Page 48 of The Falcon and the Flame (The Birds: On Her Majesty’s Sapphic Secret Service #2)

Epilogue

S he’d never tell Sami, but his bar in the medina was her favourite place. Especially now Lottie was always in it.

Zynara sat at her usual table in the shadows, her arm draped over the back of the velvet bench, her glass of gin drained to the ice cubes. Her eyes were locked, as always, on the stage.

Lottie had that damned microphone in her hand again, crooning something slow and smoky—a jazz standard about foolish, eternal love.

Her lips brushed the mic like it was a secret.

Her body swayed in a filthy hot red dress Zynara had had made for her.

The woman was loose-limbed and lazy in a way that made Zynara forget how to think.

“She’s showing off,” Sami murmured beside her, sliding a fresh drink across the table.

“She always is.” Zynara heard the fondness in her own voice and wondered when she’d turned so completely to marshmallow.

Lottie looked her straight in the eye as she hit the chorus, flashing that half-smirk she always wore when she knew she was driving Zynara mad.

Zynara narrowed her eyes. “If her precious Memeti wasn’t sitting two tables away, I would have dragged her off that stage and into bed fifteen minutes ago.”

“She did tell me to keep your gin flowing so you’d relax,” Sami said dryly. “I can’t believe how well she knows you.”

Zynara huffed a short laugh. “Marrying her may have been the most unscientific decision of my life.”

“And the best.”

Sami was right, but she wasn’t going to tell him that either.

Six months ago, she’d stood on the sunlit steps of the palace court, her father in his finest robes before her and her people roaring below. It had been her honour to kneel and receive his blessing—and his crown—and then to stand and be declared Q’sar of Ain Zargiers.

Her very first decree had been performed with all her country watching and with her heart exploding with love. She’d turned and called Lottie Finch to her.

Her woman. Her flame and her light. Her maddening, magnificent force of chaos.

Lottie swaggered up the steps grinning like a pirate, though she sobered instantly when Zynara indicated she kneel.

She did it beautifully—humbly, for once in her life—and Zynara placed a circlet of gold on her head and kissed her full on the mouth.

Mercifully, the citizens of Azzouan were cheering so loudly no one heard Lottie’s comment when Zynara handed her to her feet.

“Tiara! Fuck yeah! I am totally going to outrank you in bed.”

It was outrageously brazen and utterly inconceivable, but it made Zynara laugh and smile right there with the world watching, and she had to confess Lottie Finch always seemed to know what was best.

She spanked her silly for it later, of course, but that was just what Lottie wanted too, and she fucked her until they were both exhausted. It didn’t temper Lottie’s gorgeous effervescence in the slightest.

If anything, the crown and the title only fueled Lottie’s ego—and her devotion to Zynara.

“I thought your father would be here,” Sami said eventually.

“Probably best he’s not,” Zynara mused. Lottie was vamping up the bedroom eyes ridiculously hard.

Zynara knew her father wouldn’t mind. He had taken to Lottie like a co-conspirator and the pair were thick as thieves.

Zynara spent her days working her backside off for her companies and her country, only to return to the private wing of the palace in the evenings to find raucous poker games being held in her father’s quarters with Lottie raking it in and the old Q’sar’s team of valets and carers bleeding from the eyeballs.

“What are you playing for?” Zynara would ask, falling into the sofa and watching her wife indulgently.

“Healthy stuff!” Lottie and her father said it together, which definitely meant it wasn’t.

Zynara should have words with the kitchens about the volume of sweetcakes and candy being delivered to the Q’sar’s rooms, but she knew she wouldn’t. Her father was having fun. What difference would a handful of sweet dates make?

Lottie took him driving in the Aston Martin DB5 too—out to the solar fields and to inspect the new heliostat towers. They visited Uncle in the desert camp.

Zynara had the strongest feeling Lottie had found a father, and Idris had welcomed his new daughter with all his heart.

“He’s fine,” Zynara said. “Just having a slow day. He watches the news and grumbles about the idiots in the British parliament and lets me do all the hard work. He’s catching up on his reading.”

“He’s earned it,” Sami said.

Zynara inclined her head. “He has.”

They grieved, of course.

Malik had been a monster in the end, but he’d still been a brother and a son. Learning about Rayan’s final moments meant Zynara mourned him all over again, something she found much easier to do with her head in Lottie’s lap and loving fingers carding through her hair.

