Page 13 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)
Eleven
Ayna
There is no better way to celebrate than the Winter Solstice traditions of the Flames, Kaira decides, and who am I to object when she beams at me when we’re hiking up the stairs to our guest suite, arms looped together, and I can read from her expression that nothing would make her more happy.
She mentioned that the Flames celebrate the solstice a while ago, when I was still stuck in my crow form and we desperately looked for a way to help me shift back, but we never got around to hearing all the details of the ritual she referred to.
What I know is that they dance around a bonfire and praise the Sister Guardian for the rest she grants the earth over the winter and the Brother Guardian for the darkness of the months to come—when the fire burns the brightest.
I’m not sure I can stomach the thought of praising the gods who fucked us over.
What I know is that the Flames believe that ritual grants them their extended lifespan—one far beyond a human’s lifespan—and that Kaira must perform it anyway, because there is no way I will allow her to risk that long, long life by skipping a dance.
Myron trails behind us, chatting with Royad and Silas, while Herinor walks in front of us, palm gliding along the polished handrail.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Kaira is staring at his broad shoulders, the waves moving over them like spun gold.
His hair has grown out since the first time we met, but he wears it in the same, untended state I remember.
“Do we need to dress up?” he asks over a shoulder, earning a cough from Kaira, which makes me worry what exactly the ritual might entail that makes her react like that.
“Only if you are set on dancing around the fire with me. And it wouldn’t be the sort of attire you’re used to, so perhaps you shouldn’t?—”
“Count me in.” Falling into step beside us, Herinor smirks at the part-Flame, and the flash in his light green eyes gives away he’s enjoying the way she squirms under his scrutiny.
“It can’t be that bad,” Silas adds with more merit than I’m used to from the usually so grumpy warrior. “Perhaps we should all take part.”
That gives Kaira a coughing fit. I pat her back until she can breathe again and don’t dare inquire what the two males just signed up for .
“If you want to participate, you should invite Gabrilla,” Kaira suggests, voice level once more, but mischief spreads on her features.
“I’ll ask her in the morning.” Silas bounds past us up the stairs, heading for the door at the end of the corridor.
The rebels seem to have gotten their own quarters since our suite didn’t have room for three more people, which leaves my Crow court to itself, some privacy I deeply appreciate and that’s duly needed.
“Are you up for a dance around the fire?” Myron asks as I slow down to walk next to him, allowing Kaira and Herinor more space.
When I meet his gaze, blue fire is waiting for me, and I swallow the “yes” I was about to tell him.
I want to know what that ritual is, and I almost forget I can ask Kaira through our mind connection.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” she responds the moment I open the channel between us and allow her into my mind.
“That only makes me worry more.”
Her chuckle sounds through the hallway, and both Myron and Royad raise their eyebrows, the gesture making the similarities between them stand out so stark, I wonder how this isn’t the first thing I saw when looking at them side by side.
“Tell me exactly what the ritual is,” I demand.
“And I don’t mean the dancing-around-a-fire part.
I mean how long do we need to dance? What sort of dance is it?
Do all participants dance at the same time?
And what sort of attire were you talking about?
” The slight panic in my mental voice doesn’t elude me .
“Yes, everyone dances at the same time. And no, it’s not some sort of weird dance that will make you spin out of control. It’s just dancing.”
“Where’s the catch?” I’m so suspicious now I can barely keep my physical voice contained. “Is it the clothes?”
Kaira chuckles again, earning a sideways glance from Herinor.
“All in good time, Ayna. Let’s have a good night’s rest first. I’ll fill you all in about the details tomorrow.”
That night, I sleep in Myron’s arms, tucked tightly to his side, and I don’t think I’ve felt this safe since the moment my mother dragged me into a carriage and we made it out of Meer undetected after my father’s execution.
It’s a strange sort of bliss, knowing that the world is out for you, yet being able to remain without worry for a few hours when you’re with the one person you love most in the world.
And I’m lucky, everyone I love is in this palace right now.
Myron’s even breath warms the back of my neck, the Crow King deep asleep and not stirring even when I’ve long awoken at the first signs of the night retreating into graying dawn.
