Page 27 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

TOUCH YOURSELF

LUELLA

T he throne room was glittering and gilded with ice, but Luella was not cold.

Her cheeks were warm. The perspiration on her skin made the thick fabric of her gown stick to her arms and back.

She ran her hand almost angrily over the bodice, wishing she could rip it off.

"I wouldn’t be opposed to that," Bastian whispered.

"Of course you wouldn’t." Luella rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, too preoccupied to pay much mind to the vampire at her side.

She was far too consumed by the sights in the wintry scape of the throne room.

And the King, who was staring at her from where he rested on his ice-tipped throne.

Jeweled fingers gripped the armrests, and his crown and his hair were the only two spots of gold on him—everything had been turned to blue.

His cape was crystalline, white interspersed with soft blues and incandescent opals, and the silken shirt underneath was laced with blue.

His breeches were white, and they seemed to shimmer under the enchanted candlelight.

Her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot as she remembered the way he had disrobed earlier. She had averted her gaze, but not before she had spied a trail of hair under his navel, leading …

"Gods, pet. Those are unbecoming thoughts for an heirus," Bastian teased.

Luella jerked her eyes away from the King, looking to the vampire who reclined with ease at her side. "From the way you behave, you would think stealing into my mind is the highlight of your day. But for a male as old as you, you must have other things that p-please you…"

Nothing pleases me as much as you, he whispered into her mind.

Her bravado was cut short by an unseemly snort. Large palms slapped down on her shoulders. "The little lamb has some bite."

She turned her head up and to the side, seeing white braids and icy eyes. The thick fingers gripping her shoulders grew tighter. She swallowed, recalling the way he had gripped her chest, expertly etching the line of the mark onto her flesh.

"T-Tharen," she managed.

The mage cocked his head to the side, plopping down on the spacious settee. "Is it possible for you to say my name without stammering like a babe who just learned how to speak?"

Her nose scrunched up in anger.

One day…

"Oh?" Bastian inquired, notching his chin on a fist as he regarded her with overt amusement. " One day , what?"

"Get out of my head," she said.

Bastian ran a finger along her shoulder in thought. "Do you like your gift?"

He was referring to the gown, suffocating as it was. After she had fled Vale’s bathing chambers, she had found Ina and Osa in his sitting room. The silent maid had delicately held a box wrapped with a white silken bow. She had offered it to Luella with an impish grin.

Luella knew where it came from without even having to ponder deeply about it.

Bastian.

She had run her fingers over the silken bow and remembered another time, silken ties on her wrists and sensual words whispered amid fear.

The true gift was not the dress. But the silks.

Smart, pet. Bastian danced his long, elegant fingertips over her collarbone, skimming over the dipping neckline of her gown. "But the dress is stunning on you. More of a gift for me, however."

It was a pretty gown, but she was far too overheated to enjoy its wintry elegance.

A thick material, deep blue, washed with lighter shades.

The waistline was trim, gathered at the waist, and hugging her slight curves to perfection.

The sleeves were snug, fitted to her arms down to her wrists, before stopping at her fingers at a sharp point.

For all the wintry appeal, the neckline was obscene.

It was cut so low she felt the need to constantly tug it up in an attempt to cover her chest.

She knew the reasoning behind it—not to bare her skin, but to reveal the tattoo from the Binding ceremony: the King’s mark of ownership on her.

"I thought your gifts have been an attempt to earn my forgiveness, but being the thief of my thoughts is not the way," Luella said.

Tharen gestured rudely for a passing servant, grabbing an unlit cigar from the silver tray.

Fire sparked at his fingertips, and he stuck the cigar in his mouth, lips puckering around the lit end as he sucked before pulling it away and letting his head thunk against the back of the settee. Smoke billowed from his mouth.

Bastian stopped the servant before he could flee, plucking two glasses from the tray.

He pressed one into Luella’s hands. "For you.

Sweet wine for the sweet Princess." As he took a sip, he watched her over the lip of the glass.

When she made no move to drink, he sighed and placed his glass on the table before them, reaching out and tapping the tip of her nose.

His eyes seemed to glow red, and his cold breath chilled her flushed skin.

She bit back the sigh that threatened to fall from her lips.

With hesitancy, she brought the glass to her lips, letting the cold liquid soothe the burn of her skin, mingling with the vampire’s chill that threatened to pull her under icy waters.

