Page 34 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

Vale took the glass she offered, swirling it. Ice clinked. He took a sip, licking the amber liquor from his lips. Taunting.

"Sit on my lap," he suddenly commanded.

"Must I?" Her chest flared with a sharp wave of pain, and she held her hand against it with a wince.

He arched a brow as if that were answer enough.

Walking closer to him, she bit back a sound of protest when he took her wrist and used it to pull her onto him.

Crackling embers warmed against her flushed skin, mingling with the scent of crisp ice that clung to everything in the room.

It felt like coming home to a place that was only in her wildest, most foolish dreams, curling up by a fire after being outside in the cold.

Like a wave of frigid water rushing over her, Luella realized, for what may have been the first time, that the call between them, the thing between them, was immutable.

For her to feel such a pull to her enemies, there must be something more at play than them, alone. The Fates. But perhaps…

Playful stardust danced along the edges of her memory, beckoning her.

What if something more than the mere Fates were to blame for them being Vincire?

Vale’s hands curled around her waist, tugging her back against his chest. His thighs were hard and warm under her, and his breath fluttered the hair at her nape.

"What thoughts plague you?" The King brushed a hand down her shoulder, skimming along the outside and following the line to her elbow before he swept a finger over the crook of her arm, tracing the faint lines of her veins.

"You," spilled from her lips before she could stop it.

Vale’s hands tightened imperceptibly on her waist—she wanted him to hold her harder.

"You surprise me, Luella."

She wanted to ask how, in what way. How could someone as simple and naive as she surprise an experienced male like the King?

But the chance was robbed from her when her stomach let out a low growl.

He huffed a laugh behind her, chest shaking slightly where she was pressed so close against him.

From the side of the dais, Bastian appeared. He took one look at her nestled upon Vale’s lap and poked his tongue in his cheek, elegant features souring.

"You called," the vampire announced.

Luella’s head turned to regard the pair. "How?"

A red-tinted gaze fell to her lips as Bastian simply said, "Mind magic."

Right.

Did they speak to each other often in the privacy of their minds?

These males—her captors and Vincire—were as enigmatic as the shadows of night, the secrets of the universe. She couldn’t even begin to speculate about everything they were keeping from her, still.

She felt as in the dark as ever, if not more so.

"My Chosen needs some food, and I am a bit occupied." The King rubbed a firm palm over her thigh.

Fangs flashed, Bastian gritting out, "I am not your servant, Vale."

"Careful," said the King. "Remember to whom you speak."

"Apologies." Bastian inclined his head. She would have assumed the act to be in gracious deference, if not for the way his jaw hardened, the glint to his eyes, and the slightest downturned lilt to his sensuous mouth. "My King. I will go fetch you and your Chosen sustenance."

Luella caught Az’s amber eyes where he stood by the steps of the dais, and they both stared after the vampire long after he left.

Contention—the barest hint that rose to the surface on the rarest of occasions.

All the while, her mind worked; how could she use this for her own gain?

The eyes of the revelers burned against her skin.

She could feel their hungry stares against her pale arms, the Binding mark on her tattoo the most blatant of brands, and the dragon shifter behind her with a possessive grip on her waist and his serpentine gaze that warned away those who dared to let their eyes linger for too long.

She was a thing , no longer a fae, no longer the Princess of Solis.

Captive, Luna fae… and now the Chosen.

Embers crackled.

Vale’s hands turned firm on her body, mercilessly pushing her away from him.

She tumbled from his lap, catching herself just in time with her palms against the floor.

The neckline of her gown threatened to expose more than just a hint of her breasts, and she quickly righted it. Shame fell swiftly over her.

The sounds of the crowd turned delighted as they stared at the discarded Chosen at their King’s feet.

Whispers filled the room. She was stuck, unable to move as they all stared and stared.

"Look at her," a hushed murmur, punctuated with noises of agreement and loathsome amusement.

Twisted glee at the stolen Princess.

Sound roared in her ears, and she was only snapped out of it by the sight of her demonic protector, jaw hard and eyes narrowed as he stomped toward her, uncaring of Vale’s warning look at him encroaching upon the throne.

