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Chapter One

SYLVIE

“B lessed Thara, Goddess of Wind, protect those who dwell in Spring.”

My voice echoed off the temple’s plain stone walls as I let my fingers hover above one of the six candles placed before the altar. Closing my eyes, I called my magic. A second later, heat kindled in my chest. Another second, and it streaked down my arm and burst from my fingertips.

I opened my eyes as the candle flared to life, its flame illuminating the darkened temple. The sweet perfume of riverthistle floated in the air. The other candles were unlit and would remain so until the God’s Hour, when I said prayers to Perun and all five of his consorts. As it had since I was a child, the song of the Hours ran through my mind, the simple melody listing the times of prayer for the god and his goddess-wives.

Eura at dawn to summon the lightning

Veluna mid-morning to quicken the thunder

Anone at noon to beckon the rain

Thara at dusk to dance with the wind

Zadia at midnight to veil us in mist

Perun at three when the storm breaks the night

Most children recited the final line with a groan—and were promptly smacked by mothers or nursemaids for grumbling about waking in the middle of the night to pray. On the island, we weren’t supposed to prefer one of Perun’s wives over the others. The sestras even had a saying for it.

Just as every tributary feeds the great river, so too does every goddess shape the divine flow.

In other words, the sestras didn’t tolerate favorites. But Thara had always occupied a special spot in my heart. Maybe it was because her devotions took place at dusk. The world quieted when the sun sank low. No matter how busy the day, night’s approach encouraged everyone to slow down. To reflect.

And Thara’s tributary ran under Storm’s Hollow. Perhaps, in her wisdom, she’d known I was destined to become a queen instead of a sestra.

Through the temple’s long, narrow windows, the dying sun stained the sky a deep purple. The first stars twinkled like gems scattered over an inky blanket. Wind gusted through the windows, fluttering the candle’s flame. Sputtering, the tiny spark cast shadows on the wall behind Perun’s altar. The braided river reeds draped across the stone stirred, the ends scraping the floor. Behind the altar, a small godswell rose on a pedestal, the bowl within it brimming with river water.

Memories flooded me, a larger, more ornate godswell filling my vision. For a moment, I was twenty years old again with a sestra’s hand on my shoulder urging me closer to the well.

Peer into it, child. If you would know the future, you must look Perun in the eye.

I’d done it, leaning over the well and looking into the water. For a moment, nothing happened, and disappointment replaced the nerves fluttering in my stomach. Then, a flash in the water made me catch my breath.

A tempest formed, swirling like the storms that battered my family’s estate on the cliffs of the Silver Sea. Shapes swam to the surface. Scenes formed in the bowl, each one lasting mere seconds before another took its place. Faces rose and fell. Lightning flashed, and the water ran red. The tempest raged, a thousand voices filling my ears until, at last, the water went still.

When my senses returned, I gripped the sides of the bowl, the edges of my wimple soaked with perspiration. The sestra stepped around me and looked from the bowl to my face.

Did you see anything, child?

A shuffling sound yanked me into the present. The vision of the godswell and the sestra disintegrated, giving way to the altar and the windows behind it. The hair on my nape lifted as a presence filled the temple.

Not Thara—or any of her sister-wives. No, this presence was decidedly male. But he wouldn’t speak until I finished my prayers.

Closing my eyes again, I murmured the ritual words, my voice joining the rustle of the reeds that continued to shift in the wind. The tang of salt and metal teased my nostrils.

A storm was coming. But that was Spring. I couldn’t recall much about my father, but I remembered his voice. Long after I was supposed to be in bed, I’d creep to the top of the stairs that descended to the Great Hall and listen to the sounds of feasting. My father’s deep voice had boomed over the musicians’ songs and the bustle of servants carrying food and wine to the tables.

Another storm, thank Perun! The tempests feed our rivers and fuel our magic.

At my back, the presence grew…impatient. I wasn’t certain how I sensed it.

Him.

He wouldn’t disturb me. He never did. But he wanted me to hurry.

