Page 16 of A King’s Trust (Heart-Mage Trilogy #1)

16

THE HONEYCOMB

N ews of their engagement spread mouth to ear across Leau faster than the prince and duchess could walk, so it was no surprise Elias already knew by the time they’d reached the inn yard.

“Congratulations,” El said, not looking at either of them. “We’ve got our newest guard—” He nodded at Aloise, rosy-cheeked and proud with her bow in hand. “—so we can be on the road to the capital first thing tomorrow. In the meanwhile, I recommend you both go see Herb and send news of the engagement to as many Houses as he has pigeons.”

Penny frowned at Elias, pomegranate curiosity sharpening into something more acidic, closer to suspicion, as she studied him. Beau was too busy trying to bury the hollow ache in his belly at how unaffected El seemed to piece together why. “Oh, well done, Aloise. I didn’t know you were the guarding sort.” He smiled at her, and she grinned back. “I think we can wait to bring the news back with us, El, if we’re heading to the palace first thing—”

“No,” Penny interrupted, eyes on the guard, “he’s right. Things could move quickly while we’re gone, and I left a very different impression of you than I’ll return with. Better if we spread the news now. In fact—Beau, I know this is sudden, but would you mind terribly if we had a bell-and-well ceremony here? Tonight? And sent news of a marriage, not just an engagement?”

Beau saw Elias’s slight eye-widening of alarm and felt a shadow of it, though he didn’t understand it. “ Tonight ? That’s, um…I’m not opposed, but is there a reason for the haste?”

“Engagements can be made and broken. I’d like there to be no doubt the Penamours are behind the rightful king, should…anything…happen before we get back.”

“Should my father die,” Beau clarified flatly.

She gave him a pained nod. “Yes. I’m afraid, given the state we left things in, that others might proceed differently if I communicate anything less permanent than marriage.”

Beau scrubbed at his forehead with one hand. “Is there a plan in motion to unseat me?”

“Not necessarily in motion , but—” Penny began, just as Elias said, “Almost certainly.” They exchanged a glance, and each seemed to get a great deal more out of the glance than Beau did, watching.

“Well, fuck. I guess we get married tonight, then.” Beau turned to inform Ma, who’d rally Leau into action, but then paused. “Wait— will your marrying me be enough to stop whatever’s cooking? Because if not, if whoever’s planning to—”

“Courdur,” Penny and Elias said simultaneously.

Beau stared at them a moment before continuing, “If Courdur moves forward with, I assume, killing me and taking the throne, he’ll kill you, too. You’d be tying yourself into my fate. Seems risky.”

The duchess frowned. “Are you saying we shouldn’t marry?”

“I’m saying you should think about whether it’s worth it for you to take on that risk,” Beau said, frowning.

“Oh, you—” Her hand pressed to her chest and she tilted her head to the side, eyes flicking over Beau. The fondness that came through the ring nearly choked him with its warm bread taste. “You are actually as sweet as you seem, aren’t you?”

“What?” Beau asked.

“Yes, he is,” Elias said sharply, “and don’t listen to him. You made this problem, Duchess. You fix it.”

Penny crossed her arms, raising a wry eyebrow at Elias. “Not even pretending you’re just a guard anymore, hmm?”

Glancing at Aloise, Jude, and Nilah, the only other people in the yard, El shrugged. “No idiots here, and we’re short on time.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “If you’ll point me toward the pigeon-keeper, I’ll send the announcements. Beau, come by once you’ve talked to Mistress Corlia and Uriel, and you can see them before I send them.” The duchess squeezed his arm gently, and he had a sudden rush of realization that she was his fiancée . So strange, so exciting, so overwhelmingly fast .

He was watching her walk away when Elias poked him hard in the side. “Go talk to Ma. I’ve got to get your flight in order and tell Uriel what to expect.”

Beau caught El’s wrist before he could escape. “El…”

“ Rei kyriv ,” Elias warned. “That was it. No more discussion.”

The prince’s mouth closed with a click of teeth. He inhaled sharply through his nose, then nodded, trying not to look like that was the most devastating thing Elias could’ve said. “Right.”

Stiffly, Elias said, “I wish you’d taken the ring off, but you said exactly what you should’ve said this morning when Duchess asked you about it, so…good job.”

Beau’s head came up, surprised. “How the fuck do you know?”

Scrunching his mouth to one side, the guard bent and pulled the Perception Stone from a clever pocket in the side of his boot, cut open on the inside so the stone could touch his skin. He lifted it between his first two fingers. “Bunny’s house isn’t quite far enough away to keep me from hearing, with this.”