If his past weeks have been anything like mine, I doubt he got more than a few hours of rest a night if any at all.
My only friend since that battle in the clearing was exhaustion.
It was the reason my eyes closed and I was able to drift off, too many fears and uncertainties keeping my mind occupied .
Tonight, it’s not those thoughts that have woken me but the endless gratitude for having made it back to my family.
I want to savor the quiet of the world as I dream of a life where we could be happy—Myron and I, and our court.
A new beginning, somewhere far away, where Erina’s feet have never touched soil and Ephegos is nothing more than a memory dispersing in the wind.
I’m entirely aware that thoughts like this make me a bad queen of the human territory the rebels are fighting to put me on the throne of, but this is a problem for later.
If we win this war and survive it, I’ll deal with that.
Until then, I will do my best to become worthy of my peoples, both the Crows and Tavras.
The first rays of sunlight paint pale-yellow patterns along the beige walls, filling the bedroom with a sense of calm that makes me want to stop time.
Unfortunately, Royad seems to have other ideas since he raps his fist on the door, rousing Myron from his peaceful rest.
“Time for training, lovebirds,” he shouts through the closed door, his footsteps already moving on to the next room, probably to wake up half of the palace.
Ready to get out of bed and finally do something to change the course of this war, I fold back the blankets and start sliding to the edge of the mattress. With a groan of objection, Myron cages me with his arm, pulling me back against his chest.
“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t leave the bed for the next three days.” His rough, sleepy tone triggers all sorts of sensations in my stomach, and I push my back tighter into him until my backside meets the hard proof of his desire.
“Make it five days,” I whisper, grinding against him, luxuriating in the way his hand lavishes my breast with idle strokes.
His other hand is sliding up my thigh, the calluses of his fingers scraping over the sensitive skin at the curve of my hip bone on to my belly.
I arch into his touch, begging him with my body to move lower, and Myron obeys.
Two fingers wander between my legs with a touch so light I want to scream with frustration, but his mouth at the back of my neck distracts me so thoroughly I forget I was about to complain.
“I fear we don’t have even an hour,” he breathes against my skin, and I twitch into his hand, grinding myself against his fingers if he won’t give me the friction I need.
“Greedy little bird.” His chuckle is a sensuous melody, playful and full of want, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit as I undulate my hips, getting him just where I need him.
He lets me find the perfect spot, circling and rubbing with all the patience in the world.
Just when I think I found it, Myron slides his free arm under me and pulls me tighter against his chest, his hard front pressing against my back and fingers continuing to circle.
His heat seeps into my skin, my thin nightgown the only thing separating us.
A guttural sound escapes his throat as he grinds his cock against my backside, and I want to beg him to stop teasing, my hand reaching behind me to grab him. He’s so hard between my fingers.
“I need you inside of me. ”
A chuckle is all I get from Myron, but he doesn’t give any sign he intends to give me what I ask for. Instead, his fingers work me with expert moves, teasing until I’m panting and all I can think of is the feel of him against me, that spot where he’s bundling his efforts.
“Come for me, Ayna.” His lips are at my ear, tongue brushing the sensitive tip, a sensation I haven’t experienced with that intensity before.
Like a hot wire, a flash of pleasure sears all the way down to my core, and I climax in his arms, twitching and trembling until my body turns so light I might float.
Myron growls his approval, nipping at my ear, caressing my neck with kisses, wringing from me the last throes of pleasure.
“Time for breakfast,” he murmurs onto my shoulder.
I reach behind his neck, turning my head so I can properly kiss him. “I’ll need a few minutes to get presentable. I’m sure the others won’t mind if we show up a few minutes late.”
Myron pulls back a few inches, his eyes glinting with mischief as he studies my pleasure-addled face. “That’s not the type of breakfast I had in mind.”
And with a laugh, he flips me on my back and gets to work between my legs with his mouth.
The training grounds are filled with fairies when we get there, another orgasm and a quick—real — breakfast later. Royad winks at me from the stack of logs.
“I’ll give you some leniency since you were only reunited yesterday,” he shouts with a smirk that would have made the old Ayna want to disappear into the ground.