Speaking the final verse, I blew out the candle. Then I rose and faced my husband.

Tanyl stood in the temple’s open doorway, his arms folded over his chest and one lean shoulder propped against the carved stone. Careless locks of long golden hair spilled down the front of his jacket. One of his servants had braided a few strands away from his face, revealing his wide, smooth forehead and high cheekbones. Faint blue waves and cranes formed a pattern around his throat. More peeked from his collar.

As the scent of riverthistle faded, Tanyl ran a languid gaze down my body, taking his time as he lingered on my breasts and the juncture of my thighs.

Heat filled my cheeks. “You shouldn’t look at me like that. Not here.”

Bright blue eyes lifted to mine. “Why not?”

Exasperation flitted through me as I grabbed my skirts and went to the door. “You know why,” I said, stopping in front of my husband.

He stayed put, his bulk blocking my exit. His lips curved as he lowered his voice. “Yes, I do, my queen, but I want to hear you say it.”

The heat spread down my neck—and farther, sneaking to a place it had no business being. Not with a godswell at my back and the scent of Thara’s candle in my nose.

I swallowed, my heart beating faster. “I won’t.”

Another presence flooded the temple. Thick but unseen, it twisted between Tanyl and me like a rope, both ends crackling. And like a rope, it bound us—sometimes burning, always holding.

Tanyl waited, undeniable challenge in his eyes. The fluttering pulse in his neck was the only sign he wasn’t as collected as he appeared. He’d wait for this the same as he waited for me to finish my prayers. It was one of his rules. Or maybe a preference. Maybe it was both.

Either way, it was power. He’d taught me that early in our marriage. I bent to him because he needed it, but bending didn’t equal weakness. One word from me could end—or begin—this game.

Another gust of wind tugged at my hair and skirts. Behind me, the reeds rustled, the scraping sound like the rattle of the snakes that lived on the banks of the Spring Court’s rivers.

Still, Tanyl waited, the breeze tugging the ends of his hair.

More heat rolled through me. An ache bloomed between my thighs. Drawing a deep breath, I set the game in motion. “If you want me to say something, you’ll have to force me.”

Tanyl was on me in less than a second. Eyes blazing, he seized my wrist and dragged me from the temple into the antechamber. My heart skipped beats as he pulled me through our quarters, the clipped sound of his boots accompanied by the soft, more rapid patter of my slippers. Furniture and paintings passed in a blur as we moved from the audience chamber to the dining room to his small library. We flew through my sewing solar.

Then we were in his bedchamber, the slam of the door echoing around us as he tangled his hands in my hair and slanted his mouth across mine.

A moan burst from me as I opened under him, accepting the thrust of his tongue and the sharp edge of his teeth. The restraint he’d displayed in the temple was gone, replaced with a raw, primal hunger that set fires under my skin.

“My pious queen,” he said against my lips, walking me backward so quickly that I lost my slippers. “My devoted little wife, saying your prayers like a good girl.” The backs of my knees hit the bed, and I went down under Tanyl’s weight.

But he stayed on his feet, his blue eyes glittering as he flipped my skirts to my waist. Gripping my thighs, he yanked my ass to the edge of the mattress, setting the bed curtains swaying.

“Now,” he said, tugging my drawers down my legs and tossing them aside. “Let’s hear it, Wife. Why shouldn’t I look at you in the temple?” He pushed my thighs up, forcing me to brace my heels on the mattress’s edge. He raked his gaze down my exposed sex before meeting my stare. “Why shouldn’t I look at my property?”

“I’m not your property,” I panted as I struggled not to roll my hips. But I lost the battle, a breathless cry leaving my throat as I arched toward him.

He pushed my skirts higher, bunching the silk around my hips and exposing the lower half of my stomach. Leaving me bare from the waist down except for my stockings and the glossy ribbons holding them in place just below my knees.

“Wrong,” he said. “I own you, Sylvie. From the moment I placed a crown on your head, I owned every inch of you.”