Beau’s mouth fell open. He watched the flash of the stone in the sunlight and blinked stupidly, thinking of all the many, many times Elias had seemed to know things long before they happened. He’d heard them coming. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Oh, not you accusing me of theft too,” Elias joked quietly.

“To be fair…” Beau drawled, and Elias nodded, glancing away.

“Yes, I earned that. It seemed prudent to keep them safe, when we didn’t know why all the others disappeared. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Beau watched the other guards chat on the far side of the yard, relaxed and smiling now that they were all trusted again. He drummed his fingers against his hollow belly. “Were you ever going to tell me, if Penny hadn’t forced your hand?”

“Yes,” Elias said, then winced. “If…we ever had need of the artifacts.”

“So no.” Beau traced the line of Elias’s profile with his eyes, then turned back to other guards. “Why don’t you trust me, El?”

“I do trust you!”

“Just not with the truth. About anything.” He raised his hand to forestall whatever non-answer Elias was about to give. “But rei kyriv , right? The time for asking questions and getting any sort of honest answers has passed.”

M a screamed in excitement for three minutes straight before enlisting all of Leau to prepare for the evening’s festivities, though Beau told her repeatedly they needed nothing beyond the well that had stood on Leau for generations and the inn’s usual fare.

While a flustered Uriel, who couldn’t imagine a wedding with little enough pomp that a few hours’ notice would suffice, tried to secure worthy clothing, Penny was swept away to learn the wedding customs of Leau, and the rest of the island abandoned work to string up flower garlands, put candles and lanterns on doorsteps, and heap food onto Ma’s prep counters.

Herb, the pigeon-keeper, a tiny, ancient man who seemed in awe of the duchess, brought an armload of wafer-thin scraps of pa per for Beau to look over as Uriel combed his hair. The prince picked through them, scribbling a signature across any written by “him” and dropping the rest into a pile as he scanned them. They were all close to the same, and he trusted Penny to speak to nobles more than he trusted himself.

“Looks good, Herb,” he said, handing the heap off.

Penny’s ring pulsed with excitement and rosemary nerves.

Elias came in only once, meeting Beau’s eyes in the mirror as he plucked the Perception Stone out of his boot and tucked it into the drawer of Beau’s bedside table. Then he nodded at Beau and disappeared. I’m giving you your privacy , the gesture said. Beau ached.

He wanted to be just happy, but how could he be just anything? He was engaged and he’d be king, or maybe not because maybe Courdur was already moving against him, and maybe Penamour marrying him would stop that and maybe it wouldn’t and she’d die too. He was in love with Elias and Elias loved him back, only maybe not because how could anyone who loved anyone be happy with just one night and moving on?

He was a tangle, unsortable, and instead of dealing with any of it, Beau dissociated as Uriel primped and prodded him, letting the emotions swirl around him to be viewed through frosted glass.

Laughter and cheers rocked the inn when Penny emerged, as people encouraged her and called out suggestions of flowers to find. Once she was out of sight, Ma opened Beau’s door.

“Are you ready?” she asked, the apples of her cheeks red from smiling. Beau nodded and kissed her temple, letting her wrap her arms around him. “Know what flowers you’ll pick? Something beautiful, I’m sure. Graceful. Queenly.”

“I have some ideas.” He looped his arm through Ma’s and led a small, informal procession out of the inn. People chatted and speculated as some raced ahead toward the well and others gathered neighbors coming in on boats who hadn’t heard the news. Isle folk surrounded him, but except for the occasional congratulations, no one spoke to him.

Ma kept a comforting grip on his arm as he searched for his flower. Typically, they were everywhere, invasive and pervasive, but he reached the circle of cobbles around the well without finding one.

He spotted what he was looking for as Ma gave him a kiss and melted into the crowd, and Penny reached the well’s small courtyard. In the setting sun, she was radiant, glowing golden like a goddess, hair pinned up in curls around a flower crown in pinks and oranges and yellows and creams. She held a bundle of heather in her hands. Unbidden, Beau’s fingers ran over her shoulders, left bare by the gown she’d worn. “You look beautiful,” he breathed.

Her smile lit the courtyard. “Oh,” she laughed breathily, “let’s walk away and do that again; that felt good.” He felt his own delight bounced back from her along the ring.

Penny reached up and brushed her fingertips against his cheekbone, her thumb against the corner of his mouth like she was teasing out a smile. Her eyes softened when they met his. “You don’t always have to borrow happiness, do you?” she muttered. Delicious emotions flooded him, so many and so strong he had to close his eyes and turn his face up to the sky to absorb them. His reaction sparked fresh joy from her, and he chuckled.

