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Audacity

VEYRION

Had I thought the human princess quelled?

Apparently, the suns that puts all Stone Fae to sleep only served to reawaken her audacity.

“Well, hello again, King Super Villain.”

Her voice awakened me behind my stone cast. Then came those hands—those incredibly soft hands, setting my chest alight with sensation. She touched me with curiosity, not the terror I was told to expect.

Traced every groove of my stomach, as if she were memorizing me.

And I—trapped as I was inside my cast of sleeping stone before the rise of the moons—could do nothing.

Nothing to stop her soft, wicked hands.

Nothing to quell the feelings they stirred in me.

Heat.

Ache.

And a maddening awareness of my emotions that I had not felt since my unexpected ascension to the Stone Fae King’s Blood Throne.

Each stroke of her palm awakened phantom sensations beneath the shell. My core responded in kind—an eruption of pressure and need inside a body meant to be unfeeling at this hour.

Then her touch roamed lower.

When she ran that soft hand over the stone sheathing my shaft, it was as if my very spirit flinched.

I would have gasped if my lungs weren’t dormant.

Would have grabbed her wrist. Would have pushed her against the wall and demanded—no, not demanded.

Punished . Everything inside of me wanted to punish her for this teasing torture.

But I was paralyzed. And so I could only endure it. The agony of powerlessness. The helpless shock of pleasure. The forbidden thrill of awakened desire.

Inside the shell, the organic flesh of me swelled—so hard, I feared I might crack through the cast that shielded me from all enemies.

But enemy was not the right word for this brazen human.

She was danger . Of a different kind.

And that was before she kissed me, letting her warm tongue slip over the seam between my lips.

I knew then that she had lied about being a virgin. What virgin would dare to torture a male thus, touching and teasing him when he could not touch her back?

Or even better, slam her into the window to reimburse her for the sweet torture she was visiting upon my body.

How had she managed to get out of her shackle, anyway?

I’d had it specially made in a rush job from our armorer and had ordered the cook to put a sleeping drug in her food.

To keep her docile while I secured her, I had told myself—not to bring an end to her tears.

Though I was happy for both when I chained her to the wall.

Yet here she was, touching me everywhere. Pressing her soft chest into my torso as she kissed my stone lips.

“Not bad for a first and last kiss. But now it’s time for me to go. See ya later, Your Stone-Cold Majesty.”

The next thing I heard was the soft open and click of the door.

She is escaping! Most likely making her way down the other side of the mountain toward Pridehaven.

It being such an inefficient mode of travel, I have no idea how fast a human can go by foot. But she already has several ticks of the stoning suns on her side. What if that weak species is faster than I gave them credit for when swooping down on them from the skies?

Ever since her leaving, I have been left to another type of torture. That of waiting until the moonsrise, when I can uncast and chase after her.

We Stone Fae never amplify defeat—let alone admit to it—so I didn’t believe any of the kingdoms within our Stone Lands knew the truth: That my brother died attempting a failed campaign to invade Solmane.

But the word must have gotten out somehow if she knows to go to their Capital City of Pridehaven to seek refuge.

When I finally am released from the stone sleep, I pull on the hooded version of my flying leathers and equip myself with a bandolier of daggers, along with the sword I keep tucked behind my wings.

Then I rush to the door with no doubt that she’s already deeply embedded in enemy territory. She may even attempt to go straight to Solmane’s ruler to petition for her life.

But if she thinks even an entire twelve ticks of the suns will give her enough time to get far enough away to escape my wrath, she is sorely mis?—

My vengeful thoughts stutter when I find the hall completely empty.

That is not unusual. After uncasting, those who don’t sleep unclothed in their own chambers, as the nobles do, often use these early evening hours to attend to their hygiene—taking long flights to stretch their wings and dipping into the lake at the mountain’s base to cleanse themselves before they’re called to train or serve at moonsrise.

But when I look up at the skylight, I can see no shadowed figures overhead. Only a few of the closer stars lighting the way for the full rise of the moons.

I do, however, hear the loud murmurs of several voices, and when I turn toward the sound, I find my warriors and servants gathered just beyond the castle’s glass back wall.

Looking at… something.

“Where in the skies are all of our Door Gravels?” a voice asks behind me.

I turn to see Lady Yilara approaching from her quarters a few doors down.

As the younger sister of my brother’s Obsidian Consort, she and her family still enjoy noble privileges, including a suite of rooms at the kingdom castle.

She is a prime example of Stone Fae beauty—well-carved, with long midnight hair, glowing blue eyes, and high, sharp cheekbones.

Having lived a life of privilege behind these castle walls, her skin is nearly unmarred, barely cracked from the release of the energy it takes to power flight and violence.

Since my brother died without an heir, it is nearly certain she’ll be chosen as my Obsidian Consort once the Eryx Bride sacrifice is complete. As my future bed and parenting partner, she usually greets me with a smoky smile full of come-hither promise.

Though she must remain sacrosanct until chosen, she’s even arranged gift-partners for my release before raids—her subtle way of proving her devotion to me in all my endeavors.

Normally, she doesn’t set foot outside her family’s chambers unless dressed in a resplendent gown and at least one piece of the treasure trove of jewelry her family received when my elder brother took her brother as his consort.

But this early eve, she wears nothing but a simple robe dress and a confused expression. “Where is everyone?” she demands. “I have an inquiry scheduled with a friend about attending to you before tonight’s raid, and I am in need of dressing.”

I do not bother with Door Gravels for such matters, preferring to dress and groom myself. But she has a point. While other servants rush to fit in grooming and wing-stretches before duty, Door Gravels typically stand waiting outside their nobles’ doors the moment they uncast.

“And what is that crowd on the other side of the back wall?” Yilara narrows her eyes toward the gathering I noticed earlier. “What in the skies could they be doing out there?”

I wonder the same.

A conflict stirs within me.

I must launch into the air to recapture the Eryx Oblation—quietly. It would not do for my people to witness that a mere human has escaped their sovereign.

Yet I’m also compelled to solve the mystery: What could draw both gravels and soldiers away from their duties so early before moonsrise?

In the end, I pull up my hood and head for the back entrance. If Skorrin, my Ironwing First Command, is out there, I’ll inform him of my absence from tonight’s raid.

Then I’ll depart for Pridehaven.

Two enemies felled with one slice of the sword, as we often say.

When I push through the crowd, I find that Skorrin is indeed outside in the brambles. But to my great surprise, so is the Eryx Oblation.

She still wears the too-tight wedding gown, but now an apron—the same kind that only the daytime Mountain Goat castle servants wear—hangs over it. Both are covered in dark dirt.

Yet the princess I shackled to the wall just before the sunsrise radiates joy as she speaks to Skorrin while the other warriors and gravel remain gathered around something I cannot see.

“That would be amazing!” she says to Skorrin. “Do you really think you and your soldiers could get the rest of the brambles cleared by tomorrow morning?”

“A portion of it, yes,” Skorrin answers with a gallant nod. “We have a raid scheduled after moonsrise, but before then, we’ll do our best.”

“Oh, my moons, Commander Skorrin, that would be amazing. Thank you!”

She hasn’t fled. Yet an ugly, volcanic surge tears through me at the sound of her gratitude. If Skorrin weren’t long since matebound and past fathering age, I might suspect him of trying to woo my bride.

Even so, I cannot help but wonder—what would it feel like to have her offer me her appreciation in such a profuse way?

“No, thank you , Sallie Rose,” Skorrin replies. “You must know that you have delighted us beyond all measure.”

Beyond all measure?

I frown.

This seems as good a time as any to lower my hood and find out exactly what all of this commotion is about.