you stay away from me.
I reared back, but Ryle grabbed me by the hand, his other gripping the back of my head. His eyes, lightning flashed within them, his voice hoarse. “We can talk of that another time.” As if he’d thought that was why I’d retreated, his mouth fused itself to mine once more.
I pressed my hands against his chest and pried my lips from his. His hold loosened, his breathing ragged, and his eyes... so dangerous. I swallowed, licked my lips, and ignored the urge to wipe them until they bled. “I’m afraid I’m still tired.”
Ryle’s touch fell away, and he was slow to nod once. “Return here when you wake.”
“You’re staying?” I wasn’t sure why I’d asked or why I cared to know.
He looked at the empty bed, dressed in all white, decorated with specks and smears of paint. “I’ll be busy a long while.”
The tone of his voice hinted at activities I would rather escape from. I’d never set foot in the south wing where his lovers, both human and faerie, were rumored to spend most of their days. Though I had seen some at dinner or breakfast if he chose to let them out. Pets, and I was but another.
I stood, refraining from racing out the door and, instead, inclined my head.
His eyes simmered with approval and lust. His lean form draped over the chaise as though he were the one waiting to have his portrait painted. “Go, my frosty queen. Run before I change my mind.”
I did, the heat of his stare burning my naked skin as I collected my gown and undergarments.
The door shut behind me, but I didn’t stop, didn’t dress until I’d taken the stairs down to my rooms.
The sun had barely set when Temika entered.
She stood in the doorway, h
er webbed hands clenching together, and her expression grave. “The king requests your company in his art studio. Immediately.”
I set the hairbrush down, rubbed a red rouge over my lips, and rose from the dressing table. “He is still there then.”
She nodded, looking as though she wanted to say more.
Eyeing her on my way to the door, I wrapped my purple robe around my undergarments. “Can he wait until I dress?”
“I fear not, my lady.” Her tone, her demeanor, reeked of impatience born from fear.
There’d be no feast anytime soon, I guessed, and I had a sinking feeling I was about to lose my appetite anyway.
Sighing, I slung my shields up and waded by her, heading out into the starlit halls.
The king’s stronghold was silent, yet I could feel the hum of activity travel through the soil and mortar-rendered walls.
During one of the many tours the king had given me, I’d discovered the kitchens held an influx of pale pink-skinned, paper-winged pixies, and the dungeon was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It was more of an enchanted, living garden, caging anyone behind writhing wreaths of copious vines, its leaves and thorns fed by the blood and excrement of prisoners.
Still, even with the tours and having been there mere hours before, I took two wrong turns before finally finding that curling set of stairs to the tucked away room. Reaching the hall, the walls bare of portraits but reeking of flowers, the air jasmine and berry scented, I had to wonder if behind them were the rooms of his lovers.
A shriek that rolled into a long moan slithered out the cracked open door and down the stairs, raising the hair on my covered arms.
Of course, he’d invite me while still deep inside another female, and of course, that was why Temika had looked as though she wanted to warn me.
I climbed the stairs and opened the door, leaning against the rough wall in the doorway. I yawned, notifying him I’d arrived, and tried to look anywhere but at the two paint-covered naked bodies upon the poster bed.
The king groaned. “Look at me.”
My eyes snapped to his, even as my teeth gritted in protest.
He writhed over the blue-haired vixen beneath him, her breasts bouncing with every purpose-driven thrust, and her legs in the air. He was holding them, gaze on mine as he licked her ankle. “Audra...” With a silent roar, his body shook, and he fell over her, but his eyes remained on me. “Fucking finally,” he muttered, shoving away from the female on the bed.
She rolled over, assessing me from head to toe. With a wink of her blue eyes, eyes unnervingly similar to my own, she stood from the bed.
The king smacked her ass hard enough to make her flinch. But she laughed, and I felt his hold on me fall away as he said to her, “Leave us.”
Naked, save for the paint marring her slim, tall body, she skipped past me.
“She has nice eyes,” I remarked.
The king huffed, slipping his legs into the same pants he’d worn last night. “Observant, aren’t we?”
“I was trained to be.”
“I think you meant to say raised, but I understand.” He walked closer, his chest gleaming with sweat and paint, and murmured, “I was raised with similar cruelty, after all.”
I ignored that and feigned another yawn. “Having erectile issues?”
His jaw hardened, and he swung his feet toward me, lazily but with an eye-catching menace. “For your information, my half-blood queen, I’ve never suffered any such thing.” He glanced down at his pants, which I assumed were tented. “More so, the issue lies within my insatiable appetite.” His gaze lifted to me. “But is that truly an issue?”
Choosing to ignore that, I kept my eyes on his, knowing how stupid the words were before they ran from my mouth. “You could force me.”
“Oh, I know, and it’s so fucking tempting I can hardly breathe around you.” His words unraveled into a rasp, and he cleared his throat. It didn’t chase the lack of sleep from his voice. “But creatures like us”—his finger looped around a thick ribbon of hair over my breast—“we deserve to be earned.”