“Careful. People are going to think I’m drunk,” he teased. He felt drunk, tipsy and giddy from the continuous feed of orange and lemon and strawberry, all soaked in syrupy happiness. Seizing her hand, he spun her around, letting her skirt swirl out around her as she laughed, and they made their way to the well.

“Where are your flowers?” she asked, waving her heather.

Beau held up a finger, then bent to the base of the well, where a spiky milk thistle grew up from a crack in the stone, its starburst purple head a bright spot of color. Reaching carefully through the prickly leaves, he grabbed the stem, hissing when a thorn cut into his thumb, and snapped it off. He held it up, grinning at Penny, and she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Did you just wait to see what flowering weed was growing at the well?” she asked.

Beau shook his head, slightly affronted. “No. This was the only place I saw any thistles.”

Her mouth shaped a question, but Ma loudly called for all the gathered isle folk to be quiet, and he and Penny looked up to find hundreds of people had circled the well’s courtyard to witness. Beau called out, “I intend to marry this woman. Does anyone object?”

“Aye, if you take that beautiful lady away from here, I’ll be heartbroken,” Adrien shouted, and he and Nicolas elbowed each other as everyone laughed.

Beau chuckled too, but he drew his knife and pointed it steadily at Adrien. “You want to challenge me about it?”

Adrien raised his hands, then bowed in acquiescence and said, “I wouldn’t know how to keep a lady so fine, Crowregard. Congratulations to you both.”

Resheathing, Beau called, “Anyone else?” When the crowd answered with cries of congratulations—and impatient requests that they get on with it so the dancing could begin—Beau met the duchess’s eyes and gestured toward the well. “Ladies first.”

Penny nodded, a thin thread of nervousness feeding through the ring. She held her heather out over the lip of the well and said, “I’m not sure what they mean out here, but where I come from, heather is for peace and protection. I don’t expect our lives will be easy, Beauregard, but I know we both want peace. We want to protect our people. And I think we can, together.”

Beau was so enamored with her in that moment. That was exactly what he wanted. He nodded, and she smiled, releasing the flowers into the murky depths of the well. Then her smile sharpened, grew secretive. “I also…” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a single hollyhock flower, its thin petals somewhat crumpled. “...perhaps more selfishly, want this.”

The prince laughed, and he wasn’t sure whether the surge of spicy-sweet started with her or with him. As the gathered crowd chuckled appreciatively, she flicked it into the well and folded her hands at her waist, looking deceptively prim for how heated their bond through the ring was growing. Beau cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the thistle, the sharp shock of pain clearing his mind so he didn’t start panting in front of all these people.

“I…” He held up the flower. “People don’t usually choose thistle for this. In fact, not many people will mess with thistle at all, because it hurts. It asks a lot.”

A bead of blood welled up from the spine that had stabbed through the pad of his thumb. “But if you’re willing to do the hard things and risk a few cuts, thistle rewards you with sustenance. Healing. A relief from pain. I want our marriage to be that: not always easy, as you said, but something we can draw from to heal whatever wounds the world gives us.

“And thistle, it’s a hardy son-of-a-bitch, as anyone who’s ever tried to get rid of the stuff can attest.” The gathered folk laughed. “May we be as stubborn about thriving where we choose to make our home, and as difficult to unseat.”

Penny breathed out a laugh of acknowledgement, bittersweet, and watched him toss the thistle into the well, standing on her tiptoes to peer down after it. Beau reached for her hands, then realized he was bleeding and fished a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “didn’t think about what the damn flower would do to the hand-holding part.” He pressed hard on his thumb until it stopped, then wiped his hands clean and pocketed the cloth again. “All right, where were we?”

“The vows, I believe,” she said, her mouth curving slightly, though he could feel her jubilance dancing across the ring. He liked that she didn’t show it all on her face, that some of her emotions were for only the two of them to know.

Dropping her voice, the duchess whispered, “I’m not sure I remember them all. I know I’m supposed to go first, but—?”

“We’ll say them together.” Gods, she was so exquisitely beautiful. He could stare at her for days. Her hands were small in his, but it seemed like the right fit. “Ready?” When she nodded, he spoke the vows, and she met him in unison.

“You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you all that is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am free. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter from my hand. Do not walk in front of me; I may not follow. Do not walk behind me; I may not lead. We’ll walk beside one another, my love, heart to heart and hand in hand, faithful friends, and each a comfort to the other’s soul.”

