He took a moment to pull back, needing to see the pleasure-hazed face that was almost his undoing. When her ocean gaze met his, a faint rose colored her cheeks, and Jakon smiled tenderly at the familiar sight. Her innocent beauty stole his breath with every glance.
Shifting to hover beside her, his fingers traced the blush. “Beautiful,” he murmured while his other hand slowly trailed lower, past her navel, dipping under the band of her underwear. Marlowe’s lips parted, and he claimed them before she could make a sound.
There was nothing gentle in the kiss, not when her hips moved against his and she began fumbling for the buttons on his pants, which had become painfully tight. When they lay bare against each other, skin to skin, it was the single most treasured feeling in the world. Every physical and emotional barrier was released in the moments they were alone and free to indulge in their pleasure until they tired themselves out. What Jakon delighted in the most was getting to see a side to Marlowe no one else would see. To see the usually composed and quiet blonde completely unleashed. It was often enough to tip his own release over the edge without any other effort.
Tonight, he planned to push the boundaries of pleasure and endurance, knowing the path they would take by morning left no time for nights like this, and he couldn’t be sure when they would return.
“I need you now,” Marlowe pleaded breathlessly.
Those words brought on a new surge of abandon, but he breathed deeply and took his time positioning himself weightlessly above her. He had every intention of making the night span beyond measurable hours. To forget time and everything else except her.
“You have me,” he whispered against the tender spot below her ear. “Until the last star in the sky winks out, you have all of me.”
Chapter 14
Faythe
Faythe’s heart was already thundering in her chest, and she had yet to leave her rooms. Elise and Ingrid had left her half an hour ago, and she hadn’t moved from staring at the stranger in the mirror since, scrutinizing her extravagant, over-the-top gown and styled-back hair. She wanted nothing more than to tear off the expensive deep blue layers of silk and slip into some more comfortable casual attire. The dress was stunning, she hated to admit, but she was once again stuffed into the king’s colors to stand in front of the other courts who were due to arrive any minute.
After venturing into town to devise a plan to save the human boys, she’d spent the rest of the week in her rooms, brooding and contemplating how else she could be of aid to her friends. But there was nothing else she could do. By now, they would be starting their trip to Galmire, if they hadn’t gathered the boys and left already.
Faythe was avoiding Nik and Tauria. It made her feel slightly guilty when they tried to coax her into talking, and she refused all their advances to distract or console her. She was still coming to terms with the new brand on her soul from taking a life; it didn’t feel right to accept any friendship or happiness after what she’d done. She didn’t deserve it.
Everyone who mattered knew what really happened that day—that the boy’s pain was an illusion and she’d granted him peace and comfort before shattering his mind. Still, it didn’t make her feel any less like the ruthless silent assassin she had proven herself to be.
Two knocks sounded at the door, making her jump even though she was expecting it. Faythe took one last deep breath to summon the dregs of her confidence as she stared once more at her reflection. Her head sparkled like the sea with the blue-and-white crystals woven through her interlacing braids, and the deep blue layers of her gown flowed like peaceful waves around her as she stalked toward the door. If the color weren’t a constant reminder of the king she despised, she would have greatly admired its elegance.
The protocol for the evening was simple: they would greet their guests at the castle entrance before gathering for a grand feast to welcome them. The food was the only part Faythe was looking forward to as there would be no expenses spared tonight. The rest rattled her nerves like nothing else. She had only just gotten used to the fae and royals she was forced to live among, but to be a human in the presence of so many foreign fae…
She had no idea what to expect or how she would be received.
Nik had tried to settle her worries and assure her she would be seated next to Tauria the whole time and would only have to engage in conversation when spoken to. She hoped that would be as little as possible, even though her task was to get talking to as many of the other court members as she could so she could inconspicuously wander their minds. It was what spiked her fear the most and caused many sleepless nights over the past week. If she was caught, there would be no one to rescue her this time. She wouldn’t expect Nik to implicate himself to save her neck. It would undoubtedly spell his death too, prince or not.
When she swung her door open, she was greeted by two guards, one of which she was grateful to see: Caius. A familiar friendly face was exactly what she needed right now. Nik and Tauria would already be with the king and likely making their way to the front doors, just as she was about to be.
Both the guards looked at her wide-eyed for a few seconds, making her shift awkwardly on her feet, then Caius cleared his throat. “We’re to escort you down, milady,” he said, and she noted the hint of playful mockery in his smile. Caius knew she hated the title imposed upon her to keep up pretenses in the castle. The king had thought of everything, devising a whole series of lies to convince their unwitting guests she’d been a member of the court for most of her life. The idea was as insane as it was brilliant. The other houses would find it strange, unorthodox, but no one would question the word of a king.
She scowled at the young guard but said nothing as she closed the door behind her and they all began their short journey down the hallway. Each step felt quicker than the last although they maintained a steady pace. Before too long, Faythe felt the nip of a cold breeze from down the large grand hall, where straight ahead, the main doors to the castle were already wide open. A young servant girl came up to her, extending a white fur cloak. Faythe smiled gratefully and slung it over shoulders, relieved her shaking hands would be concealed.