Az knelt before her. "Angel, stand. Please."

Her lip wobbled. Why must she always be so weak? She wanted to be strong and uncaring, but it was so hard.

Az gently pulled her to stand, and he let her go slowly, hands curling into fists by his thighs to stop himself from reaching out again.

She stood upon the dais before the courtiers, a mockery of the first night when she was marked as the Chosen.

Luella forced herself to be strong, a fallacy—but she was nothing if not a pretender.

"Kneel, Chosen. I grow tired of you. Take your rightful place beneath me." Vale projected his voice as if for the benefit of the crowd.

Her skin burned, mouth turning to ash.

Between the lines of his words: she was a burden.

She allowed everything she would never dare say to burn in her eyes, all the emotions, the shame, and the rage. All of it was clear as the crystalline snow that shone down from the skylight above.

Slowly, Luella fell to her knees, forcing herself to put on a graceful suit of armor, pretending she was some mighty queen filled with pride and not a dejected, ridiculed captive.

Neither a wrinkle nor a frown marred her face.

She turned the situation into her own, making it appear as if it was her choice to kneel, not something forced upon her.

The whispers were quelled by the faint scent of ash from Vale’s smoky exhale.

The revelers resumed their dancing, but tension filled the throne room.

The King tangled his hand in her hair, forcing her head to tip back. "You remember the dungeons, darling?" The name was acerbic on his lips, not like the sweet words of familiarity uttered by her demon. "Or do you need a reminder tonight?"

Sleet struck the glass dome above their heads. Would it shatter once more, not as part of their games but from the force of the elements? A part of her wished for it to, even if she was cut in the process.

Az bristled, fabric growing taut across his shoulders as his muscles strained.

No .

She couldn’t risk it. The King would easily throw Az back into the dungeons if she so much as made one misstep— the promise she had made to grant him a tryst was still unfulfilled. She didn’t like owing anyone anything and would have to remedy it soon.

"No." She made herself meek, something that came easily to her, chin dipping to her chest as she stared at the marble floors.

Vale’s fingers loosened in her hair before he pulled away from her. "I thought so, Chosen."

Bastian’s arrival saved her from the King’s irascibility.

He held a tray filled with an assortment of nuts and berries.

The vampire did not speak as he held out the tray to Vale, who took it wordlessly, lifting a plump berry and bringing it to his lips. A thin line of juice dribbled down the side of the berry and stuck to his tanned, jeweled fingers. He didn’t bother wiping it away.

When he was finished, Vale offered his fingers to her, pressing them against her closed mouth.

Her lip curled at his audacity.

"Suck," he instructed.

Luella turned her head away, but he only chased after her. Vale stared toward Az, then back to her, threats lingered between them—iron bars and dank air.

Her lips parted. Warm fingers pressed against her tongue, and she sucked the sweet juice off of his fingers, swallowing around them with a soft gag as he pressed further into her mouth.

Electricity crackled, the tension so thick it weighed against her.

She let her teeth bite softly down, not quite a bite but a tease of what she might do if he tested her further. A vitriolic smirk twisted his lips.

Vale pulled his fingers away from her, and she could breathe again.

"Berries taste better when they’re sweeter than this, don’t you agree?"

"I think bitterness is better suited for something so pretty," she whispered, staring up at him.

Crystalline shimmers clung to the ends of Vale’s lashes, glittering with every blink.

He continued on as if she had never spoken.

"That’s why the Solstice is so important.

Your pleasure will be sacrificed to let these berries flourish in the cold months.

For the days to come, you will be an icon, but I will not allow you to forget your place.

Never." Vale indulged in another berry, and she watched his mouth as he swallowed around the fruit.

He pulled away the bitten end from his lips and pressed it against hers, forcing her to finish his remnants.

She was owned by him, and everyone knew it.

The tangy, bitter bite of the fruit filled her mouth, and as she chewed, she could only hope for a saving grace, anything to stop what was coming—what she would be forced to do.