Hot moisture trickled from my pussy, which gaped as he pressed my knees flat to the mattress. And even in that moment—forty-five years after I removed my wimple and became Tanyl’s queen—shame coursed through me.

But that was part of the game too. Being open and exposed, all my secrets splayed wide. The scent of my arousal mingled with the scent of riverthistle that clung to my gown.

As Tanyl knelt between my legs, I lifted onto my elbows so I could see his face. “I belong to the gods. We all do.”

Tanyl shook his head. Eyes locked with mine, he let his lips hover just above my weeping pussy. “Wrong again, love,” he murmured, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. His eyes drifted shut, and his lips parted as he drew another slow, even breath. When he opened his eyes, the dark possession in them made fear shiver down my spine. “You may have pledged yourself to Perun as a girl, but you left that behind when you wed me. I’m your god now, Sylvie.”

I couldn’t help darting a look at the door, part of me braced for Perun himself to thunder through it and strike Tanyl down. “That’s sacrilege. Even kings kneel to Perun. Even kings worship.”

His lips curved, a dangerous light dancing in his eyes. “Oh, I worship, sweet wife. But I do it my way. Your body is my altar, your cunt my sacrament.” He licked up the center of my pussy. Then he closed his lips around my clit and sucked.

My arms gave out, and I collapsed on my back, the bed’s canopy a smear of dark blue fabric above me. Lust roared through my veins, and my hips writhed of their own accord as Tanyl feasted between my legs. When I bucked too hard, he clamped his arms around my thighs and held me in place, his lips and tongue merciless. Just as release rushed me, he abandoned my clit and dragged his mouth to my opening.

“No!” I panted, squirming against his grip. Damp gathered at my temples and in the small of my back as I struggled to my elbows once more. “Not there. Suck my clit.” It was one of several words Tanyl taught me early in our marriage, his instruction accompanied by sharp, wicked correction every time my tongue tripped over the blunt, forbidden words.

He ignored me now, the sigils around his wrists glowing faintly as he thrust his tongue inside me, his nose buried in my sex. The last rays of the setting sun poured through the windows and turned his hair a deeper gold. His tongue was hot and slippery on my pussy. With every thrust, he sank deeper. He fucked me with the wet, agile muscle, the slick sounds loud in the hushed bedchamber.

My moans were just as loud as he took me to the edge without letting me fall over it. The muscles in his arms flexed against my thighs as he pinned me in place, every searing thrust of his tongue a taunting denial of pleasure.

“Please, please, please,” I chanted, grabbing handfuls of bedding. “Tanyl!”

“When I say,” he said, his words vibrating through my core. His tone was mild, almost impersonal even though I knew it was farce. “When you’re wet enough, Sylvie. When you’re desperate.”

“I am!” Gods, I was both. Wet and desperate, my body teetering between ecstasy and despair. It was never one or the other with Tanyl. Always, it was both.

I strained, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling at the bedding as my moans turned to sobbing cries. My core clamped and contracted. My nipples stabbed my chemise. I didn’t need to look to know they poked hard against my bodice.

It was too much. My nipples throbbed, as if thinking of them roused them in some way, my momentary neglect angering them to the point of revenge. Everything between my legs throbbed, too, my pussy like a beating heart.

No, that wasn’t quite right. I was the beating heart, my entire being reduced to a wet, shivering organ. And like a heart, I could be broken. Tanyl was going to do it.

“Give me what I want,” he said in the same calm tone even as the bed squeaked and my arousal smacked in the air. “Give it to me, Sylvie.”

Anyone observing us might have wondered at the demand. Because what more could I give?

But I knew. Tanyl wanted my total surrender. My complete loss of control. He wanted me mindless and babbling, my will stripped to nothing. Only then could I give him everything.

Gritting my teeth, I let myself go, only half aware of my fingers crawling through his hair to hold his face against my pussy. My throat burned as my screams rose, Tanyl’s name on my lips. I ground my pussy on his face as I chased my release like thunder chasing the lightning.

