Page 11 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

The late summer night was stiflingly hot, even for Ravenna.

There was little to do other than open the latch of her narrow window to coax in even the slightest breeze.

Laying on her cot with a damp cloth over her face in only her night shift and trying to move as little as possible was her best strategy.

She wanted desperately to fall asleep, for there was no chance of entertaining herself with embroidery or reading in this kind of heat, but such escape eluded her.

Is the herd all right? she asked Oberon, desperate for something to focus on other than how sweat slid down her temples and pooled between her breasts.

Quite so. It is pleasant outside of those musty rooms you two-leggeds insist upon. We found a lake nearby to soak in.

Ravenna groaned with jealousy. That sounds like perfection.

She could have stolen down to the baths, of course, but in the wake of Ulrich’s questioning, she didn’t dare. Especially since she hadn’t been summoned to another evening of talfon with King Vallek in over a fortnight.

Which was all right. Just fine. It wasn’t that she minded or missed him. Not at all .

It was just worrying, the coincidental timing.

So best to stay in her room and expose herself to as few risks as possible. No doubt the king would leave again soon, taking Ulrich with him, and they could all put these suspicions and questions of his future bride to bed.

Ravenna groaned again at brides and beds in the same thought.

The heat did nothing to help her constant lusting after Balmirra’s ruler.

She’d been told all her life what a blessing finding one’s azai was—how it didn’t happen for all fae.

Her mother and father had shared a uniquely beautiful love story, according to them and Allarion, although Ravenna had never wished to find a mate and relationship like her parents’.

Ravenna wasn’t soft and patient in the way Aine was; Ravenna was spiteful, prideful, and quick to temper.

She’d always tried to quell these traits, at least in front of her mother, and never relished the idea of having an azai who scolded her for it as her father did.

Something told her that Vallek wouldn’t mind her fire. Perhaps that was fantasy; perhaps he preferred soft, obedient partners. But this was Ravenna’s fantasy, and she based her guess on how he seemed to enjoy their exchange of wit over the game board.

That smug grin of his was always her undoing.

How it stretched between his sharp tusks, a complement to his brow arched just so and a twinkle of amusement in his intense, uncanny eyes.

The way he filled up his chair, limbs spread in a loose show of comfortable confidence, thick wrists laid on the table, big fingers playing with the gaming pieces.

How would those fingers feel on her skin?

Ravenna sucked in a needy breath and closed up her link to Oberon. He could batter through it if truly needed, but for now, he didn’t need to know just how much she missed her mate.

She blamed it on the heat, of course, as she gathered the hem of her thin nightgown to her waist. Her skin was supple and damp with sweat, and when she reached between her legs, she found her cunt already slick with want of him.

Damn it all, she cursed as her fingers began to move. She’d promised herself she’d stop doing this—at least to thoughts of him. Her need was always worse when he was home in Balmirra, knowing he was only a few corridors and staircases away.

Her fangs ached something fierce as her fingers deftly skated over her needy flesh. Sweat gathered behind her knees and under her breasts, but she couldn’t stop now. Overheated and agitated and bored, there was nothing for it than to give herself to her imagination.

He would lay her down on that great big bed of his, careful of her wings.

She’d fill her hands with the meaty muscle of his chest, digging her claws into the supple green skin.

He wouldn’t come down to her immediately, oh no, he enjoyed leaning over her, seeing her squirm with need of him too much.

Balanced on one arm, he used his other hand to gather her skirts and hike them high.

The whisper of fabric over her skin left her shuddering and gooseflesh in its wake.

He would rumble, pleased at the sight she made.

“Touch me,” she’d tell him, for she refused to beg. Yet.

“In good time,” he’d reply, those lapis-lazuli eyes dancing with heat and pleasure.

His big hands made gentle passes up her legs, feeling how her muscles jumped beneath her skin at his touch.

His nostrils flared, no doubt catching the thick scent of her arousal, of her need for him— thick fingers slid inside her, first one and then two—a big hand grabbed the back of her knee to spread her wide, wider than she’d ever been—her wings fluttered beneath her, a strange melody—azai —and he rumbled with pleasure.

“That’s it,” he’d say, “come for me.”

And Ravenna did. Her fingers worked frantically over her clitoris and cunt, stringing out her pleasure for as long as she could bear it. She didn’t know where fantasy ended and vision began, but it didn’t matter. She came and came, body spasming with release, his name on her lips.

The thought of him left her in a sweaty heap on the bed, her hand still tucked against her weeping cunt as it throbbed in aftershocks. Hair plastered to her scalp and her shoulders with sweat, Ravenna panted for breath.

Fates, she was weak. Too weak. He needed to leave again, and soon. For both of their sakes.

She’d just rolled to her side and reached for a fresh cloth to clean up when something smashed against her door.

Ravenna sprung from the bed and turned her back to the door.

“Open up, in the name of the lord commander!” a male shouted on the other side.