And such a comfort she was right then. Her warm-bread tenderness soothed every worry, banished any anxiety or doubt. He pushed across his gratitude as gently as he could, but Penny gasped anyway, tears springing up in her eyes, and he pulled back. He didn’t want to shout at her, he only wanted her to understand.

Maybe she did. Penny pulled him down until she could stand on her toes and kiss him as cheers and applause broke out from the witnesses. The moment their lips touched, he felt her ‘shout’ back at him: warmth and possessiveness and joy and impatience and lust . He couldn’t hold back the growl, could barely control his hands enough to make them grab her face and hold her to him instead of hoisting her up by the waist and wrapping her around himself.

“I don’t think they needed the hollyhock,” Maisie said dryly, and the assemblage laughed. “Ring the damn bell! My dancing feet are itching.”

Without pulling away from the duchess, Beau reached blindly, found the pull cord and yanked it, sending the bell clanging painfully loud. He and Penny both flinched and then laughed, but the spell wasn’t broken and the spicy-sweet onslaught didn’t slow. Beau clutched her tightly to him, one hand buried in her hair, the other spread over her back.

It was such a strange, unfamiliar delight to touch her, to kiss her. No one got to kiss a duchess; no one got to hold her waist in his hands; no one got to feel the slope of her neck in his palm. She felt almost fragile, though he knew she wasn’t. It felt like stealing, even though—and he shivered at the thought—she was his now. And he was hers.

Vaguely, he heard the crowd start to dissipate, heading to the Hops for the dancing or returning home. Traditionally, the couple led, but Beau didn’t mind giving them a head start.

Penny’s mouth on his was soft and sweet and eager, but inexpert. Which made sense, of course. She was a duchess—she hadn’t had his luxury of playing at romance. Beau reeled himself in as he recognized the herbal, anxious taste heavy on his tongue.

Panting, Penny backed out of reach. “You’re…intense,” she said with a breathless laugh.

Beau looked away from the swollen redness of her lips and the flush of her cheeks and the perfect curve of her neck and tried to catch his own breath. “Sorry. We can slow down. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. I know you haven’t, um… Why don’t we go dance?”

Hand in hand, they were welcomed in the inn with cheers and music and food. Drinks were pressed into their hands, kisses pressed to their cheeks. Celebration rolled out of the common room, flowing into the yard beyond, lit by candlelight and stars.

He danced with his wife—his wife . She was a dream to lead, anticipating his movements, shifting at his slightest pressure. Penny danced with her whole body, silky hair to the tips of her toes, and he was continually fascinated by the flash of her nose ring or the curve of a curl along her shoulder or the pressure of her hand on his chest before she whirled away from him again.

Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, she got used to being touched by him. She drew closer. She kissed him, and after five dances and two drinks, there was no acid burn of anxiety, no herbal nervousness. She nearly climbed him in her eagerness to reach his mouth, and when the room cheered her on, she grinned and bit his lip.

The sound Beau made was entirely sinful. He picked her up, shoving her skirt higher up her thighs so she could wrap her legs around his waist, and she obliged with a laugh. He kissed her like he needed her lips to live. Every movement of her body against his lit fires under his skin and sent him further into madness.

If he hadn’t torn open the thorn-stab on his thumb and left a bright streak of blood on her cheek, he might’ve had her there in the common room. But the dark, wet mark against her perfect skin was enough to slip a sliver of sanity into his head.

With a monumental effort, he released her, letting her slide down his body to settle on the ground. Bending to press his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Do you want to come to my room?” When her back stiffened, he said, “You don’t have to. We can stay and dance. Or you can go to your own room. You tell me , Pen.”

Penny clutched his shoulders, panting like she’d just run a mile. “Yours, please.” She beamed at him, squeezing.

“Okay.” He brushed a kiss to her temple and called, “My wife and I will see you in the morning. Good night! Enjoy the party.”

Everyone raised a glass or hand and shouted, and Beau scooped Penny up in his arms, holding her against his chest. Laughing, she clung to him as he let them into his room and gently set her back down on her feet.

He grinned crookedly, foolishly at her, marveling at the unbelievable good luck that had brought him here. “You’re my wife .”

She smiled, too. “And you’re my husband. How strange. The ceremony’s a little too short. No time to get accustomed to the idea.”

Shrugging, he laughed and bent close enough that she could kiss him if she wanted to. She did. “I suspect most people get used to it over an engagement longer than a couple hours.”

The duchess—his wife —glanced at the bed and the spicy-sweet of the ring-wash tinged with rosemary and acid again, nervous, bordering on fear. She spoke before he could.

