Page 24

Talysse

A s soon as Ayrene leaves my room with the empty dinner plates, I climb into the bed. The cold sheets immediately remind me of the dreadful mist that took me to the Room of Reflections.

“It’s the last night before the Second Trial,” Ayrene reminded me while brushing my hair. “I pray to Atos you sleep well, m’lady Talysse.”

But there are other things far more terrifying than the magical mist which dragged me to the Room of Reflections.

We’re all living on borrowed time.

But how accurate was Aeidas’s estimation?

The predictions of that frail white-haired court mage have been correct so far. Probably, she has access to some similar documents, and she’s managed to establish some kind of a pattern. The sky spheres appear to move randomly, but for the wise and skilled ones who have centuries-old records, there must be a way to foresee any changes coming.

Soon, the sun will set forever.

Pulling the covers up to my chin, I notice that my fingers are shaking. To prove that things can always get worse, tendrils of silvery ghostly mist filter beneath the door.

Elders. Not again.

Just when the swirls of malevolent magic reach the bedposts, the door of my room flies open.

“Talysse.” Aeidas stands in the doorframe, shirtless and chiseled like a marble statue of Elder Heroy, his long hair messy and draping his bare shoulders. “Are you all right?” The cold chills running down my body are swept away by a sudden heat wave.

“Are you seeing this, too?” I ask, my voice trembling. He nods, a furrow forming between his brows. His gaze follows the mist, which quickly withdraws down the scarcely-lit corridor.

“And I have a suspicion where it comes from,” he says darkly. He shuts the door and looms near the bed, looking down at me. “Are you unharmed?” he asks, his voice a soft whisper. “Did it…speak to you? Or show you something?”

I hesitate but decide to tell him about the previous night. The furrow between his eyes deepens.

“She took you to the Room of Reflections,” he rumbles, the knuckles on his fists turning white.

“Who is she?”

“Someone who’ll pay dearly for all her crimes after I have no further use for her,” he spits through his teeth. Standing in the light of the dying fire, he looks again like the cold and brutal Fae Lord I’ve seen in the Governor’s Palace.

The silence stretches between us, dark thoughts buzzing around like angry wasps.

It’s obvious that sleep is out of the question.

Suddenly, Aeidas claps his hands, startling me, and says in a far more cheerful tone, “You know what? I have an idea.” His jade eyes light up with a mischievous glint.

“What?” A lump gets stuck in my throat. Oh, I might have an idea or two, too. One that Myrtle would very much approve of.

“The kitchens are empty at this time of the night, and we both need a snack—”

Atos’s stinking hell pits, who would expect such a suggestion from a murderous Fae prince? The absurdity of it makes me blink. But the word “snack” does its miracle. I crawl to the edge of the bed and throw a light blanket over my shoulders to cover my too-revealing nightgown.

The door creaks open and we tiptoe the corridors of the sleeping castle, the Aeidas guiding us around night guard patrols and creaky floorboards. He speeds up his pace when crossing some darker halls. “The palace is old, full of echoes from the past,” he whispers. “Legend has it that Atos himself built it. Some rooms are sealed off—too dangerous. Others are avoided, like the Room of Reflections.”

The Elder of the Underworld, the ruler of the Kingdom of the Dead and Lord of the Winter has built this place! My head spins. Ancient magic lingers here and mine responds to it somehow, giving me goosebumps or raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

We finally reach the kitchen, a grand space with old stone walls. The scent of roasted meat, herbs and pine coals still lingers in the air. It’s dark; the fire in the enormous hearth has nearly died out, and the prince lights a few candles.

We both startle when we see a tiny silhouette with beady black eyes sitting on his hind paws behind a plate, generously loaded with food.

“Seems you got caught red-handed, Desmond!” Aeidas chuckles while the guilty-looking rat wipes his paws in the tiny brocade jerkin he’s wearing.

“My metabolism works differently than yours!” The rodent defends himself. “I need snacks all the time.”

“Did you trap poor Lord Nyxie again?”

No need to ask who Lord Nyxie is—an upside-down bucket that moves across the tiled floor and an angry meowing from underneath it explains it all.

Desmond looks smug. “That stupid cat always falls for the treat and the broomstick trick.” He shrugs, returning to his meal.

“Take a seat, Talysse.” The prince pulls a chair at the long wooden table near the hearth. I settle, unable to take my eyes off his shirtless frame, his torso gilded by the light of the dying fire. He throws some wood in, hangs a tea cattle on a hook over the flames, and starts rummaging through the cupboards.

“Let’s see what Desmond left for us,” he says over his shoulder, and soon, there is a pile of cheese, cold meat, tomatoes, and fresh bread before me. All served neatly in a gold-rimmed plate. Even the clean linen napkin on the side is there.