No chance.

Ravenna used the precious few moments she had to set her glamour. It wasn’t perfect, sitting uncomfortably on her sweaty skin, but when the door burst open, splinters raining from where the lock had once been, it was Aine’s face that stared at the incoming soldiers in shock.

At least five warriors poured into her tiny room, taking up all the air, before the lord commander himself strutted in.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

Ulrich lifted the lamp he carried, shining it into her eyes. Ravenna glared at him, not sure if they were hers or her mother’s eyes, but she was too angry to care.

The lord commander’s nostrils flared, and to her horror, she realized all the sensitive orc noses could scent what she’d been doing. Still, she refused to flush or pale or flinch. This was her room, she could do as she liked.

“Search it,” Ulrich commanded his men.

Ravenna watched as the warriors went to work stripping and tearing apart her room.

The mattress was upended, every sheet and blanket pulled away.

The pillows were ripped from their covers, every scrap of clothing she owned was pulled from her small trunk, and her handful of books were each tossed onto her small table for Ulrich to rifle through.

Clenching her fists, she made herself stand still as the big bodies buffeted her. But when someone pulled out her cloak, the midnight blue fabric gleaming in the low lamplight, Ravenna couldn’t bear it.

“Don’t touch that,” she spat, grabbing the cloak out of the warrior’s surprised hands.

“Everything must be searched,” Ulrich said in an almost bored tone.

Clutching the cloak to her chest, she bared her teeth at the lord commander. If they wanted it, they’d have to pry it from her scratching, vicious hands.

“How dare you?” Ravenna demanded, using her outrage to quell her tears. “You can’t just—”

“I can, ” Ulrich corrected. “I am lord commander of this city, and the king’s safety is my most sacred duty.”

“I’m not a threat to the king.”

Ulrich spared her a glance. “Everyone is subject to inspection.”

“This isn’t inspection, this is intimidation.”

“If you like.”

A furious noise erupted from her throat, but there was nothing Ravenna could do. Forced to wallow in her helplessness, she watched on as every single one of her things was touched, shaken, pored over, and even ransacked.

Eventually, one of the warriors came for her cloak. She backed up into the wall, shaking her head.

“Don’t be difficult, mistress,” the warrior said, not unkindly.

Lips pursed, Ravenna held up the cloak for him to see, turning it back and forth and shaking it out. “It’s just a cloak, nothing t-to see,” she said, horrified when her voice began to break.

The warrior, perhaps not unsympathetic, allowed her to hold it up as he quickly ran his hands over it, checking for secret pockets. When he found nothing and stepped back, Ravenna snatched the cloak to her chest again, shielding herself with it.

With so many bodies crammed into her tiny room, and with very little to truly inspect, the process took less than a handful of minutes. It felt much longer.

Seething, Ravenna glared again at the lord commander—only to jump forward when she saw what he had in his hands.

Her mother’s grimoire.

Leatherbound and far more well-loved than her other books, the grimoire was her most treasured possession apart from her cloak.

She and Aine had painstakingly filled the pages together with recipes, knitting patterns, instructions on how to do the many things Aine had taught her, and even little spells and incantations to help Ravenna remember how best to use her magic.

It was all her mother’s knowledge, bound up in one precious book. And now he held it.

“Give that back,” she said, knowing that it was a mistake but unable to help it.

Ulrich arched one imperious brow. “This is a strange book,” he said. “I’ll need to confiscate it for further inspection.”

“No! It’s nothing, just recipes!”

“Then no need to fret. If it’s truly so benign, it will be returned to you soon.”

The look he cast her was vicious, even though he grinned. His triumph over her was ugly, and Ravenna clenched every muscle in her body to keep from setting upon him like a beast. He was her enemy now—she’d carve it into her very flesh and bones. One day, she would see his downfall.

Her magic snapped against her fingers, desperate to be unleashed, but she buried her nails in the cloth of the cloak.

Not yet. Not yet.

A time would come.

“I won’t ever forget this, lord commander,” she said, satisfied when more than one warrior shivered at her words.

Ulrich only frowned. “You’re in no place to be making threats, woman.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

“Hmph.” Looking over her head, he nodded at his warriors. “Fall out.”

The warriors left in a neat line, a sharp contrast to how they’d entered and the state they left her room in. Ulrich made up the rear, stopping only to grasp the broken door.

“Expect to hear from me soon,” he said before pulling the door shut.

It didn’t close, the latch broken off, leaving a crack of space and a hole on the side where the lock had been.

Ravenna stood shaking, alone in her ruined room. Voices muttered out in the hallway, no doubt the entire staff awoken by the noisy raid, but no one dared to knock on her door.

That was all right. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

Alone amongst her ruined things, tears streamed down her face, angry tears that burned hotter than the summer heat. Knees buckling, she knelt on the floor and buried her face in her cloak.

She would make him pay for this. The lord commander would be getting far worse than spiders in his room, so help her.