And finally, finally , my husband gave it to me. Fastening his hot mouth on my clit, he sucked once. Twice.

And I flew apart, my spine bowing as my orgasm punched from the center of my chest. It robbed my breath and stole my speech, leaving my mouth stretched on a soundless scream as I rode it out on Tanyl’s face.

In some dim corner of my mind, I was aware of his composure breaking at last. Of him growling as he licked and sucked me through every wave and shudder. Then he lapped at my opening, gathering my arousal on his tongue before kissing my clit and then my mound.

When it was over, he left briefly and returned with a cool, wet cloth, which he pressed between my legs.

“What about you?” I asked, slitting my eyes open as drowsiness tugged at me.

Tanyl’s smile was soft as he pulled my gown back into place. “What about me?”

Even after everything, my face heated. “Don’t you need to…?”

“Come?” he asked with a raised brow. My blush must have deepened because he chuckled as he tossed the cloth into a basin on the nightstand and stretched on the bed beside me. Propping his head on his hand, he used the other to toy with the embroidery on my bodice. “I have what I need,” he murmured, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “I have you.”

My heart squeezed—then my breath hitched as his fingers grazed my nipple. The peak tightened under his skilled ministrations. Even as I fought a fresh wave of arousal, curiosity buzzed in my head.

“Where were you today?” I asked. “You were supposed to hear petitions from the villagers.”

He looked up, something dark flitting through his eyes before he quickly concealed it. But he wasn’t fast enough. Not this time.

“What is it?” I asked.

At first, he didn’t answer. Then he sighed. “I met with the Council.”

The last of my desire flitted away. “The Council wasn’t supposed to meet for another week.”

“It was a special meeting. It couldn’t keep.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Tanyl’s expression cooled. “You were at prayer.”

I sat up. “My prayers take twenty minutes. You couldn’t wait that long?”

A different kind of tension arced between us. But it was just as familiar as the desire that had twisted to life in the temple.

“You could have waited,” I said. “You just didn’t want to.”

Tanyl sat up, too, his mouth tightening. He ran a hand through his hair, shoving the long strands away from his face. “That’s not true, and I tire of the accusation.”

“Then stop earning it,” I snapped, moving to the edge of the bed.

Tanyl caught my wrist. “Sylvie, you’re being unfair. The Scarrok attacked one of our patrols near the Covenant this morning. Crispin and I have spent the better part of the day waiting for news. In the meantime, we needed to prepare for a larger assault. That kind of planning is chaotic. I didn’t think to send for you.”

Because you didn’t think of me at all. As usual.

Twisting from his grip, I held my wrist before his eyes, my sigils glowing in the dimly lit chamber. “I’m not powerless, Husband, no matter how much you wish that were the case.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “I never said?—”

“If you knew about the attack this morning, you had all day to summon me. But you didn’t.” I tilted my head. “Seeing my brother didn’t remind you to fetch me? Crispin’s face in the Council chamber didn’t jolt the memory of your wife from your head?”

Tanyl’s expression darkened. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, my lady.”

“Then we’re well-matched. Because duplicity doesn’t suit you, my lord .”

A horn split the air outside, the long, mournful bellow making the glass in the windows tremble.

Tanyl and I turned toward the sound. Then we looked at each other, the horn’s signal unmistakable to both of us.

The patrol had returned from the Covenant. And someone was dead.

Tanyl was off the bed and across the room in a blur of movement, his long hair swinging against his back. “Stay here,” he barked over his shoulder.

“No.” I scrambled after him, only pausing to shake out my skirts. “I’m coming with you.”

Tanyl frowned at me from the door. “Sylvie, I don’t want?—”

“I’m coming.” Crossing to him, I stopped and squared my shoulders. “Before we married, you said you wanted a queen, not a vassal. Prove it, Tanyl. Let me stand at your side, not in your shadow.”

For a moment, he appeared ready to argue. Then he exhaled. “Very well.” His tone turned grim as he opened the door. “Let’s go greet the latest nightmare to wash onto our doorstep.”