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CHAPTER SEVEN

JORGE

Eighteen years old

T he ground was tough, dry, and reluctant to yield.

I pressed on, driving the spade deep into the earth.

My arms, no longer frail but lean with hard-won muscle, burned with the effort.

It was a good burn, the kind that reminded me I was stronger now.

My chest rose and fell steadily as I worked, each breath pushing me forward.

My legs held firm beneath me, steady even after hours of standing, a far cry from the trembling weakness of my childhood.

I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow.

The cool evening air brushed against my skin like a fleeting balm.

The trench I’d dug stretched long and straight, ready to receive the seedlings.

The nascent plants were hardy, stubborn things.

They reminded me of myself—night-blooming varieties that could survive in barren soil and drink deeply of what little light the moon offered.

I crouched down, lowering the first seedling into the shallow trench with care. Its pale leaves caught what little light filtered down from Avarix. There were still faint traces of red on the moon's surface from the passing of the Hunter's Eclipse, leaving the first moon not in his full strength.

Over the years, the soil had turned against us, growing less fertile with each passing season.

Some whispered that Avarix had withdrawn his favor from Solmane.

The troll wars had drained the land of its people and its vitality.

There was constant recruitment into the army.

Every able body was conscripted to fight.

They hadn't looked twice at me when they'd come by, skinny and frail as I was, barely more than a shadow of a man.

With my work in the fields done, I forced myself to stand. My bones ached, not just from the day’s labor but from the frailty that never seemed to fully leave me. Mine was a life of constant effort. Always enduring .

Inside the stables, the dim light from the lanterns made shadows dance along the wooden walls.

I shrugged out of my shirt. Sweat stained the garment and clung to me like a second skin.

Grabbing a cloth from the nearest hook, I set about the task of wiping myself down.

My arms were lead as I dragged the rough fabric across my face, savoring the simple relief of cool air against my damp skin.

Until the cloth was snatched from my hands.

Charlotte held the cloth out of reach with an amused smirk. Her blue eyes sparkled in the lantern light. Her wild curls framed her lavender skin like a halo of shadows and moonlight.

“I like you better this way. Sweaty. Dirty. Raw.”

I raised a brow at her, wiping my forearm across my forehead instead. “You’re a fairy, Charlotte. Dirt sings to you. It stinks on me.”

"I love the way you smell."

Her hand went to my chest. My weak heart went full gallop, racing to get closer to its mistress. Her nails raked over my flesh as though she could wrap her hand around her possession. She placed her button nose between my pecs and inhaled.

“My Jorge.” Her voice was a whisper of breath against the fine hairs on my chest. And then she kissed me there. My heart skipped a beat.

She always initiated these moments. I always let her. Not because I didn’t want her—gods, I wanted her — because I didn’t feel worthy of her light. So I let her take from me.

She blazed a trail of kisses across my chest. Then up the column of my neck.

The moment her lips met mine, the reins of my self-control snapped.

Her permission unleashed something wild inside of me.

I kissed her back, letting every ounce of emotion I held for her pour into the act.

My hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as I deepened the kiss.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I lost myself in her completely.

For her, I would endure every pain, every trial. For her, I would give everything I had, knowing it would never be enough.

"Kiss me, Jorge," she demanded against my parted lips.

"Where would you like me to kiss you, starlight?"

Charlotte broke our lip lock and walked backwards. As she did so, she lifted her dress to reveal her shapely calves and those lush purple thighs that made my mouth water. By the time she was on the mattress, she was nude up to her belly —save the birthday blade I'd fashioned for her years ago.

My legs got a renewed charge as I stalked toward her.

I put a knee on the mattress, my weight causing her hips to settle into the center of the bedding.

She spread her thighs wider, showing me the nectar at her pink core.

I licked my lips in anticipation as I pressed my other knee into the mattress. Charlotte let her knees fall open.

After our first kiss at fifteen, we’d lain on this mattress most nights kissing. Months passed, and we began exploring with our hands. Mostly, she guided my hands where she wanted to be touched. Always, I followed her every command, cupping a breast, palming her ass. Then she sent me to her core.