“You seem quite experienced with this,” I note, enthralled by his confident moves before the hearth. He places a grid over the flames, puts a pan over it, and—my eyes widen—prepares to fry some eggs. The fire bronzes his bare torso, and I swallow drily, watching the cords in his forearms strain as he breaks the eggshell at the rim of the pan.

Desmond clears his tiny throat next to me, and I look away from that mesmerizing sight of the prince stirring eggs, a white towel over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed with concentration.

The rat is glaring at me, brow raised.

“Looks like you’re already drooling, Talysse. Well, I will take my leave then. Aeidas, m’lady,” he bows dramatically, “make smart choices. The second Trial starts tomorrow,” he declares ominously, then jumps down from the table and scatters away.

The prince slams a plate with steamy scrambles eggs on the table and sits opposite of me, pouring us some hot tea in translucent porcelain cups.

“You seem awfully experienced at this,” I repeat, piling cheese on my bread slice.

“Sneaking off to the kitchen with beautiful ladies? Not really.”

Elders, please don’t make me blush. “But I was doing this a lot with Desmond and Viridis, as the solemn meals in the dining hall never appealed to me. Viridis is an excellent cook. Me and my brother were crazy for his food.”

“So you can cook too?” I burn my tongue on the hot eggs and curse my gluttony.

“Better than expected from a prince.” He shrugs, his eyes flickering with amusement. “And you? What are your secret talents?”

“Well, I am quite good at relieving people of their possessions.” We both chuckle, and I try to pierce a cherry tomato with the fork. “Before my parents died, they did their best to give me a fancy high-born lady education, and I developed a love for reading. Tenebris has a nice library in the Temple of the Elders, a remnant of the time when the city was big and important.”

“A well-read human then.” He smiles, wiping his fingers on the kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. His silver strands touch his shoulders, and I feel the need to reach out and tuck them behind his pointy ears. “Who were your parents?” he asks with genuine interest and nearly makes me forget that his name was on the document that sent them to the gallows.

“My mother was kind and graceful. She has never raised her voice.” The tea tastes divine. “She was from the Free Cities and always talked fondly of this place. Especially of the sea. She had that large seashell, and she swore she could hear the waves when she pressed it to her ear.” The dam of memories has burst. The room has become quiet after he released Lord Nyxie, only the crackling of the fire breaking the silence. The prince has stopped eating, watching me attentively. There’s something in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, like the flash of a gold coin at the bottom of a clear well. “It remained in my parents’ mansion, and you will not believe how many times I have considered sneaking in and stealing it. I hope it’s still there.”

“And your father?” Aeidas asks, putting the fork on the plate and leaning forward on the table as if trying to catch my every word.

“My father was a merchant. He traveled a lot and brought us amazing gifts and even more exciting stories. He protected us fiercely. When they came for them—” My voice breaks, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“I am sorry for this, Talysse,” he says softly and takes my hand. The warmth of his touch corners the shadows of the past.

A sad smile stretches my lips, and he responds with the same, both of us realizing the hopelessness of the situation we’re in. And I believe in him. I know deep in my guts that he will try to change things. Maybe even break the Hex. But his way to this goes over my dead body. And most likely, over Tayna’s, too.

But now there’s tea and warmth, and there is still some time to daylight, some hours before the beginning of the next trial.

“And how was growing up in a palace?” I ask, not pulling my hand away.

“Lonelier than you think. You have already met my closest friends—a gardener and a talking rat. I was bred and trained to be the right hand of the king, Commander of the Shadowblades—an elite squadron of warriors and spies. I had more freedom than him,” he adds, his gaze staring into the distance. No need to ask who he means by him. “And fell in love with the Wastelands, with plants and growth, all creations of Cymmetra. And no, I didn’t kill him,” he adds so softly that I am not sure if I heard him right. “You are the first person I confess this to. I haven’t killed my brother. I watched him gradually turn into a monster, a power-hungry maniac, and I knew the time would come when I’d challenge him for the crown, but not like this.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone that you haven’t killed him?” Elders, how could he keep this to himself when the whole world is calling him a murderer behind his back? His hand over mine is burning.

“Because murdering an opponent is the normal way of Unseelie succession. It makes me more respectable and feared, just like—”

“Winning the Nightfall Trials,” I end the sentence for him, and it all clicks into place. So that’s why he is in the Trials. Not out of bloodlust or desire to hunt and torment others.

“Hey, the conversation got quite gloomy, didn’t it?” He winks. Seuta guard my heart, but he winked at me! “How about you help me clean up?” He suggests and pushes to his feet, leaving my hand cold and missing his touch.