“Please don’t borrow from me. Don’t lose your enthusiasm.” She laughed nervously. “I’m fine, I just haven’t done this before, and I know it always hurts the first time, and I’ve never been very good with pain. But I do want —”

“Shh,” Beau said, feeling her working herself up higher, acid building in the back of his throat from her. He ran his thumbs over her cheeks comfortingly. “Hold on. Who told you it always hurts? It doesn’t have to. We do not have to do anything at all tonight, Pen, or for the foreseeable future. But if you want to, I promise you, I can take my time so I don’t hurt you.”

Her eyes searched his, pomegranate spiking. “Can you?”

“Yes,” Beau said, nodding. He pulled her closer with gentle hands, reassuring motions. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll make you feel good.” He kissed her slowly, teasingly, feeling the ginger-mango heat rise. A smirk teased his lips up. “In fact, with this ring I’ve got powers beyond mortal ken to make you melt for me.”

She swallowed hard, eyes on his, but the herbal nervousness had almost vanished, replaced with melting want and a syrupy sort of happiness. Beau set his hands on her hips, drew them closer to him, and kissed her again. “Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me, and ‘I will serve you in the ways you require,’” She smiled at the vow repeated. “I’ll tell you what to do. All you need to do is tell me how much you enjoy it.”

She nodded, but when he lifted her against him, he felt her anxiety in her body, muscles stiff. That wouldn’t do at all. Mind racing, he guided her to the bed and sat her down, then stuck his head out the door. As soon as he was spotted, the common room lit with cheers and bawdy jokes, but he ignored that, meeting Nilah’s eyes. “Can you bring me Lady Penamour’s comb?”

A frown of confusion on her face, Nilah said, “Of course, Your Highness.” When she reappeared to put it in his hand, she said, “Her Grace doesn’t like other people to—”

“—to brush her hair because she has a sensitive scalp, I know,” Beau said. “Thank you.”

He shut the door again and saw a similar light of confusion and suspicion on his wife’s face, though the ring gave mostly amusement and curiosity. “You must be tired of all those pins,” he said. “I’m going to comb your hair out, and I will not hurt you. When I’m done, if you want me, I will touch you and kiss you and lick you until you beg me to make you mine in every possible way. And I will not hurt you.”

There—there it was. The rush of syrupy sweet and burning spice, the way her pupils ate up the warm brown of her eyes, the parting of her lips to take in a shallow breath. Exactly what he wanted. He sat beside her and gently teased out one pin and flower at a time, drawing them from her curls without pulling her hair. Painstaking work, but between each pin, he got the shivery joy of pressing a kiss to the back of her neck or drawing his tongue along the edge of her ear. And Penny’s spicy-sweet anticipation grew. Beau ached with want but didn’t hurry.

When a pile of pins and flowers lay on his bedside table and her hair hung loose around her shoulders, he slid his fingers along her scalp, gently massaging it until Penny slumped against him. “You are powerful and beautiful and brilliant and sexy,” he murmured. “And you have the future king of Granvallée wrapped around your little finger.” She hummed happily.

Beau picked up the comb, parted one lock out of the rest, and slowly detangled it from the end up. Intensely focused on the feel of her hair under his hands and the pool of emotions in his head, he paused at any catch, worked it out gently with his fingers, teased tangles free until a lock was perfectly smooth, then went to the next. Penny tilted her head back to watch his face.

“I always heard you had no patience,” she said. Pure pleasure danced over the ring, juicy pear dripping down his throat.

Beau smirked, not taking his eyes from his work. “I’m extremely patient, when I need to be. Meaningless court arguments? No. Paperwork? Not a chance. But to pleasure my wife—patient as a stone.” He finished a section of hair and gently carved out another.

The duchess’s hand reached behind her, slid up his thigh, and Beau held his breath. When her fingertips found his hardness, he paused his hands’ work and laughed heatedly. “Now, if you start that, I’m going to get less careful.”

More insistently, she ran her fingers along his length, fingernails scratching lightly against the fabric of his pants. With a shaky exhale, Beau resumed his task, frowning at her hair in concentration. It took ages to work his way through it all and run the comb through her hair smoothly, and Penny clearly felt the wait as well. As soon as he set the comb down, she spun and leapt onto his lap, kissing him until he could feel that joy-and-lust drunkenness rising.

Mouths hungry, hands fumbling at clothes, hearts pounding, they scrabbled and fought to undress each other. As soon as Beau’s shirt was gone, the spicy-sweet intensified painfully. Penny’s hands traced the lines of his tattoos, fingers dragging over the scars they only partially disguised. When her mouth found his neck, he clenched his fists on her dress until his knuckles creaked and the fabric strained; he had to keep control.

