Page 22

Chapter twenty

“ Y ou made your point. Put me down,” Astrid snapped as she twisted her body and kicked her legs in retaliation.

Dimitri’s grip tightened, crushing her against the unyielding planes of his body. The air squeezed out of her, but his hold loosened the moment she stopped struggling. Astrid glared up at her jailor, and the slightest hint of a grin curved the edge of his mouth.

“Asshole,” she breathed.

They passed guards and well-dressed Ledivites Astrid cataloged as nobles. The Fae parted for Dimitri, keeping their heads down but turned and stared after her when he passed. Astrid supposed she should be grateful his arm tucked the skirt of her dress against her bottom.

Astrid stared up at him. Her vantage point gave her an attractive view of his jaw, the hard lines of his throat. The perfect indented hollow beneath his Adam’s apple begged for her stiletto. She longed to slip her blade behind his windpipe and slice forward.

Wasteful daydreams, since his death magic would consume her to heal himself.

Astrid missed her chambers—her clothing and books.

The weapons she’d designed to annihilate the Ledivites.

Her latest creations included crossbow bolts with barbed hooks chained to the end.

She’d love to spike Dimitri’s wings to ground with them and fill him with a quiver of arrows, safely out of his shadow magic’s reach.

“Are we dining elsewhere since you interrupted my meal?” Astrid asked as he climbed a flight of stairs.

His thumb stroked her side, and he glanced down at her. “Is my neva hungry?”

The words rankled her temper. She wasn’t a belonging, but he was far too thick to comprehend nuance. Astrid rested her head on his shoulder. She tilted her chin down and lifted her gaze to stare up at him through her lashes before saying, “I’d like a private meal in the gardens or a library.”

Harsh tension lined his eyes, but he blinked, and it was gone.

“And what do you hope to find in a library?” he asked.

“Knowledge,” she answered. And the means to kill you.

Dimitri turned down a long hall and set her on her feet. Winter’s chill snaked up her bare legs and Astrid suppressed a shiver. His wing curled around her, and Astrid slapped the boney appendage away.

It swung back harder, pressing her to his side. “You’re cold,” he grated.

“Then get me a coat,” Astrid snapped, again shoving away from his wings. She’d meant to stalk ahead of him, but her piercing shifted, and Astrid drew a sharp breath.

Humor colored his voice as he chuckled. “The library is this way.”

Astrid took a careful step and Dimitri’s palm met the small of her back.

He ushered her forward, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

The curved bar of her diamond-studded piercing swept over her clit with each tilt of her hips.

It felt like Dimitri’s hand was up her skirt, and the bastard knew it.

Her pulse elevated with each step, but she held her head high.

Dimitri would do worse if she tried to stop him.

They strolled through a few winding corridors and approached a tall archway.

Aged stone columns streaked in tiny, black hairline fractures, framed either side.

The Ledivion crest was mounted at the center of each pillar.

Astrid scrutinized the three intersected swords.

Well-maintained and polished, they gleamed in the firelight against the ancient stone.

Leave it to the Ledivites to show such care to decorative steel but ignore the stone structure beneath it.

Her gaze moved to the space beyond the archway. It was cold and soulless. Dark walls and winter-frosted glass bordered rows of towering bookcases. Ledivites crowded the tables throughout the library, each engrossed in their studies and research.

A male stopped between two shelves and outstretched his wing.

The clawed tip looped through a ring affixed at the top of a tome.

Astrid watched as he pulled it free and added it to the pile he held.

The male started toward the tables before catching sight of Dimitri.

He froze and the book he’d acquired tumbled to the ground.

The others glared up from their work with annoyance, but their pinched expressions stiffened when their attention fell to her winged captor.

The stillness was upended by the shuffling of feet and closing of books.

The crowd retreated, milling through the smaller archways on the eastern and western walls in a hushed panic.

Astrid chanced a glance at Dimitri. He wore the same smug grin of self-proclaimed victory he did each time he maneuvered her into a compromising position.

The robed male who dropped his book bent to retrieve the tome, gray fabric pooling around him. He stood before hurrying toward them.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” he asked, bowing his head.

The rough edge of Dimitri’s wing scraped the back of Astrid’s dress. “My neva seeks knowledge,” he said, shoving her forward.

Astrid took two quick steps before regaining her balance. A mixture of heat and temper tinted her cheeks, but she remained elegant and composed.

“What can I help you find?”

“Princess Noctis, priest,” Dimitri interjected.

Tiny beads of sweat broke out over his forehead and the male clutched his books to his chest and bowed formally. “What can I help you find, Princess Noctis?”

Astrid expected the priest to meet her gaze, but his eyes remained fixed at the floor between them.

Priests and priestesses who served the Three-Faced Mother held the same station as nobles in Clorea.

Astrid smoothed her hands over her skirt and curtsied, as she would to any priest of her own faith.

The priest upturned his face and blinked.

“I would like books on your traditions,” Astrid said gently before adding, “and anything you have on Death Spirits, like him.”

“There is no one like me, Princess,” Dimitri purred against her hair. His hand dragged across her waist as he prowled by. He lifted his chin at the priest and said, “Send a footman to bring us a breakfast platter and inform the cooks I want swan on it.”

“Of course, my lord,” the priest said with a nod and scurried off.

Dimitri took a seat at the closest table and spread his legs far enough for her to stand between before patting his thigh.

At least he wouldn’t force her to walk every aisle in search of her books, Astrid mused. She took a seat on his lap and asked, “Do your priests manage your library?” It would be the last place she thought a Vinceret devotee would frequent.

Dimitri drew her closer and slipped his fingers through the wing slits of her dress. He traced idle circles on either side of her spine. “They oversee our history and archives.”

“Is this your palace’s only library?” Astrid asked.

“No, but it is the biggest.”

Muted footsteps drew her attention and Astrid turned to find the priest holding three leather-bound books. He placed them on the table’s blackened wood top and opened the thickest volume.

“These are religious texts,” he began as he flipped through the book.

Leather and the comforting scent of aged paper filled the space between them. Astrid took a deep breath. Her mind had always been her greatest asset. She’d spent countless hours in her libraries, cultivating her weapon.

Until it sharpened into an advantage.

The priest opened the pages to the inked image of an imposing winged male. His hands were folded over the pommel of his sword and the hood of his cloak obscured his face.

“Death Spirits are a curse, Princess Noctis.” The priest’s voice was as still and solemn as a fathomless lake.

Dimitri pulled the corner of the book closer and read over her shoulder.

“Queen Arina boasted that the son she carried would become a greater warrior than Vinceret, the God of Conquest and Blood. Offended by such blasphemy, Vinceret cursed the infant to be born beneath death’s shadow and blacken the veins of any close to him.”

Astrid continued reading and the final passage sent a chill through her.

To appease the god and end the blood-cursed plague, King Lev tied his wife and son to a stake and put them to flame.