Page 66 of Taken By the Lord of the Nocturne Court

A squeak turns my attention to the leather satchel Reiner customized for Count Flapula’s needs and comfort. I asked for it to be studded with silver spikes for my own pleasure. I want it to look cool, not like I’m wearing a baby carrier.

Though I do baby-talk to my bat when we’re alone. His wing is healing so well, and even though Kyran is skeptical of my attempts to befriend the little creature, I try to spend lots of time with Flap, so we can bond.

I should prioritize finding out more about the Nightweeds, to work out any hidden truths about Kyran, but today I plan to read up more on these bats to make sure I’m feeding him right and giving our tiny 'count' all he needs.

“Right, you’re prey,” Tristan says matter-of-factly and yawns, leaning against a tree-shaped column. I have to admit he looks damn good in the outfit of snug shark leather, with a looser jacket that barely reaches his waist, and a sword attached at the hip. Were Kyran not in the picture, I might have made a move, but one beautiful elven prince is more than enough for me.

Plus, Tristan’s a manwhore, and I’ve already dealt with my share of them.

I frown at him. “Excuse me? I’m guessing you fancy yourself a predator then?”

Even Flap is offended, because he peeks out of the satchel with another squeak. I’m so happy to see his long bunny ears perk up, because when I first took care of him, they laid flat as if he were terrified to lift them. I rub my fingertip between them as Tristan plays with his fiery hair.

“Kyranis did hunt you down. And I have a feeling he keeps hunting you dayandnight,” he adds with a smirk, and while I feel that I should be offended, nothing about his smile is malicious.

I shake my head. “I don’t kiss and tell. You wouldn’t know where the section on creatures, monsters, or animals is, would you?” I ask to change the subject.

Tristan’s lip curls in distaste, as if a suggestion that he might know anything about the library is a personal affront. “No idea. You’re better off asking my sister.” He points down the corridor of bookshelves.

Under a collection of blue lights, illuminating the portrait of the previous Lord of the Nocturne Court with his family, stands a large desk. Even from afar, I spot Sabine’s mane of red hair as she’s browsing through some papers.

“You can take a nap if you want,” I say to Tristan. “I will be a while.”

For a moment, Tristan’s gaze drifts to the day beds, but when a tall, slender figure emerges from the shadows and approaches Sabine, he steps forward, leading the way toward her. “I wanted to ask how she’s been anyway.”

I glare at him, then at the dark-haired beauty whom I haven’t yet seen at court. The man has an elongated silhouette and dense locks styled into a knot at the back of his head. The clothes he’s wearing feature more color than I’ve seen since arriving at the Nocturne Court, and lots of layers, which makes them distinct from the tailored finery I’m gradually getting used to.

After my initial excitement about the exquisite fashions of the court, I had to admit to myself that constricting corset vests and high-collared shirts aren’t what I always feel like wearing. I managed to work out a compromise with Reiner, so I now have three distinct sets of outfits. During daytime, I get to wear comfortable shirts and pants with a gothic flair. For evening and event wear he gets to dress me as if I’m his personal fashion puppet, and then there’s loungewear—a concept I had to introduce him to—soft, comfy fabrics and not too many buttons for when I’m out of my nightshirt but staying in myrooms.

Kyran appreciates them all. In fact, he rather enjoys the ease with which he can remove a dressing gown or pull up a nightshirt and have me undressed yet, somehow, still clothed.

I lead the way along the rows of shelves, and Sabine smiles up at me as soon as she spots us. Her lips are painted black today, and her golden eyes shine like two coins.

“Magnus, you’ve got to meet the future Dark—”

“I’m her older brother, Prince Tristan Bloodweed,” Tristan says, stepping in front of me to capture the entirety of the visitor’s attention. He takes the man’s elegant hand and bows to give it the gentlest peck before getting to his toes, because Magnus is taller than him.

Sabine fills her lungs with air, but whatever she wants to say ends up stuck in her throat as she rests one of her hands on her protruding belly. Her deep sigh tells me everything. She’s going to let her brother flirt.

Magnus seems a little confused and tries to glance my way, but his expression changes when the floor under our feet shakes with a violent tremor. It lasts longer than ever before, and I have to grab the desk. Fortunately, Sabine can do the same, but as the shaking doesn’t stop, the inevitable happens. Books start falling off nearby shelves as if catapulted our way.

I put my arm over my head, holding Flap close to my chest, but as a massive tome is about to smack me in the face, a dark shadow emerges out of Tristan’s back, fast as a whip. I don’t yet comprehend what’s going on, but the solid darkness becomes a wall between all of us and the books.

Only when the trembling subsides I manage to inhale and assess what I’m seeing.

Wings. Massive black wings reminiscent of a bat’s (or a demon’s) have sprouted out of Tristan’s back. By now, I have seen enough to recognize them as a product of shadowcraft rather than physical parts of Tristan’s body. He winks when he catches me staring, all self-satisfied. He knows that's an impressive wingspan.

Magnus’s lips are parted, and he reaches out to touch them. “That’s… magnificent. And those are also made of shadow?”

“Yes, they are,” Tristan says, sheltering us all with his creation. “I can show you what else they can do if you meet me at moondown.”

That’s when Kyranis and I start our evenings together, freeing Tristan to do his thing… which today might involve getting a thank-you-for-saving-me blowjob.

Magnus’s dark skin doesn’t flush, but he lowers his gaze, frazzled by the attention, as if he isn’t drop-dead gorgeous himself.

I swear I am yet to meet an elf who doesn’t look like a snack in one way or another. Even Sylvan, who Tristan mocks for his height, has the appearance of a cherubic twink, big blue eyes and flushed cheeks included. Though I don’t trust the angelic exterior one bit as he is most likely as prone to backstabbing as his pretty (and dead) sister.

“Oh… well, I suppose I could come.”