“You okay?” Kieran asked, eyeing me closely.
Nodding, I picked up the glass. “You sure about that?”
I sent him a look of warning. “Don’t you have something to do? Or someone?”
Kieran huffed out a low laugh. “I’m going to see if the others have arrived.” He stepped forward. “You staying here?”
“For a little while.” I wasn’t in the mood to return to the dorm, where I would lay in bed, damn near praying to sleeping gods that I could find rest.
“Expecting company tonight?” he asked as he moved to the door.
“No.” My gaze returned to the whiskey. Tension crept into the muscles of my neck. “Not tonight.”
“The Red Pearl is a strange place to spend one’s evening alone.”
“Is it? I imagine you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be here alone.” “As if you do?” he countered.
A tight smile twisted my lips, but I stopped as he reached the door. “Real quick—how is Setti?” I asked.
Kieran smiled. “Your horse is fine. Though I don’t think he’s all that pleased with the offerings of hay.”
I smiled at that. That horse was a picky bastard at times. I was surprised he hadn’t nipped at Kieran while he kept him stabled.
“Anything else?” he asked. “Goodbye, Kieran.”
The wolven let out a soft, knowing laugh as he slipped quietly from the room. Anyone else would’ve thought twice about that laugh, but I didn’t with Kieran.
And he was right.
The Red Pearl was a strange place to spend your time alone. These
rooms were used for the kinds of meetings you didn’t want others to know about. Sometimes, words were exchanged. Other times, a different type of communication happened, one with far less clothing that didn’t usually end with discussions of the likelihood of someone’s death. Then again, those
types of meetings had become few and far between, hadn’t they?
I finished off the whiskey, welcoming the burn as I tipped my head back against the settee. A heavy restlessness settled into my bones. I stared at the dark ceiling, wondering exactly when a few hours of mindless pleasure stopped having the desired effect of shutting down my mind.
Had it ever really worked, though? For longer than a handful of
seconds? I could occupy my hands and tongue and every other part of my body with soft curves and warm, hidden places, but my mind would always end up exactly where I sought to escape.
That damn cage with the unending hunger.
The feeling of being dead yet still breathing. As if everything that made life about more than just existing was still in that cage.
Even now, I could feel the cold, bruising hands and hear the taunting laughter as the Ascended slowly sliced away a part of who I was. And
Malik? He was likely experiencing everything I had and more, and it was all my fault.
I was the only reason the Blood Crown held him captive. The only reason Atlantia had gone long past the time to name a new King. If I hadn’t thought I could end the threat to the west on my own, he would be free.
Instead, he’d rescued me at the cost of his freedom.
When the Blood Queen held me, it had been for five decades. They’d had him twice that long, and I knew exactly what they were doing to him.
To my brother.
How could he even still be alive?
I stopped myself. Malik had to survive. He would. Because he was strong. I knew no one stronger, and I was so close to freeing him. I just needed—
The sound of footsteps stopping outside the door snapped my head up and my eyes open. The handle on the unlocked door started to turn.
I moved fast, placing the glass on the small table beside the settee and retreating to the shadows clinging to the wall. I curled my fingers around
the hilt of one of the short swords I’d left near the door. None of my men would dare to enter the room without knocking. Not even Kieran.
Apparently, someone had a desire to die tonight.
The door cracked open just enough for a body to slip through.
Immediately, curiosity washed away the tension creeping into my muscles as I watched the slight, hooded figure close the door. The cloak was familiar. I inhaled deeply as the intruder backed up, walking right past me. The cloak belonged to a maid I knew, but she—and it was definitely a she
—didn’t smell like Britta. Everyone had a unique scent, something
Atlantians and the wolven were sensitive to. Britta’s reminded me of rose and lavender, but the smell that teased me now was something else.
But who would be in her cloak and in this room? Annoyance flared as I watched her look around, but quick on the emotion’s heels was a looming restlessness. Britta or someone else, the unexpected intrusion at least offered entertainment. No matter how fleeting, it was still a reprieve from all the damn thoughts in my head.
From the memories.
From the…now.
Watching her, I let go of the sword. She started to turn, and I made my move. Even quieter than a wolven, I was on her before she even had a
chance to realize that someone was in the room with her.
Clamping an arm around her waist, I drew her back against me. I dipped my head as she stiffened and caught her scent again. It was fresh. Sweet.
“This,” I said, “is unexpected.”
And this didn’t feel like Britta, either.
The maid was of average height for a mortal, barely reaching my chin.
But the hip under my hand was fuller, and that scent… It reminded me of honeydew.
Then again, it wasn’t like I’d committed much about the maid to memory. The amount of whiskey I’d consumed when I met with her last probably hadn’t aided in that. “But it’s a welcome surprise.”
