Page 57 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

brEYLA

G olden patches of sunlight cast shadows through the room, warming my face and every other surface they touch.

I’ve been awake for hours, but haven’t mustered the will to extract myself from the comfort of the covers.

Ayden had given me the morning off from any training, physical or otherwise, and I had spent all of it in bed.

He claimed it was because we were attending a council meeting today where the topic was the increasing number of attacks, not just within Prudia, but across the entire continent. The countries were tearing themselves apart, and something needed to be done.

But I knew the truth. He left me in this bed because I, the general and princess of Rimor, was moping. We had taken the first batch of cookies out three days ago, and since then, I had grown increasingly irritable.

I am not blind to my own shortcomings. I’m quick-tempered, and yes, I’m impulsive at times. But lately, control over my emotions has become elusive. No matter how desperately I grasp for it.

I lie staring at the ceiling, a small tendril of shadow twirling between my fingers as I recall the incident from yesterday.

“Breyla, would you prefer cream or ivory linens on the wedding banquet tables?” Queen Josephina asked.

“Does it really matter?” I sighed.

They had asked me this and a dozen other questions over the last hour. None of them was of any great importance or interest to me. If I were being forced down an aisle, they could dress me in a potato sack for all I cared.

“Of course it matters,” the queen scoffed, indignation sharpening her tone. “You will only wed my son once. It must be perfect.”

“The only thing that could make it perfect is if I didn’t have to do it,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?” She clutched her chest, head rearing back as though I’d physically assaulted her.

“You heard me, Your Majesty,” I snapped.

“You will listen to me now, Breyla.” Queen Josephina’s gilded eyes hardened, her tone dropping low. “In two months’ time, you will walk down that aisle, you will marry my son and rule by his side, you will joyfully bear his children—and you will do it all happily.”

I shot to my feet, the pitiful excuse for needlework falling to the floor. Anger flooded my veins, a heat scorching through my core at her demands. “I will do no such thing. Your son may control my future, but you do not control my feelings on the matter.”

“You are a stupid, impulsive child,” she seethed.

My eyes hardened, narrowing into slits. “Impulsive, yes. Stupid? Never.”

“What would Raynor and Genevieve think of you now?”

The blow is low, meant to hurt me. It enraged me.

“Fuck you,” I snarled, my hand lifting, ready to strike.

Before I could do something punishable by death, strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping it in midair. The grip was firm but not painful.

Ayden.

“Leave us, Mother,” his deep voice commanded.

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but he cut her off. “Now.”

With an exasperated huff, she turned to go.

I didn’t bother to face her, calling over my shoulder, “Keep my parents’ names out of your fucking mouth.”

“What was that about, darling?” Ayden asked, far calmer than I expected.

With the absence of the queen, my anger receded, replaced by a wave of nausea. Ayden’s skin on mine turned my stomach, and I swallowed, resisting the urge to lose my breakfast all over his shoes.

I pulled my hand from his grip, surprised by how easily it slipped free.

“I can handle her opinions of me, her thinking I’m stupid and impulsive, but I cannot tolerate her insulting my parents’ memory. Or dictating how she believes I should feel.”

Tears stream down my cheeks before I can process the sudden shift in emotion. Ayden didn’t even have time to respond before I was full-on sobbing.

Blinking hard, I shake the memory away.

Ayden had carried me to bed, completely unsure of what to do with me. The moment I hit the mattress, every ounce of fight had left me, leaving me so exhausted that I fell asleep almost immediately.

Healers had been in to see me, confirming that I am in perfect physical health, but could not determine why I was acting so irrationally.

Reluctantly, I drag myself from bed and dress. To my delight, Rowina hadn’t lied when she said the leggings were for me. Unfortunately, I have to wear them sparingly since they seem to disappear any time they are sent to be laundered.

Since it’s unlikely that I will be traveling outside of the castle today, I forgo the leggings, slipping into a warmer dress instead. It’s black, long-sleeved, and unremarkable. But it’s comfortable.

The hallway is empty, save for the usual guards posted at the far end. I slip past them on silent feet, heading toward the kitchens. I missed breakfast, but there are always leftovers.

I have just enough time before the council meeting to grab something small to hold me over until dinner.