Rows of guards in impeccable matching uniforms filed along the hall, all the way out onto the portico, and down the front steps. Faythe had never felt so hideously out of place. While she tried to convince herself she didn’t care what the foreign royals thought, she would be lying if she said the anticipation of their judgment didn’t make her sick to her stomach. Faythe assumed she would be the only set of round ears seated at the table tonight. The only others would be those serving them, which made her feel even more like a lamb at a feast for lions. Still, it was the king’s job, not hers, to explain why a simple human girl was a member of his court.
When they at last made it to the doors, several other court members were already organized formally on each side of the portico. Nik and Tauria were nowhere to be seen. Caius led her over to the front edge of the right side, and Faythe wished desperately she could be at the back of the crowd instead. He gave her a small smile and a nod of encouragement even though she begged him with her eyes not to leave. Then he subtly squeezed her arm though her cloak, and she was appreciative of the small gesture of comfort before he retreated to the back with the other guards.
She focused on her breathing, which was sure to give away her nerves as it came out in small, frosted clouds against the bitter-cold air that promised snowfall. She didn’t even register the frigid wind that nipped her cheeks while she anxiously fiddled with her skirts under her cloak, staring straight down the immaculate garden path, upon which a royal blue carpet led all the way inside for their esteemed guests. It all seemed a bit excessive and unnecessary to Faythe, but it also made her worry about the expectations of the royal courts of Olmstone and Rhyenelle.
Before she could catch a glimpse of any impending parties, Faythe heard movement from the front entrance and twisted her head to see the king, flanked by the prince and his ward, exiting the castle. She found h
erself instantly struck by the elegance and poise of her two friends.
Tauria was dressed in Fenstead colors. From the sweetheart neckline of her pine-green gown, tendrils of deep emerald crawled down to the skirts that flowed like a wave around her, complemented by the embellished collar, which curtained sheer green material over her arms and trailed at her back, leaving the bronzed skin of her chest and shoulders shimmering against the fleeting rays of sunlight. Upon her dark brown hair, a crown of woven silver antlers adorned the lattice of braids. She stood confidently, and it would take a fool not to see her for the great queen she would become to Fenstead one day.
Nik was also spectacularly dressed in a tailored royal blue jacket with silver embroidery. Badges of the royal sigil pinned a thick cloak to his shoulders, and his own crown glinted proudly against the bold sunset under his sleek, combed black hair.
The three royals remained in the center, right before the stairs. Tauria was a few short strides from Faythe, and she cast her a delicate smile of encouragement. Faythe returned it and felt her heartbeat slow a little.
There was a short moment of calm before she picked up on the sound of hooves from outside the open castle gates, striking her heart into a gallop once again. The cavalry came into view soon after in the form of several horses and carriages as well as guards on foot. The first to arrive flew banners of deep purple with the sigil of a two-headed wolf. Olmstone.
Faythe didn’t know much about the history of the land mostly made of stone, except that it had lots of mountain ranges and little forestry. This, she only knew from maps. She knew nothing of what to expect from its people either. While it was rumored to be a rural and peaceful kingdom, it was also said to be divided, with the western side of Olmstone occupied by the savage Stone Men. She couldn’t be sure if their nickname derived from their appearance or internal nature, or which she feared more.
The squeak of the wheels and the clatter of hooves came to an abrupt halt in front of the steps, and Faythe wrung her clammy hands under her cloak. Everyone stood straight and poised in both parties, and she did her best to keep up the same calm, welcoming stature among dozens of immortals naturally graced with perfect posture.
A guard opened the door to the largest carriage and placed down a small footstool for the passenger to step out. Faythe guessed it was the king’s carriage as it was far larger and more ornate than the two smaller ones following behind.
A massive figure stepped out first, dressed unmistakably in the royal coat of arms—finery only reserved for the highest in rank: King Varlas Wolverlon of Olmstone. He stopped and turned back once he’d exited the carriage and held out a hand. A moment later, a smaller female fae also stepped out, and at seeing the crown that adorned her beautifully styled blonde hair, Faythe could only assume she was the queen. The carriage behind theirs was swiftly prepared in the same manner for the other high-court members to emerge.
Faythe cursed herself for moping around all week, for if she’d accepted Nik and Tauria’s invitation to educate her about the Courts of Ungardia, she would be better clued up on names and who to expect. It was the last thing on her mind after the brutal act she was forced to commit but would have been very helpful as she would now have to pay extra attention to remember everyone.
Two fae stepped out of the second carriage also: one young female—Faythe guessed she was around ten in human years—and a male who looked only a little younger than Nik. They too were dressed in finery fit for royalty, and her common sense picked them out to be the prince and princess.
The four of them joined together and began to walk up the blue carpet, flanked by several guards in ornate armored uniforms with deep purple cloaks.
“Varlas, it has been too long,” Orlon spoke loudly, opening his arms as if for an embrace. His cheerful tone was strange to Faythe, but she didn’t sense it was by any means forced as he welcomed their guests; for once, he truly seemed like a warm and friendly ally. For a brief moment, Faythe almost saw the man Nik spoke of from his childhood.
The two rulers touched forearms and leaned in for a quick, cheerful embrace.