One night, Charlotte woke in my arms to find me licking at my fingers. She'd been letting me put them inside her for a couple of weeks. At first, I'd fumbled to help her reach her ecstasy. It was long, patient work that I happily took on, eager for it to last an hour or more.

I'd discovered there were two spots at her core that would leave her body trembling and her wings fluttering.

The first spot, a button at the apex of her treasure, made her quake with pleasure if I suckled at it for long moments.

The second spot, buried inside her behind that nub, made her gush when I persistently pressed it.

I'd been trying to hide my perversion of lapping up her juices after she dozed in my arms. That night she'd caught me indulging. Instead of shaming me, which Charlotte never did, she spread her thighs and offered me access straight from the tap.

She'd been letting me kiss her between her thighs ever since.

I would happily spend hours drinking my fill of her nectar as she tried to douse her cries of pleasure with a fist to her mouth, a pillow over her head, or even holding her breath.

Each cry that escaped her perfect lips made me feel like the strongest man in the world.

Charlotte patted the mattress. "Lie down so I can sit on your face, Jorge."

"If that would please Your Highness."

Her grin spread impossibly wide as I did as I was told. I lay on my back and pulled her over top of me, taking care to avoid the blade that was always strapped to her thigh. I pressed the tip of my tongue to her bud. Charlotte let out a low moan.

"Hush or they'll hear you."

"I don't care," she sighed, palming her breasts.

"If they hear how I please you, they'll take me from you."

"Never. No one will ever take you from me. You're mine."

It was a game she liked to play. The notion of being found out heightened her pleasure.

Not that we ever had been found out. Her mother was often away attending parties or having affairs with young male fae.

Charlotte always came late at night when the house was in slumber.

She'd sneak back to her bed before Solara rose in the morning, then stayed in bed until long after Lyra was following her mother across the sky in the afternoons.

No one suspected anything of this fairy princess who didn't rise before dawn. No one suspected she sought pleasure in the human weakling that slept in the stables.

Despite my teasing, Charlotte climaxed quickly.

I knew every flick of tongue to get her where she wanted to be, which was writhing over me.

When her hips began to buck and her wings broke free of her dress, I kept my tongue working, this time deeper inside her core.

It drew out the pleasure, ensuring that her next climax would be deeper and longer.

It meant I could take my time and suckle every petal of her folds as she dripped that sweet nectar directly into my mouth, smeared it on my face, and left her imprint on my soul.

The stable door creaked open.

The sound was a shard of ice through the haze of our shared heat.

I froze, my body stiffening as light spilled into the stables.

Charlotte pulled away, her eyes wide with alarm as we both scrambled to sit up.

My legs protested the sudden movement, nearly giving out beneath me as I stumbled off the straw mattress.

A woman stood in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the moons.

Her dark robes billowed around her. The garment was embroidered with shimmering constellations that shifted as she moved.

A silver sigil glinted on her chest, marking her as a Sky Keeper Mage, one of the powerful envoys entrusted with maintaining the celestial balance of Lunaterra.

Her sharp eyes, the color of storm clouds, swept over the stables. They landed on us with an expression that was all disdain and no shock. Her lips curled as if she had already judged us unworthy.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

The mage stopped at the nearest stall, leading her pegasus into the area. Its wings, speckled with the colors of twilight, quivered as she guided it inside and secured its reins with a flick of her fingers. The creature settled, though its luminous eyes stayed fixed on me, almost accusing.

“The queen will not like this,” said the mage, her voice cool and measured.

"My mother isn't here."

"I meant the Lioness Queen, Your Highness. Though your fiancé occasionally slacks his lusts, it is uncomely for the bride to do so. Personally, I think that a double standard."

I didn't know much about the Sky Keeper Mages of Solmane. They were not like the priests and holy men of other nations and religions who swore off women. Sky Keeper Mages took their pleasure but made no commitments.

Charlotte stepped forward, her shoulders squared and her chin lifted in defiance. “You will say nothing of this.”