Absentmindedly, Luella swirled the glass, staring out at the icy revelers and their icier ruler.

The King attracted the attention of everyone, not just her. Heads turned toward him as if directed by a string. Luella was called by something grander—a thread in her soul urged her to him.

She took another sip of her wine.

"Is it good?" Bastian asked.

"It’s sweet. Fruity," she remarked softly.

"As sweet as forgiveness?"

Luella set her drink on the table. She crossed her legs, toes scrunching in her blue slippers as she held back a wince. The glass from the broken vial had cut her heels, and she was not afforded a bandage, only the thin slippers that rubbed against her wounds; she was grateful to be off her feet.

"No wine is that sweet," she said.

"I can think of something sweeter." Tharen suddenly shifted closer to her, making her dip to the side. She braced a hand under her to stop herself from tumbling into his lap. The mage mumbled around his cigar, "You."

Affronted, she pulled back, only to have her other side caged in by Bastian.

"I am not s-sweet." Her words turned to a stutter when Tharen pressed his palm against her cheek, lifting her face to his. His eyes matched the room, and swirls of blue fell from the chandelier, making his white hair look to be dusted with snow. "Not anymore… Maybe I was once."

"I bet I could make you sweet," Tharen said.

"I will never be sweet for you. You’ve turned me bitter.

" Luella made her voice firm to convey her anger.

From across his shoulder, she saw the revelers, a few suddenly pointing up toward the skylight—which had been fixed after the Choosing ceremony—and gasping with awe.

She craned her head to see what all the fuss was about, but Bastian gripped her nape and forced her to still. "What are they looking at?"

Tharen hummed, eyes glinting. "Your skin is like ice."

Was he trying to distract her?

"Well, I don’t feel cold." She shrugged his hand off.

"Do I make you feel hot, lamb?" Tharen grinned around the tip of his cigar.

"Certainly not!" she declared, all while trying not to flush from his proximity, from the scent of freshly fallen snow that melted against her hot skin .

She felt Bastian’s answering laugh from how closely he was pressed to her side.

Tharen pulled the cigar away from his mouth and held it out to her, pressing the saliva-slick tip against her bottom lip. Her lips pinched close together, not allowing him entry.

Bastian tutted under his breath and reached around her to press his thumb firmly to her lower lip, forcing it out from where it was caught between her teeth. "Open for him, pet."

Luella’s lips popped open, and she watched, enraptured and nearly going cross-eyed as Tharen fit the end of the cigar between her lips.

"Now close," Bastian murmured.

Her mouth closed around the cigar. It was bitter but tasted slightly of berries and musk—she wondered if that was Tharen she was tasting.

Tharen met Bastian’s eyes over her shoulder. "She can be sweet when she wants to be." He leaned down and put his face right before hers. "Inhale."

She thought Vale was the one who held her will in his grip. So why was she so desperate to obey the orders of these two males?

Because you want to please us as much as we want to please you. Bastian’s voice was a sultry murmur.

You want to please me? You go about it in strange ways, she replied, taking a soft inhale of the cigar.

And immediately choked on the cloying smoke that filled her mouth.

Luella coughed roughly, lips pursing as she nearly spat out the cigar.

Tharen held the end between his pointer finger and thumb, forcing her to keep it in her mouth.

Only when she took a full inhale, lungs full of thick, heady smoke, did he release it and tug it away from her lips.

A string of her saliva connected the end to her mouth.

"Blow," the mage ordered with a half-grin—his tone spoke of dirty, sinful acts.

Her lips parted as she blew out the smoke, a tiny puff of air that turned to a pretty, lavender-tinted smoke ring before her face, clouding the air between them and turning the trio into a sultry, smoky visage.

Tharen waved the smoke away. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were practiced in blowing…" Bastian reached across Luella and slapped the mage’s shoulder. "Smoke," Tharen added languidly. "Practiced in blowing smoke."

Her brows furrowed. She knew there was something lecherous in his words, but she was not versed in the art of bedroom activities to know his true meaning.

The smoke lingered on her lips and filled her mouth with a tartness, mingling with the wine, making her head fuzzy.

Rich berries, tangy and ripe… "Rys?"

Tharen inclined his head, wrapping his lips around the end of the cigar. She tried not to notice how she had just had that in her mouth. A stolen joining of their lips.