Page 85 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

LESSONS TO PLEASE

LUELLA

L uella’s palm tingled with the urge to slap the vampire before her.

He had ordered her to cause a scene, whispering into her mind that she must do something to make Vale angry.

And now, the King’s anger was upon her.

"Princess Luella." Smoke leaked from Vale’s nostrils as he stared at her.

Bastian’s hands tightened on her.

The doors to Bastian’s room banged open, making her jump and revealing Az, Graves, and Tharen. The mage wore a smug smirk as he stared at her, and she looked away, touching her throat with quiet anger.

"Let her speak," the demon seethed. "She can’t talk because of your order."

A pause.

"You may speak," Vale said.

The invisible weight on her tongue disappeared, and words spilled free. "Are you g-going to punish me?" she stammered.

The King huffed out grey smoke.

"Calm yourself, Vale," Bastian urged. He turned to her and held her shoulders. "You as well, pet. You cannot allow yourself to get worked up."

"B-but—" A sob bubbled up inside her. Chest cracking, aching. It was all growing to be too much for her to take.

It was Graves who took her, then. The leather of his gloves warmed her hands as he forced her to focus on him. "Eyes on me."

She watched the rise and fall of his chest, making her breaths match as she stared deep into his eyes, until the humming ache inside her fizzled away. Each exhale was shaky, but her power no longer clawed beneath her skin.

Their voices permeated the daze.

"We must hurry. You cannot be gone for long, Vale," Bastian warned.

Vale’s crown glinted as he turned to her. "Do you know what is in store for you tonight?"

Luella’s chin dipped with a shaky nod.

"Then you know Tharen must stay here." Vale waved a hand to the mage, who stepped away from his spot near the wall with a lecherous look in his icy eyes. "He will stay with you and Bastian. He will not be allowed to touch you."

The words did nothing to soothe her; she only grew more afraid.

Vale and Graves started for the door, but Az stayed. His shoulders were bunched up, tense—he didn’t want to go. "Lu, I’ll be in your room… after."

She swallowed. "Okay."

The door snicked shut behind the three of them, and she was alone with Bastian and Tharen.

She took in the room around her. A dark canopy concealed most of Bastian’s bed, revealing a hint of red silk. Her eyes fell on a white sheet draped over a rod in the middle of the room. Flickering candlelight cast the space in warm amber, making shadows dance across the sheet.

Her stomach clenched, a wave of nausea rising in her throat.

"Bastian," she implored. "Bastian, tell me it isn’t true. Tell me."

Regret lined his features. "It is true. Winter Solstice custom dictates the Advisor as a…

teacher for the Chosen. Tonight and tomorrow, we will meet here, in my room, for your lessons.

Usually done in private but"—he inclined his head to Tharen with a short, forced laugh—"as you can see, tradition is not so easily fo llowed by him.

" He was trying to ease the tension in her shoulders, but it wasn’t working.

"I will… I will have to touch you?" She could barely get the words out.

" No ," Bastian said emphatically. "No." He pointed to the white sheet fluttering in the middle of the room. "I will sit on one side, and you on the other. To maintain your innocence."

Tharen snorted. "What about your innocence?"

It was the first he had spoken. Luella wondered what he thought of this. "Where will y-you be?" she asked the mage, unable to meet his eyes.

"I’ll be watching." Tharen pointed to an armchair in the corner. "We don’t know how close I need to be to you, but when you feel desire, my presence might keep you from vanishing. But at least, if you do, I will be here to catch you."

Every part of her was lit with fire, crackling, and growing hotter. A tremulous exhale passed her lips, and Bastian’s reddened eyes dipped to her mouth.

Her gaze found his bedside table, dark oak stacked with many novels, one laid face-down as if to mark his place.

A brass hookah rested near a few glass bottles filled with thick, red liquid—blood, she realized—the corks brushed petals of red roses that decorated a thin glass vase.

The floor was marble, but many plush black rugs coated the surface.

She itched to sink her bare feet into the softness.

"Go ahead," said Bastian.

She startled and looked to him, not having realized she had spaced out, taking in his room—while he and Tharen had been taking her in.

"What?" she whispered.

He nodded toward her feet, her slippers poking out of the hem of her white gown. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, pet, take it off."

She blushed, his words sounding much more sinful aloud.