At that, another female sauntered by me and entered the room, this one with inky black hair and green eyes. Thick, sky gray wings, like that of a moth, sprinkled a fine layer of dust from her back, bobbing with every soft step.
“So,” Ryle said. “Allow me to tempt you in kind.”
Darkness be damned, he truly thought he could sway me with such antics.
Of course, he did. While he and I were similar in ways that disturbed and fascinated me, he was the fucking High King of Faerie. He might’ve passed for a royal, but a royal he was not. And as I’d once loathed to discover, we had something he and his kind lacked.
A trace of humanity.
“I’m hungry,” I lied when he spread the female’s legs, his fingers reaching between.
“I care not. Have a seat, and by all means, feel free to touch yourself.” I didn’t move, and after a moment, realized I couldn’t, as he muttered, “Suit yourself.”
My feet had been locked in place, as had my eyes.
For untold minutes, I watched them feast on one another, watched his gaze never stray from me as he came, and then bent her over.
Before he could reach orgasm again, a clanging sounded outside.
I felt my bones creak as I tried to look behind me, but then two sentries rushed up the stairs to the room, right as the female came, her cries muffled as the king snarled and shoved her head into the white linen.
“Majesty,” one said, moving beside me. Standing this close to one of the werewolves, I had to wonder if they were as tall as Zad or even taller. Well over six foot five, at least.
He glanced at me, frowning, then removed his helmet, his voice clearer, and his silver hair glistening in messy tufts. “Majesty,” he said again, louder.
Ryle finally paused, and snapped, “What?”
“A runner just arrived with news of a fleet bearing moons and suns upon the horizon.”
Panic warred with excitement.
Ryle’s eyes flicked to me, and I realized in his shock, he’d released me. The female rolled away as he rebuttoned his pants.
Sweat dotted his hairline. He swiped at it, nostrils flaring in my direction as if trying to scent what I was feeling. “Send every pack. No, send the entire regime.”
The guard behind me balked. “Your highness—”
“Every warrior, in training or not,” Ryle demanded with cold authority, crossing to me. “Send them,” he barked. “I want them all, and I want them alive, so we will give them no choice but to surrender.”
Both warriors bowed, but before they could leave, the king ordered, “Breen, take Rosinthe’s queen to my rooms.” He stalked by me, the scent of sex and bergamot and some spice I couldn’t name steaming the air. “Ensure that is where she stays.”
Breen jerked his head to the stairs, his eyes beseeching, pleading for no trouble. A male who did not wish to mishandle a female.
But I was too shocked, too fucking terrified—and not for myself—to argue, let alone make plans to flee.
Audra
Ryle’s fury soaked into the walls of his stronghold, the tension in the quiet air palpable. Even the fall of water outside seemed louder, more violent.
Or perhaps, it was just that everyone had quieted. That ever-present hum now nothing but dead silence in the absence of nearly every wolf in the Onyx Court.
Temika brought me tea and little rock cakes loaded with fruit, the tray rattling in her trembling hands as she laid it upon the desk in Ryle’s bedchamber. “Can I get you anything else, Lady Audra?”
Yes. My lord, I felt like saying. I wanted him brought safely to me so I could kill him myself.
Out of all the stupid things to do... I squeezed my eyes closed against the gathering wet. Torn between wanting to kill him and kiss him stupid and fearing for his life and the lives of those he’d brought with him, I was too rattled to remember how much time had passed since everyone had headed to the e
astern shores where the ships had been spotted upon the horizon.
“No,” I finally managed. “I’m fine.”
I turned for the desk, tightening my robe, and heard the doors close. The sound echoed, and I waited, the steam rising from the tiny teapot slowly abating.
The doors opened again, and I did my best to snuff my emotions so the king couldn’t scent them. Zad was here—he had to be unless his anger was such that it could be felt over miles of land.
After all, it was his land, tied to him in ways I could never dream to understand.
It wasn’t the king who entered, but Zad.
Clad in the same armor the kings’ wolves wore, he removed his helmet to reveal burning gold eyes. Alight with relief, they flickered over every part of me, roaming, absorbing, and unblinking.
Mine did the same, hungry to feast upon every beautiful angle of his face, the auburn hair pulled taut to his nape, likely to make sure it stayed concealed beneath the helmet.
His lips were parted, and I watched as they thinned. He took a step closer, his thick, perfect brows hovering low, then seemed to shake himself out of some type of stupor.
“Where are your wings?” I said, rasped, my stomach tight.
He blinked, and there they were, black-feathered beauty arching high above his shoulders. They stole the light from the room and swallowed it, reflecting it back with a gloss that made my tongue grow thick. They were different from the wings I’d first seen in the throne room, brutally staked to the wall.
They were alive. They were him.
“Do they seem worth all this?” His upper lip curled back, and in his voice was none of the relief I’d seen burning in his eyes.
I stepped forward, wanting to touch them, marveling at the way they kicked out with the flare of his nostrils, long feathers tickling the rug on the floor.
But then his words registered, and I remembered what I’d done and why he should not be here. “You need to go.” I threw my eyes to the windows, then to the almost closed doors behind him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