The kitchen is quiet when I arrive. Most of the staff are elsewhere, preparing for the midday meal. On the counter sits a plate of pastries, but none of them appeals to me. I want something fresh to balance the embarrassing number of cookies I’ve consumed over the last few weeks.

In the corner, I spot the pantry where Rowina and I pulled ingredients for baking.

A Faerie light flickers to life in my palm as I step into the dark space.

The unmistakable sound of a door shutting and a lock turning sends a chill up my spine.

I’m not alone in here.

But I don’t even reach for my shadows. I don’t need to.

Because I recognize his scent immediately.

“Aurelius.” His name escapes me in a rush as my back hits the wall, and I let him pin me there.

“Yes, my little demon?”

In the flickering light, all I can see is the intense look in his eyes as he stares me down.

Hunger.

“You’re back.”

“For now.” A sober look crosses his face. “We’ve got limited time, so extinguish that light before someone finds us.”

Soft lips plant heated kisses along my neck as the light flickers out between us.

“What are you doing?” The breath hitches in my throat as rough hands reach for my skirt.

“Stealing a moment,” he whispers between kisses to my clavicle.

Heat pools in my core, body aching for his touch after weeks apart. The constant churn of my stomach settles instantly when his lips land on the spot on my throat where he had last marked me. The scar from his teeth lingers as a sensual reminder.

“Fuck,” I whimper when he nips at that same spot again.

He rolls his hips into me, the bulge of his arousal firm against my belly. “I delight in my marks on you,” he growls.

My dress is pushed above my waist, leaving me exposed to the chilled air in the pantry. Warm fingers dance over the skin of my thighs, leaving pebbled flesh in their wake.

I raise a hand to cast a silencing shield, but Aurelius’ hand wraps around my wrist.

“No silencing,” he warns. “I want to see how quiet you can be while I feast on that sweet cunt.”

“I thought I was the reckless one in this relationship,” I breathe, panic rising in my chest.

But the protest dies on my tongue when he drops to his knees. In the dark, I can barely make out his profile, but I feel his breath, hot against my center.

“I guess it’s my turn to be reckless,” he says just before burying his face against my heated core.

Tenderly, Aurelius peels the undergarments down my thighs.

His mouth is sin incarnate, tongue sweeping up through my folds in one slow, devastating pass. I throw a hand over my mouth the second he sucks my clit between his lips. My other hand tangles in his inky hair.

A low chuckle vibrates through him. If I could see, I know I’d find that smug look of pure male satisfaction carved into his too-perfect face.

He swirls his tongue around my clit in slow, torturous circles. My hips grind against him of their own accord, greedy and helpless. It’s like I lose all bodily autonomy when he’s between my legs. What he demands, I readily give.

His tongue alternates between teasing my clit and spearing into me like he’s fucking me with his mouth. When two fingers slip inside my dripping entrance, I nearly lose all control, a soft moan escaping.

“Shhh,” he hushes me before curling his fingers forward in a motion that makes my legs tremble.

We both still when the soft click of heeled shoes echoes through the kitchen just outside the pantry. It’s probably just a servant, but the fear of being caught has my heartbeat racing.

The fear slowly turns into excitement, the possibility of being discovered, despite the consequences, heightening my arousal. I writhe, my hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate plea for more.

Such a naughty princess. The thrill of being caught…

I shake my head, unsure where the thought was coming from.

The footsteps retreat, and Aurelius resumes his slow assault, tongue and fingers pushing me closer and closer to bliss.

My hand tightens in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as my inner walls begin to clench around his fingers.

The need to come apart around him floods my system, a violent tingling warmth growing at the base of my spine.

A new set of footsteps sounds. These are decidedly male, though.

But I’m too close to release to stop now. Just before I find bliss, I throw up a silencing shield.

In a move that’s pure punishment for disobeying his order, Aurelius bites down on my clit. The masochist inside me cries in sensual feminine satisfaction when the pain tips into pleasure, sending me flying straight over the edge.

His name erupts from my lips in a moan that never leaves the shield.

He laps at my center softly, soothing the pain his teeth caused. As the last waves of pleasure ebb, he places a soft kiss on the top of my pelvis while pulling my undergarments back into place.

The skirts of my dress fall as he stands. “You will pay for that disobedience later, little demon.”

“Breyla?” Ayden calls from the other side of the pantry door.