“Lay back.” He stripped her of her gown so her body was teasingly visible through the thin, soft fabric of the silk chemise, and he ran his hand down it from her throat to her belly button, watching it pull tight against every curve. “I want you. I want all of you.”

He took his time. He eased the chemise off her shoulder and kissed her there, bit her. He did the same on the other side. His fingers slid up under the bottom, reveling in the taut skin of her legs. A line of kisses traced down the column of her throat, along her collarbone. He hooked a finger in the neck of her chemise and drew it down until it revealed the swell of her breasts, the perfect peaks. When his tongue flicked over one, Penny let out a gratifyingly desperate moan.

“Beau, please .”

“Yes. Beg.” He returned to her breast, circling it with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth. Her hands tangled his hair, straining between drawing him away and pulling him closer.

Gentle. Slow. Intense. Unrelenting. His mouth and hands could not be hurried and could not be slowed and Penny writhed and mewled under him. Lower he went, lower, stripping her naked and moaning at the view. “I’m going to eat you alive, Penny. You’re too fucking delicious.” Hungrily, he licked up her thighs, met her lower lips with lips and teeth and tongue.

He had never, never felt anything like what she gave him through the ring: pleasure so pure and so searing it threatened to melt his bones, and he wasn’t even being touched. She was wet and sweet, and Beau ate ravenously.

“Open up for me, lovely,” Beau whispered, sliding a finger along her slit, gathering the slickness, tracing her opening. He moved slowly, coaxing, while his mouth found her clit and sucked gently. He closed his eyes to focus on the ring, searching for any sign of pain as he eased his finger in further. She whimpered, need pouring into his head, and his answering call rumbled in his throat. “That’s right. Let me in.”

“Beau, Beau —” Her hands were so tight on his hair, pulling him harder against her, desperate. He was happy to oblige, lashing his tongue against her harder, more steadily, while his finger gently pressed against every side of her, stretching her. Twice, he heard her sharp inhale at the same time a warning pulsed through the ring, and he eased back. He was in no rush; he’d happily grow old and die here between her legs.

When he could swirl his finger in her with no hint of warning pain, he sucked harder until she wailed, “ Beau ,” but eased off again before he brought her to the brink. Her desperate hands clawed into his scalp, his neck, his shoulders, but he also felt her drowning in a sea of pleasure and he wouldn’t cut it short.

“Another finger, you think?” he murmured. Her incoherent moan could’ve meant anything, but the ginger-chili-pepper rush said yes, yes, yes . She was so tight around his fingers, so hot, so drippingly wet. The pleasure reflected back from her brought him to the verge himself. “You’re doing so well, taking my fingers. You’re so close to taking what you really want.”

“ Now ,” Penny said through gritted teeth. “I want it now.”

Beau chuckled darkly, closed his mouth over her clit again, drove her incoherent once more. When he sat up, face and fingers dripping, he said, “I said you’d beg me to make you mine. That didn’t sound like begging.”

“Please,” she said with no hesitation, “ please , Beau.”

Normally, he’d take a partner to the finish before he entered, but he thought it’d be easier with her this hungry and willing. And besides, he couldn’t bear another moment of teasing. Wiping his face on his forearm, he stripped off his pants hastily and then slid his fingers back inside her while his other hand stroked over his length. “Are you sure? It’s going to stretch you much further than a couple of fingers. We can go to three first, before…”

Her eyes widened at the sight of him unclothed, and he felt, distantly, a thread of nervousness return. He pressed his thumb against her clit and she jerked, nerves vanishing. “How many times must I beg?” she growled.

His patience, strained to its limit, snapped. “That’ll suffice.” Crawling up her body, he kissed her as he aligned them. When his hand slid under her lower back to lift her to him, she moaned into his mouth in happy surprise. “Slow and easy. Open up for me.”

When the first inch of him slipped into her, their rings burned physically hot from the explosion between them, ricocheting, multiplying. He couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears but he could feel himself cry out, could feel the same from Penny in the vibration of her chest, the heat of her breath against his neck. If pain came through the ring, he never felt it in the torrent, and she never voiced it. Nothing, nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing could. He was losing his mind. He was losing control. He was losing his grip on the face of the earth, coming untethered, floating away.

Her teeth sank into his chest, sharp enough to ground him in his body, and he moved. It was the slightest movement, half an inch out, another inch in, but they gasped like they’d been struck, and his head crackled with blue-white lightning. Beau’s shudder carried him deeper into her, and he felt a catch that could’ve been pain, but Penny didn’t flinch and the ring didn’t pulse and then he was all the way inside her and pleasure had a new definition.

