Page 78 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘Hmm?’

Silas tilted his head as he brushed back Pitch’s hair. ‘Were you sleeping? I’m sorry to wake you.’

‘I am exhausted, but I don’t want to sleep, not yet.’ He traced his finger down Silas’s shin, laughing when it caused a shiver. ‘Do you think anyone would notice if we never left this forest? Just stayed here, drunk on dewberry mead?’

Of course they both knew the answer, but Silas shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. We’d need a cottage though, don’t you think? Where should we build it?’

Pitch lifted a finger, pointing towards a place across the clearing where ferns grew in great numbers, fronds swaying with all the activity. Silas hadn’t seen such a gathering of folk since the Marquess of Ailsa’s fateful ball. He hurried his thoughts on, not wishing to be reminded of the tsukumogami who had watched there, nor Ronin with all his broken pieces.

‘Just over there would be perfect, don’t you think?’ Pitch said, a tender slur to his words. ‘But you shall need to do all the building. I’m far too delicate for such things now. I shall supervise.’

‘I’m sure you shall, very thoroughly.’

‘I warn you, I’ll insist my carpenter be shirtless.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Perhaps entirely naked. So I can ensure you have not stolen any of my tools, and admire your arse when you bend.’

Silas took a moment to gather himself. ‘A harsh taskmaster indeed.’

‘Well, I’m not averse to being told what to do in return.’ The daemon lifted his chin, drawing his head back to look up at Silas. ‘I can be a very good boy, can I not?’

His lips glistened with the honey-rich mead, and the toadstools’ light did wonders against verdant eyes. Silas was kissing him before the daemon could bat his lashes again. Slowly, as though they had all the time they could wish for. He ran his fingers over Pitch’s belly, where the stiffness of the corset sat above a hardness of an entirely different kind. He traced a path all the way up to Pitch’s throat, relishing the soft moan his touch drew.

‘You can be…’ Silas was hoarse with want. ‘A very good boy indeed.’

They played a game of tag with their tongues, being foolish about it, laughing against each other’s mouths when one managed to dig their teeth into the other’s lip.

Oh, they were drunk. No doubt of it. And it was bloody fantastic.

‘Decent mead, isn’t it?’

Robin’s question did not cause them to break apart in a hurry. Silas kept his lips pressed to Pitch’s for another heartbeat before he looked up. The prince’s sigh was indecent.

‘Oh, it is truly divine.’ Silas knew his smile all crooked, his eyes no doubt sparkling with the effects of the drink. He was painfully hard in his trousers. ‘Sorry, I fear I am quite drunk.’

‘Why do you fear it?’

He gathered up his flighty thoughts. ‘You understand our circumstance. This is hardly the time for levity.’

‘I think rather the opposite is true. You are much in need of rest and enjoyment.’ Robin smiled their yellow smile. They certainly had the same childish happiness about them as Tilly did.

Silas sobered. ‘You knew much about us…through the jewellery, I presume.’ Fine strands of gold drifted as the dryad nodded, offering another glimpse of the earring, which adorned their left ear. ‘Does it enable you to speak with Tilly directly? Do you know how she and her mothers fare?’

A waver moved through the happiness. ‘No. I’m afraid not, on both counts. The earring is more like…’ They searched for the word. ‘A decree, her instruction. The flower embedded is her insignia.’

Pitch cupped his hand to the back of Silas’s neck, playing with his hair. ‘Decree?’ His laughter was derisive. ‘You make her sound like royalty.’

‘Well, I suppose we are worth as much as a prince or princess, when it comes to our value in court play. The Erlking certainly prizes us.’

Pitch abandoned Silas’s curls and braced himself against his knees so he could shift more upright. The movement was no help at all against Silas’s groin.

‘He prizes you? How so?’

‘The Wild Hunt that searches for you?’ Robin said. ‘It last rode out to retrieve the likes of me, and my kindred. The UnSeelie Court does not grow as Lokke pleases. His riders were sent to retrieve the dryads, capture as many as they could steal and make slaves of them so he’d have gardens to boast over and his court could flourish. Their hunts were halted by the Order, but not before dozens of my kindred were taken. With the way Lokke works them, they do not last long.’

Silas winced. ‘That is why Tilly was hidden with the purebreds?’