She forgave herself for being away when it happened, and for running even further in the aftermath. And she forgave Lottie, Sami, Evelyn and her father for keeping their secrets.

As much as Zynara was determined to serve her country and live up to her family’s responsibility, she valued Lottie’s skills at helping them both escape every now and then.

“Who gets his cars?” Lottie asked when Zynara first ordered the party house emptied, the women paid appropriately and everyone sent home.

“You want a gold-plated Range Rover?”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Lottie squawked. “But that McLaren was nice. And the Bugatti.”

Zynara wrinkled her nose. She was neck deep in data for the latest hydrogen fuel tests and was secretly having the time of her life. Lottie could have whatever car she wanted, but Zynara was definitely going to tease her a little first.

“Noisy,” she said. “Smelly. You cannot be the wife of the queen of the world’s leading renewable energy powerhouse and drive a gas-guzzler. I’ll buy you an EV.”

“Pfft.”

Zynara let one eyebrow arch dangerously.

“What was that, zin dyali?” She crooked two fingers and delighted at the way Lottie sashayed obediently to her desk.

Zynara pushed back her chair and let Lottie plant her gorgeous arse right in the middle of her hydrogen fuel statistics.

Lottie put her heels on the arms of Zynara’s chair and spread her legs wide.

Short skirt. Underwear so lacey it wasn’t going to stand a chance. “Was that sass, my darling?”

“That McLaren totally matched my curls,” Lottie pouted.

Zynara trailed her fingers up Lottie’s thighs and watched defiance flicker bravely in her wife’s eyes.

“It’s lime green,” Zynara pointed out, her other hand at the back of Lottie’s neck and her lips at her ear.

“So?”

“So? So, you’re being greedy. Covetous,” she breathed down Lottie’s neck.

“ Disobedient.” She dragged a wet, hot kiss down her throat and nipped at her collarbone.

Lottie’s thighs shuddered. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll buy you a proper car.

” She tapped her fingers against the lace between Lottie’s legs and waited. “Are you going to be good?”

Lottie squirmed all over her desk. “I will be so fucking good for you,” she promised. There was a beat. “And your shit electric car.”

Zynara slipped her fingers under the lace and thrust them deep inside her, and knew everything was perfect.

It took a few drag races in the desert until Lottie finally believed her.

The all electric Lotus Evija Zynara imported for her did zero to sixty in well under two seconds, and Lottie lost her mind.

It was an absolute pleasure to watch her finally give in and regale Uncle and the others at the desert camp about the benefits of kilowatts over horsepower.

She was so transparent.

“Do I get a flier too?” she asked, the lamp light in her hair, the desert sunset in her eyes and her spirit as wild as the dunes. Her beautiful woman in the heart of her beautiful country.

“No,” said Zynara.

“No?”

“Absolutely not.”

But she knew Lottie would wheedle one out of her eventually. She’d do anything for Lottie Finch.

Memeti joined their little family not long after that.

Lottie’s sharp-eyed old neighbour had joined them.

Memeti was eighty-five and not showing the merest sign of slowing down.

In fact, returning to her home country had given her a new lease on life.

Lottie had wanted to install her in the palace with them, but Memeti had flatly refused.

She lived in a house in the medina that Lottie insisted on furnishing to Memeti’s satisfaction—and which had a nurse on call.

Memeti had a tongue like a razor and a laugh like church bells, and in her Zynara could see the mould that had shaped her Lottie.

Memeti also had strong opinions on palace protocol, gambling for sweetcakes, and the correct temperature of tea. She shared them freely.

Zynara didn’t mind. She had Lottie. And Lottie came with chaos, torch songs, dreadful jokes, amazing kisses, and the kind of love that literally leveled buildings.

The last note of her song echoed in the air, and Lottie took a bow, her gaze never leaving Zynara’s.

The patrons of Sami’s Place applauded and Lottie leaned into the mic. “I’ve got a song just for my Q’sar next,” she purred. “I wrote it myself.”

Zynara raised a brow.

Lottie winked. “It’s called Let’s Get You Naked.”

Indulgent laughter filled the room—Azzouan loved its lovesick royalty—but Zynara stood up.

“That’s enough,” she muttered.

Sami chortled into his drink. “Better go fetch your queen.”

“Oh, she’s not my queen,” Zynara said coolly, striding toward the stage. “She is in a lot of trouble.”

Lottie’s delighted squeals rang through the whole city.