It is a good idea. Our shoulders brushing, soon we are laughing again, soap bubbles flying around, while scrubbing the steel pan together. He fits me with a foamy beard, and I create a tall, bubbly crown and solemnly place it over his silver tresses. Then we put the washed dishes away.

“Put the cups in the tall oak cupboard over there,” he orders while drying a plate with the towel. I pass in front of the fireplace and freeze, feeling his burning eyes on me. My blanket is draped over the chair’s backrest, and I’m in my translucent nightgown, the light of the fire making every detail of my body visible. He is at me in one leap, not touching me; his eyes are black under the heavy lids.

Elders help me; I am breathing heavily, enveloped in the warmth of his bare chest, the heat of the hearth behind me, and this otherworldly, intoxicating scent of his. His fingers, soft from the warm water and smelling of soap, graze my jawline and linger at my chin, tilting my face up so that our eyes meet. His gaze slowly takes in my features as if trying to memorize them, lingering on my mouth.

His lips part, flashing his fangs, but they are anything but threatening now in the warm glow of the hearth. I marvel how they would feel if used gently on my…heat pools from my core, reaching that place between my legs, that already aches with need. Slowly, very slowly, he leans in, and his lips brush against mine in an unspoken question. They are softer than I thought.

The kitchen around me disappears in a maelstrom of candlelight and soap bubbles, and I part my lips, granting him access. He slides his tongue in, crushing me against the hard plane of his body. His powerful arm snakes around my waist, pulling me in closer—if that is even possible—and his hand finds my nape. He deepens the kiss, his broad chest rising rapidly, and our tongues swirl together greedily, each one unable to get enough taste of the other. He tilts my head in a position, granting him maximum access, and deepens the kiss with the ferocity of a warlord, claiming his spoil of war.

This is all too much; my knees soften, and slickness spreads down the inner of my thighs. I bet he smells it, Fae senses and all. And I don’t care. I want him to know how much I want this. I respond with a moan to his row kiss, and this sets him off.

With a swift move, he wraps my legs around his waist and carries me to the massive table. He gently sits me there without interrupting the onslaught of his tongue, and I moan again, realizing that I am naked beneath the transparent gown and feeling his massive length pressed against my slit.

A deep, animalistic rumble reverberates from his chest when I grind against him, rubbing my soaked, swollen labia against his pants. The fabric is so thin that I can feel the veins along his massive cock, his wide crown, and the drops of his need staining the light cotton.

I moan again, louder, as his hand cups my breast, a calloused finger twirling around my nipple, and slowly and deliberately slide my clit along his hardness.

Foreplay and lovemaking are nothing new to me. I had a few tumbles in the straw with young men, driven by pure lust and curiosity. They had all left me wanting, needing, and missing something I could not put my finger on. But nothing, nothing could compare to this. My moans are genuine, not the sounds of pleasure Myrtle fakes for her customers, and my need is burning me on the inside.

Once again, I slowly glide my nub along his throbbing length, and he responds with a well-aimed thrust. His lips suddenly leave my mouth, and I open my eyes in protest. But then the straps of my nightgown slip down, and burning soft lips trail a path to my right breast. I grind against his cock like a woman possessed when his tongue explores my nipple, licking, gently suckling, and grazing the tender flesh while his hips work with mine in some savage harmony. All thoughts and alarm bells are muted in my head. All I want is this magnificent male inside me.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, and the sound of his voice is nearly enough to send me over the edge. “Let me see you, Talysse,” he whispers hoarsely, and before the meaning of his words reaches my mind, he is on his knees before me, his hot breath brushing my wet and painfully open folds. “So beautiful.” And then flicks his sinful tongue along my slit, pausing at my clit.

Leaning back on my elbows, I bite back a scream. He takes his time exploring me—licking every single rim before returning to my clit. There, he starts working with a maddening rhythm, circling it, teasing it, and gently sucking it in. It takes an embarrassingly short time for me to come undone and fall flat on my back, eyes rolled up, unable to say anything but his name.

“Aeidas,” I call, and it is a plea and a prayer at the same time.

When the world around me gains shape again, he rises to his feet, wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and looks down at me with a devilish smirk. Once again, he is the Crown Prince of the Unseelie, tall and commanding, prepared to do anything to get what he wants. The outline of his massive cock is so mouthwatering that I know, humiliating as it is, that I will beg him to return the favor.

But his eyes are suddenly cold again, staring at something behind me.

“It is dawn, Talysse.”

I push myself up and look back to the tiny kitchen window. Pink light streams in through the iron bars.

We both know what this means.

At dawn, we become enemies again.

And for the first time in my life, I curse the daylight.