“Yes, Penny, yes . Gods, fuck, yes. You’re so perfect. You fit me so perfectly, fuck, yes— ”

She climbed; she peaked. Head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, face flushed and fingernails clawing at his back, Penny had never looked so beautiful. The rolling crush of her body around his drew a whimper of need from him. The white-hot maelstrom in his head, impossible to think through, was blindingly pleasurable. He was losing control again.

He scooped his hips, grinding inside her, and Penny’s cries reached a new pitch.

“Beau,” she sobbed, “It’s so—it’s so—”

“Yes.” He could barely form words, barely process what was happening, but he knew he wanted words from her. “Say my name. Tell me how it feels.”

“Like—” She moaned again, her body trembling around him. “Like I was made for you.”

Beau shuddered, feral longing seizing him, grinding him into her harder, faster. “I’m so close. You’re going to make me come. Your perfect, perfect body is going to—” He groaned. He could barely breathe. “Penny—”

She didn’t answer with words, and he hadn’t really asked the question, but he was so close, and speaking was so hard. He quaked under the waves of pleasure from her, from the ring, from his own body, from everywhere, all at once.

He gasped out, “May I…please…fill you?”

Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands pressed against his lower back, urging him deeper. “ Yes , Beau.”

Everything crashed into him at once, all the bliss and spice and joy and everything physical and everything mental and he was crushed by how good it was and he wanted to howl and a guttural, animal sound poured out him. And he finished, flooding his wife and shouting through the ring because nothing could possibly feel this good, but it did.

It took everything in him not to collapse on top of her, but he managed to ease himself out of her gently before he crumpled onto his side, the bed creaking under his slamming weight. For a minute at least, they gasped, their pleasure spiraling slowly down, giving them respite, at last, from the unbearable waves of satisfaction.

Penny set a hand on his chest, rolled onto her side, and kissed him. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said breathlessly, “but that seemed…better than average.”

Beau laughed, shakily at first, and gradually with more volume. He wrapped her up, snuggling her against his chest, pressing kisses to her hair between laughs. “Yes, Penny,” he said eventually, “that was better than average. That was…” He gasped out another laugh. “Understatement of a lifetime. You fit me perfectly. And the rings—I had no idea what a difference the rings would make. That was life-alteringly good. If I hadn’t already married you—hell, if I hated you, I’d be dragging you to the well right now.”

She blushed, but her smile was smug. When she shifted, a faint grimace flickered over her face. Beau looked her over quickly. “How are you feeling? I didn’t hurt you, did I? I know toward the end I sort of lost the plot.”

“Just a little sore. Beau, I…” She stared, mouth open, but didn’t finish the sentence.

“What?” Beau prompted, tapping the tip of his nose against hers. A wave of tenderness swept across to him through the ring.

“You’re so sweet. You’re kind. You’re just…good. How the hell did that happen?”

Beau laughed, incredulous. “What? I mean, thank you, but what do you mean?”

She said nothing, only cupped his cheek and kissed him, but the ring-wash swelled with protectiveness, worry, tenderness. He shifted to slide his arm under her head and hold her closer to his chest, and she tucked in against him, curling up under his chin. Her fingers traced one of the tattoo lines where it passed over a rib.

“Can I finally ask about these? Or are you still cagey about it? I don’t understand why you’d hide them when they’re so beautiful.”

Gentle waves lapped over his mind, cooling, reassuring. Curiosity in full force, of course, but also warmth and a lingering tendril of want. “It’s an extremely attractive story,” he said, dripping sarcasm. “I’m afraid telling it may plunge us into mindless lust again.”

“Tell me anything,” she said seriously, and Beau felt the protectiveness in it.

He sighed. “Short story: I wasn’t a happy kid, which you know. I don’t remember what started it, but I developed a bad habit of…cutting myself.” The protectiveness surged in a wave, a strange feeling coming so strong from someone half his size. “Started with my arms, but that got hard to hide, so I moved to my legs, and when that became inconvenient, my chest.”

Her finger ran lightly over one of the scars, a faint vertical line. Though everything about the situation was different, a hand discovering his scars by touch struck him with a memory of his brother punching him in the chest and being shocked and alarmed by the bleeding, not realizing he’d opened up rows of barely healed cuts. Of Char dragging him before their parents to tell them what he was doing, despite Beau’s pleading to keep it a secret. Of their father’s words—the last words he’d spoken before Beau ran to the isles the first time: Enough of this pathetic play for attention. Either put your blade away and stop this nonsense or cut deep enough to end it once and for all. I won’t have you embarrassing this family further.

