Page 49 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

The piano played along with the slow, melodic pace of her voice, her heart filling with the memories of her mother. “ Lives of thrall and hailing calls, urging to fight that which binds, us to a land that will never be home unless we search our like kind.

“Through moonlit trees and beachy seas, by twinkling star at night, we wander a-through strangers’ worlds, by vigorous will and might. Call thee who lost, on thee who fight, on thee who set worlds alight, and draw on the spirits of the fallen to set our worlds a-right.

“Of feigned descent shed elven blood, one guided by self and a heart of gold. We sing these mourning songs so our stories ought not untold. Rise shall be the favored, a champion for a world lost. One whose choices preferred the bold, free us for that of life cost.”

Elyse opened her eyes as the piano ceased, Brynden’s gaze fixed on her.

“You have the voice of a goddess, a blessing to my ears. Your existence is a gift that I am completely unworthy of.” He caressed her cheek.

“If you would have me as your husband, then I promise you freedom, a life of happiness, a life of laughter and adventure. I promise you will no longer just be alive, but live. If you will have me, Elyse, I will give you the world. Let me be a part of your future.”

“But you don’t even know me. You don’t—”

“I know everything I need to know,” he said as his powerful arms pulled her into his lap, his juniper and citrus scent engulfed her.

“But what if I’m too much to deal with and you—”

“I can handle anything you throw at me.” Brynden leaned towards her face.

Gods, this wasn’t up to her. “Brynden, you’re making a mistake.”

“Then let me make it because you would be the greatest mistake of my life.” Brynden kissed her, confident as he pulled Elyse tight to his body.

Elyse’s head spun, unsure what to make of the proposal.

Her father would decide, but gods… she wanted it.

If that day was a taste of what her life could be, then she would greedily drink every drop Brynden promised.

“You still need to ask my father,” she said, pulling back from his face. “That isn’t a decision I can make.”

“I’m asking if you want to be my wife. I have ways to ensure Gyrsh agrees if that’s what you wish. But it is up to you—it’s your decision,” he said while kissing along her jaw.

Her decision without her father. A life free of his lectures and punishment. A life of Brynden sweeping her off her feet, showing her everything she has missed. A life married to him , in Chorys Dasi, living.

The answer was clear. “Yes,” Elyse whispered, her hand cupping his face.

His russet eyes glittered, smiling as she kissed him. Soft at first, as if she needed to hold herself back from him, but then she let go. Brynden would save her from Satiros, and she let go of any reservation she had, kissing him frantically as if stopping would make the proposal untrue.

He met her eagerness, kissing down Elyse’s jaw, then her neck with teeth grazing her skin. Arched against him, she let out a breath, shifting her back to his front. His mouth continued to her bare shoulders, her core heating as tension built.

“Is this okay?” he murmured into her skin, a hand at the tie of her corset. Through the slit of her skirt, she felt the other hand grasp her thigh.

“Yes,” she gasped, her blood like fire in her veins.

Brynden loosened the ties and the fabric fell, the afternoon light coloring her exposed skin golden.

His hands reached around her, the rough tips of his fingers tracing lines on her breasts as he continued to kiss her neck and shoulder.

“I want to give you every experience. I want to make you feel everything good in this world.” Elyse gasped as his fingers brushed over the tips.

“Please,” she moaned, arching into him again as pleasure shuddered through her body.

Brynden cradled her in his arms, holding her as he stood and crossed the room. With careful movements, he lowered her to the couch, laying himself on top.

Elyse’s hands hooked behind his head, pulling Brynden close.

The taste of wine was heavy on his lips, his hair like silk between her fingers.

Brynden drove his hips against her as the soft kisses traveled down her neck and onto her…

oh, gods. Elyse arched when he kissed her breast, his tongue flicking the tip.

A hand traveled up her skirt, fingers tracing up the inside of her thighs.

Chaos filled her. Thoughts disappeared and her hesitation gone, leaving heat flaring in her center and crackling under her skin. Each of Brynden’s movements set her alight, causing her to gasp and shudder.

His grazing hands ventured higher, toying with the edge of her undergarments as his free hand lifted her dress to her waist, leaving little to hide behind. Pleasure ripped through her core as he pressed against her, his fingers rubbing and teasing.

“Is this okay? You look terrified,” Brynden said, looking up with his liquid stare. He swallowed hard, breathing as heavy as her.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped.