She spun toward me, her right hand lowering to the area of her thigh as she lifted her head and froze. The sharp breath she took was audible.
A long moment stretched as I tried to see within the darkness of the hood. Even with the thick shadows of the candlelit room, my vision surpassed that of a mortal’s; however, I couldn’t make out her features. But
I could feel the intensity of her stare, and as foggy as my memories were of the hours spent with Britta, I did not recall her keeping her hood up.
“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” I admitted, thinking of what Kieran would say if he returned. A half grin appeared on my lips when I heard another soft inhale. “It’s only been a few days, sweetling.”
Her cloaked body gave a little jerk, but she said nothing as she continued watching me from the depths of her hood.
“Did Pence tell you I was here?” I asked, referring to the guard Britta knew that I often worked with on the Rise.
A moment passed, and she shook her head. Britta wouldn’t have known what room I could be found in. Each time I was here, I requested a different one.
“Have you been watching for me, then? Following me?” I asked, tsking softly under my breath as annoyance flared once more. “We’ll have to talk about that, won’t we?” And we would because that could not happen again. But now…? She was here. The memories and the restlessness were at bay for the moment, and she…she smelled so different. Good. “But not tonight, it seems. You’re strangely quiet.”
Which was odd.
I did remember that Britta was the opposite of quiet. A chatterbox. Cute, if a bit overwhelming, especially as the bottle of whiskey had grown lighter.
This was an entirely different side to the maid. Perhaps she sought to be
more mysterious tonight. If so, I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“We don’t have to talk.” I reached for the hem of my tunic, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside.
She was incredibly still, but that fresh and sweet scent of hers heightened and became heavier, strengthening with her arousal. The
promise of a quiet, primal pleasure was a lure that drew me toward her. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re about tonight.” Gripping the
back of her hood, I folded my other arm around her waist, drawing her against me. She gasped, and I liked the breathy little sound. “But I’m willing to find out.”
I lifted her, and her hands—her gloved hands—landed on my shoulders.
The tremor I felt course through her heightened my senses. Everything about her felt different, and I was beginning to wonder exactly how much I’d drunk the last time I was with her as I took her to the bed, guiding us
down and laying her on her back. Sinking into her, I was suddenly caught off guard by the enticing mixture of hardness and softness beneath me.
That was another thing I didn’t remember.
I recalled Britta being slim, but there were curves here—lush ones I couldn’t wait to unwrap and explore.
And hell, as wrong as it was, a part of me was glad I’d been three sheets to the wind the last time I was with her. Because this…this felt new and not like a chore that was all about the end result. Those moments that washed away the memories. But already, I wasn’t thinking about those cold, bruising hands as I dipped my head, pouring my gratitude into the kiss, showing my thanks the only way I could.
The only way I knew how.
Her mouth was soft and sweet under mine, and when she gasped, I deepened the kiss as much as I could without revealing what I was, slipping between those parted lips the way I hoped I would later between her thighs. I flicked my tongue over hers, drawing the taste of her into my mouth. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she shuddered against me. And like lightning, it hit me then as the scent of her arousal rose, and I felt what could only be described as a tentative touch of her tongue against mine.
The body truly didn’t feel like what I remembered.
The taste on my tongue, and the sweet, fresh scent of honeydew wasn’t at all what I recalled.
The hesitancy of how she returned the kiss. There was nothing even remotely tentative about the way Britta kissed. That much, I did remember. She kissed like she was starving, from the moment our lips touched to the very second our mouths parted. The female under me kissed like…
Like someone who had far less experience than those I usually spent my time with.
Heart thumping heavily, I broke the kiss and lifted my head. “Who are you?”
There was no response. Irritation flared. Whatever game this girl was playing, I was done with it. I tugged back the hood, exposing her face—
Holy shit.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Shock hit me so hard I almost laughed, but no sound escaped as I stared down at her face—at what I could see of it, anyway. She wore a white mask, as many did in the Red Pearl, but I knew whose body cradled mine, whose taste still tingled on my lips. I just couldn’t believe it as my gaze tracked over the wide mask that covered her from cheek to brow.
It was impossible, but it was her.
I’d recognize the curve of that jaw and those lips—full, bow-shaped, the color of berries—anywhere. It was all that was ever visible of her. The gods knew I’d tried to catch a glimpse of what she looked like beneath that damn veil when I followed her and her Royal Guards through the gardens or the castle, or when I watched her with her Lady in Wait. I’d seen her smile a few times. I’d seen her lips move even less, but I knew that mouth.
It was who I’d just sat in this very room discussing. It was her.
The Maiden.
The Chosen.
The Queen’s favorite.