Luella looked to Tharen as if for instruction, and the mage held up a hand. "Don’t look at me." He bared his teeth. "I’m only here because I have to be. Pretend I’m not." He settled back into the armchair, the high back of the leather wrapping around him as he rested a crooked leg over his knee.

How could she pretend he wasn’t in the room when she felt his attention so acutely?

Her hands fumbled before her nervously, and Tharen tracked the motion like a predator. "Or not… I know I can be hard to ignore."

Bastian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Only your mouth. While you’re here, you’re quiet, Tharen."

Cautiously, she leaned down to remove her slippers, her white hair falling over her shoulder like a curtain as she peeked up at them from her bent position.

Tharen ran a hand over his jaw. "You can’t blame me for being curious. I’ve never seen the Advisor give a lesson before."

Blood drained from her face at the mage’s words. She finished tugging off her slippers, curling her toes in the plush rug as she stood.

"You’ve done this before," Luella realized aloud.

Thick emotion curdled in her gut like spoiled milk. How many have seen his rumpled sheets and dark canopy? How many have traced patterns in the fibers of his rugs with their steps?

Bastian’s stare pinned her to her spot. She watched as he situated a wooden stool on one side of the sheet and sat. She noticed an identical stool on the other side, closest to her. One of the vampire’s feet tapped on the leg of the stool as he watched her.

"Are you jealous?"

The golden flicker of the flames cast his body as an imposing shadow on the sheet.

She shook her head. "Of c-course not."

Don’t lie, he crooned in her mind. I’m inside you. I feel you. That simmering unease in your stomach—that’s jealousy, pet.

Her mouth went dry as he started to unbutton his overcoat, deft fingers removing it from his body as he threw it behind him to fall on the rug at his feet—leaving him in a tight, silken shirt.

"If you must know, you are the only Chosen I’ve ever allowed into my room.

" Bastian’s words made the unfounded anger inside her fizzle, and her feet carried her to the stool.

"I never find pleasure in teaching the Chosen.

It is expected of me." He gestured to the stool on the other side of the hanging sheet. "Tradition."

She perched on the edge, feeling the uncomfortable wood on her backside. The white sheet hung between them, candles flickering. She could no longer see him, but his silhouette was cast onto the sheet.

Tharen sat in the corner, out of sight. He could not see her, just the shadow of her body made by the sheet; and she could not see him.

She felt alone. Similar to being blindfolded. She found she liked it—the freedom of being unseen and unable to see.

Luella’s words were bolder. "What about Vale? How does he feel about the Solstice?"

She watched as the shadows on the white sheet shifted, an arm coming up as she envisioned Bastian running a hand through his silky hair. The line of his thighs was strong, shoulders firm. Her eyes dipped to the taper of his waist.

She wondered how she looked behind the sheet. Did the shadows convey her trepidation and… curiosity?

"Much the same, I imagine. The Solstice tradition started centuries ago to honor the gods. It is expected. And needed now more than ever, to grant normalcy." Bastian huffed. "I have a feeling we will not be afforded such indulgences in time to come."

Her feet dangled over the ground, unable to touch from the height of the stool. "You mean… he does not enjoy it ?"

Bastian laughed. The sound made goosebumps skitter across her flesh.

"Well, it would be impossible not to enjoy fucking someone, but it is his duty, nothing more." His words left nothing to the imagination, even to someone as naive as her. "But not with you. You, pet, are much more than a duty. And I can promise you, he and I both will enjoy what we will do to you."

Her temperature rose, matching the crackling heat of the flames that danced along the wick of the candles. "Oh," she managed.

Do to me.

"I thought"—she swallowed—"I was to remain untouched for t-the King…"

"That is what this is for," Bastian muttered.

A shadowed finger pressed against the sheet, making it flutter.

She wanted to rip it away and see his face; wrap herself up in it and hide.

"To preserve your modesty. Tonight, you can remain clothed, but tomorrow, for your final lesson, you will be required to disrobe to your underclothing.

" A pause. "I’m sure your maids supplied you with sufficient garments. "

Her fingers bunched up the skirts of her gown. She could feel the lace under her dress, constricting, brushing against her hardened nipples with every shaky breath.

"But if you will not see me, why must I wear those t-things?" Even the privacy of the sheet could not help the quiver in her voice.

"That will be the first part of your lessons, pet. Pleasure is not just about pleasing others, but also finding pleasure in yourself." Bastian’s voice dropped to a whisper. "There is power in pleasure."