Varlas beamed. “Indeed it has, old friend.”
To hear anyone address Orlon as “friend” was definitely odd to hear. From what Faythe had gathered of her king’s nature, he was one to gain following and allegiance by intimidation, not love. She had to wonder if the King of High Farrow disguised his wicked nature in front of those who didn’t see him often enough to realize his hidden malice.
“Princess Tauria Stagknight, you look more like your father as the years go by,” King Varlas said with a hint of condolence.
“It’s good to see you again, Your Majesty,” the ward replied with a grateful smile and a small curtsy.
Varlas then turned to Nik. “And Prince Nikalias Silvergriff… You still take after your mother, and thank the Spirits for that,” he commented in light humor, but it was also laced with sadness that she was no longer with them.
The King of High Farrow laughed—genuinely laughed—and Faythe couldn’t hide her bewildered look at the joyful sound she didn’t think Orlon was capable of making.
When the foreign king glanced around the rest of the court, she held her breath until his eyes lingered over her in passing and her shoulders fell in deep relief. Perhaps he didn’t notice the shape of her ears yet, and there were plenty of human servants both in the castle and Olmstone’s entourage to cover her scent.
“You’ll remember my wife.” Varlas put a hand on her back as she stood politely beside him and gave a small bow.
“Of course. Queen Keira Wolverlon.” Orlon gave a warm nod of the head in acknowledgment and looked to their children beside her. “Prince Tarly and Princess Opal, you both are looking well.”
The prince, who Faythe gauged to be around the same age as Nik, was handsome, with neatly combed dark blond hair and a boyish, soft face. He barely offered a greeting, looking thoroughly unimpressed to be here. The young princess, adorably cute with ringlets of honey-blonde hair just like her mother’s, grinned in response.
Faythe didn’t get a moment to settle her racing thoughts and anxiety once the first round of pleasantries was over. The familiar sound of horses’ hooves carried across the stone outside the castle gates once again, and when Faythe looked over, she saw the next entourage was far smaller than Olmstone’s. There were no carriages this time, only five males on top of impressively large horses. They trotted up the path to greet them. She identified them by their dark crimson coats at first, which rushed like a red flood toward them. Then her eyes traveled up to find the flying banners with the sigil of Rhyenelle: the Phoenix firebird.
Four of the males were dressed in impeccable royal guard uniforms. One of them, however, stood out in a tailored black jacket under his crimson shoulder cloak, also styled differently to those who trailed behind. Logically, Faythe singled him out as their leader. Only, he didn’t wear a crown of any kind on top of his silver-white hair, bright even from the moment she fixed eyes on him at the bottom of the stone path.
They came to a stop behind the Olmstone carriages, and all dismounted in unison, either from subconscious training drills or by some perfectly timed accident. Regardless, they moved as one like a thundering red storm toward the awaiting parties on the portico. Something about them sparked Faythe’s interest, and unlike the others, she was more in awe than fearful as they approached.
The Court of Olmstone stepped aside, and the leader of the Rhyenelle soldiers ascended a few steps with unwavering confidence. “Your Majesties,” he said, bowing low. His voice was firm, with a mild accent she had never heard before. It sounded like gravel but felt featherlight, prickling her skin where she stood. Faythe shivered against the cold. “I have to apologize on behalf of King Agalhor. As you will no doubt have noticed, he is not in our company. He would have sent word earlier of his absence, but it was last-minute urgent business that made him unable to attend. He sent me in his stead.”
Faythe flashed a look toward the
King of High Farrow, surprised to find he was not in the least bit disappointed. At least, if he was, he kept the discontent off his face. Instead, his smile stretched out to a grin.
“General Reylan Arrowood, famous white lion of the south. Of course Agalhor would only send his best. I don’t think I’ve seen you since the Great Battles that earned you your name.”
The general cast a half-smile back at the king, though Faythe gauged it was more as a formality than from any genuine friendliness. Then, as if he knew exactly where she stood, the general’s eyes slid sideward to lock directly on her.
Faythe’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes connected with irises of mesmerizing sapphire blue. He was beautiful. Dangerously, alluringly beautiful. She thought she caught a hint of assessment in his look when his brow flinched, but she couldn’t be sure from his steel expression that yielded nothing.
The few short seconds felt like minutes to Faythe, but he didn’t stare at her long enough for anyone to notice the strange exchange.
General Reylan Arrowood appeared to be the same age as Nik, but she could only guess at how many decades or centuries were between them when their immortality drastically slowed their physical aging. He stood slightly taller than the Prince of High Farrow, and she couldn’t help but admire his strong physique, which made him look honed for the battlefield. She supposed he was—his title gave away as much. Her cheeks flushed, and she had to avert her gaze from the stunning fae, mentally scolding herself for reacting to his presence. He was just another highly positioned court member whose mind she would have to riffle through.
Reylan didn’t look to anyone else but the king and offered a customary bow to the prince and the ward at his sides. It made her uneasy he’d found her eye among the other court members, offering no one else even a flicker of attention. It would have shaken her, but she remembered it was most likely her rounded ears and human scent that caught his curiosity, and she relaxed.
A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 12