A wicked smile came to his face as he gazed at her, his fingers slipping under the scrap of fabric remaining between them. She sighed a breathy moan as his fingers filled her, causing her back to arch again.

Soft lips brushed the inside of her thighs as his fingers moved, his thumb brushing the cluster of nerves outside.

Tension coiled tighter, almost too much for her.

When his fingers curled against her inner wall, her pleasure snapped with a cry, squeezing Brynden between her thighs.

Her hips bucked as it coursed from her center to her limbs in euphoric waves.

“You’re dripping for me, my goddess,” Brynden murmured against her skin as he peeled back the bit of fabric remaining. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”

Elyse whimpered as his lips moved up her thighs, Brynden’s kisses growing harder, less restrained. Hunger took over as his mouth claimed her, his tongue hot against her center. A strangled cry left her mouth once more, and Brynden pulled back, kissing around the sensitive area, teasing.

“Please,” she heard herself say, her voice far away.

A deep laugh emanated from him. “I love it when you beg.” The flick of his tongue sent a jolt through her, her legs quivering.

A knock at the door pulled Elyse out of it, her heart racing from the heat of the moment.

“We’re busy,” Brynden growled without lifting his mouth from her. Elyse glanced down to find Brynden’s gaze fixed on her.

The knocking came again.

“I said we’re—”

Sylas stood in the doorway, irritation lacing his features.

Elyse snapped her arms to her chest, thankful that Brynden blocked Sylas from seeing the rest of her.

The male looked at Brynden, then at Elyse. “Sauntyr arrived. So did Gyrsh. He’s asking where you two are at.”

Gyrsh. Her father.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, gods.” Elyse jerked away from Brynden. Memories of her father’s anger after the incident played in her mind. Her breathing turned ragged. At least the fight wasn’t her acting against his wishes.

But to be alone with Brynden in a room, unsupervised?

Elyse swore under her breath as she stood, turning away from Sylas so she could hide her chest. The dress dipped lower on her back as she shifted to pull it up with one hand.

Brynden’s hand stopped her, his grip firm. “That’s why your hip hurts.” His voice was a deadly calm, the malice in his tone clear without Elyse needing to turn around.

“Please, let go.”

Brynden pulled the dress lower, gasping as he took in her hip, side, and below. His breathing hitched as Sylas closed the door.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes. Brynden didn’t need to see that shame. Her father’s anger bruised into her skin.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to see!” Her anger lashed out as she jerked away from his grasp, pulling the dress up.

When Elyse turned to him, fully covered, his stare was icy, his jaw set. “No. Why is there a bruise from the top of your hip to down below your ass?” He stood from the couch, Sylas calling his name in warning. “Gyrsh? From him, right?”

Elyse froze, not letting her tears fall. She felt humiliated, holding her loosened dress around herself, answering questions she never wanted Brynden to ask.

“I know it was him.” Brynden’s voice cracked with emotion. “Why? And how?”

Elyse’s lips quivered, and she closed her eyes. “It was my fault you and Keyain fought. I embarrassed him. Not being ready, running from you. He learned every detail because people from court told him. It was my fault, he was—”

“No,” Brynden snapped. “Stop. There is no reason for it. None.” He paced before the couch, his breathing heavy.

“Brynden,” Sylas warned, trying to get his attention.

“It wasn’t your fault—you even tried to stop it.”

“Brynden,” Sylas warned again, walking towards them.

He ignored his friend. Brynden ceased pacing, tapping the tip of his boot against the floor, revealing a blade that popped out of the heal. “I’m going to kill him.” Elyse’s breath caught from both the surprising weapon and the imminent threat.

“Az!” Sylas yelled that time, tearing Brynden from his thoughts. “Get your shit together. You’re terrifying her.”

Brynden turned his gaze to Elyse, fear and anger lining his face with wide eyes. “But he can’t… he’s been doing this all along, hasn’t he?”

Elyse clutched her dress tighter to herself as Sylas approached, her breathing ragged. “Az?” she asked. “That’s twice today your friends have called you that.”

Sylas stepped closer, causing her to recoil. With his hands splayed in front of him, he said, “It’s a childhood nickname abbreviated. And please, let me help. Someone needs to tie your dress.” Gone was the irritation in his face from when he entered, replaced with softness, concern.

“Is that true, or are you lying like the smell thing?” Elyse asked, letting him approach.

Sylas stiffened at the comment, looking at Brynden, who was wide-eyed.