Queasy pain rose up in his chest, tightness under his left collarbone. “It was nothing,” he said abruptly, shifting her hand away. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this. It was a stupid, attention-seeking habit for a dumbass kid too fragile to deal with the world.”

“Oh, no no no, we’re not going to talk about my husband that way,” Penny said, burrowing in tighter, pressing her hand flat against the largest stretch of scars. She kissed them lightly and began to push emotions through the ring: soothing, calming, cooling.

“How are you doing that?”

“I’m just pushing over what you usually reach through and dig for,” she said.

“I’m reaching through? I didn’t realize I could do that.”

She chuckled lightly. “Magic is always strange, but I think you have more Maurilel blood in you than most. This is the second artifact I’ve seen you bend beyond its prescribed use.”

“Does it bother you when I reach through? I can try to stop.”

“No,” she said, stroking his chest lightly, fingers bumping over the rows of scars. “It’s a relief most of the time. Your emotions are strong . Hard to manage. And I don’t know how you experience mine, but for me, it’s a very physical sensation. When you reach through and pull my calm or my happiness up to borrow it, you soothe both of us.” She hummed lightly under her breath, then said, “You told me about the scars, not the tattoos.”

“Ah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “El didn’t like me hurting myself, for obvious reasons.” An understatement: when Beau had healed enough from his near-death on the ship to pick up the habit again, Elias had been relatively new to his service. That hadn’t stopped the man from shouting at him and making every edged thing Beau owned disappear.

“The tattoos were something of a compromise. Tattoos hurt. They did the same thing for me that a knife would do, but with less chance of accidentally cutting too deep. They covered up the scars, and it sort of weaned me off the habit. But as you can imagine, that’s not something I want to explain to just anyone. So, I hide them.”

“Who did them?”

“There’s an artist on the next island over who did most of them. But, um…” A blush rose in Beau’s neck and cheeks. “...Elias did a few of them. This one here, and these.” The blush deepened as he realized she could feel the strange mix of hollow sadness and arousal and longing and dark pleasure from remembering El’s hands on him, the burning scratch of the needle—

“Oh,” Penny gasped, going red herself. “I didn’t realize you…you like pain.”

“Only in very, uh, specific, um—” Beau set his hand against his burning cheeks, mortified.

“I suppose I won’t apologize for biting you, then,” she said, smirking, and the heat in his face morphed into a different heat at the vicious gleam in her eye. “Can I ask you something?”

Beau chuckled, rubbing at his red face. “Is there any chance at all of stopping you?”

With a quick eye roll, she asked, “Where did you learn to do what you did? With me, I mean. You knew exactly what to do.”

“I’ve had a lot of sex. Do you really want to hear about it?” She shrugged delicately, but pomegranate raged through the ring. He laughed. “All right. Um, did you meet Maisie? She and I started sleeping together after the ship, when I healed up enough to dance. She was my first. Taught me a lot. When Léontine wanted someone to show her the ropes, as it were, she told Maiz, and Maiz came to me. She taught me how to make it easier, the first time.”

“She brought her friend for you to deflower?”

Beau cringed at the wording. “Ugh. Um, I guess. She said I was ‘eminently coachable’ and that Léontine deserved a ‘proper introduction,’ whatever that means. Maiz did almost the same for me, but in reverse when I told her I’m attracted to men but I’d never been with one. She found Jean and insisted we dance together until we decided we were attracted to each other.”

“You don’t sound as fond of him.”

“I don’t know him as well as I do Maiz and Leo. And I wasn’t particularly myself with him, either. He sails, so he’s in and out of Leau. We didn’t see each other more than three or four times a year.” He shrugged. “Plus, he and Elias never got along.”

Penny laughed. “I can’t imagine why not.”

“What, you think Jean was jealous of El?”

“I imagine they gave each other plenty to bristle about like a couple of toms.”

Beau sighed, eyes flicking over the empty room. “Elias doesn’t share.” He shook his head. “Not that—not that I wanted—he doesn’t want—he only wanted one night anyway—”

Penny chuckled low in her throat. “You don’t have to explain anything about it, Beau.” She pressed her lips against his chest and ran her hands down his body with slow, ticklish movements. Her spicy-sweet taste was mild but coming through loud, so he suspected she was pushing it at him to keep him from sinking into maudlin thoughts. “Would you tell me how to use my mouth on you, like you did on me?”

He immediately rose to the occasion. “I know what you’re doing, you minx. And yes, of course I’ll let you distract me and manipulate my emotions. Come here. Open your mouth.”