Page 24

I emerge from the small room, the scent of Zenthris and sex still clinging to me. My body hums with spent energy, that raw, almost painful longing satiated. I really should go and clean up, return to my quarters, wash the rogue from me.

But I don’t want to just yet. The wicked memory of the pounding I’ve taken still aches inside me, and I’m not ready to let it go.

The distant, elegant music from the ball is a mockery, a hollow rhythm against the delight I’ve just experienced. Well, they are in for some mocking of their own. I strut back into the ballroom, helping myself to a glass of wine, feeling reckless for the first time in a very long time.

So much so that I down the drink in two long gulps before taking another.

I’ll pay for it, the heady wine going to my head within moments as I circle the dancefloor, in predator mode for some reason.

Sex sometimes triggers that in me, the languidity of it, especially satisfying release that hits just right, can bring out other instincts rather than soften them.

I’m looking for Vae, I admit it. Or one of the other princesses. It’s a terrible idea, and I’m grinning tightly at the thought of pinning one of them down, lifting their skirt and making them come just to humiliate them.

The truth of my wicked plan makes me pause.

That’s my mother in me, the vengeful queen, not the woman I choose to be.

Still, the idea of it, of seeing one of those uppity and pristine daughters of kingdom writhe beneath me and beg me to bring her to orgasm as I draw out her screams and moans has me laughing out loud.

I startle a couple who stand next to me, enough that they move away. I need to rein in my reactions, clearly, and take another sip, though now my head is light, and I really should stop.

It’s time to go back to my quarters after all before I do something I’ll regret.

I spot Altar, though he doesn’t see me, and consider approaching him, and decide against it. This is the worst possible time to do so. Let him retain some innocence for now. I wave off Amber who spots me, heading for me, and evade her, making my escape.

The halls are empty, everyone gone to the party, a few servants scurrying. I’m passing a doorway, hear moans escaping, and grin again. I’m far from the only one to take advantage of this night of masks, though when I catch a glimpse through the crack in the door, I stop in my tracks.

Back up a half stride. And contemplate the sight of the towering lord Chancellor Hallick, who has a tiny blonde in blue bent over the back of a chair, thrusting under her skirt as she pants and moans from the attention.

Why Vae, you hot little hussy.

She doesn’t look up or see me, but he does. We lock gazes as he drives himself into her harder, jerking back on her hair. She squeals, vibrating with orgasm as he pushes her down again, his own release taking him while he stares into my eyes.

I stare back because that stare isn’t lust.

It’s a challenge.

I carry on, though I’m unsurprised when, barely a moment later, as I turn the corner for the princess’s wing, I hear heavy footfalls coming up from behind me.

“Remalla.”

I really shouldn’t talk to him right now. I’m still vibrating with that predator energy that wants to say and do things that could lead to regret. But he won’t let me escape him, Hallick circling me and cutting me off from entering the doors to the wing.

He’s still red-faced, his robe pulled around him, the mask he wears slipped slightly. He’s as ripe with the scent of intimacy as I am, though I find the combination with that fruitiness he favors turns my stomach.

“Hallick.” First name basis goes both ways and carries its own message. Not intimacy for me, and nor for him. We’re both on the cusp of understanding, after all.

This dance can only end one way, and I plan to still be standing when it does.

“Highness,” he purrs, taking a step closer, his presence suffocating.

His gaze sweeps over my disheveled appearance, lingering on my lips beneath my mask.

They feel swollen and are surely red from Zenthris’s kisses.

He sees. He suspects. He’s been watching, a vulture in the gilded cage.

Is far from innocent himself. “Are you quite well? You seem… flushed. Perhaps the revelry was too much for you.”

“What do you need from me, Hallick?” The predator pushes. She wants his blood, to taste his throat in her teeth. She’s hungry for victory now that she’s satisfied her other need.

My hands instinctively clench into fists against her.

Hallick’s smile thins, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. Does he sense the threat? He has to. “Merely expressing my concern,” he says.

“Thank you for it,” I say. “Anything else?”

“Only to assure you that what you just witnessed was meaningless.” He smiles at me.

“I’m sure Princess Vae would be delighted to know it.” He’s revolting suddenly, and I can’t stand him any longer.

Hallick frowns, then smiles. “Ah, that.” He chuckles. “No, my dear, not that. I’d have invited you to join us, but I was already so far along, and the princess is rather jealous of the attention she requires. No, I meant in the ballroom.”

Of course. This has nothing to do with intimacy, remember? “I don’t know what you mean.” I know exactly what he means.

“I see.” Hallick backs away, hands spread before him. “Whatever it is you think you overheard…” his arms drop, thudding to his sides under his robe. “We both know you’re not gifted when it comes to Citadel politics. The subtleties, you see. Lost on you, I’m afraid.”

“I’m very familiar with death threats, though,” I say, because I simply can’t leave well enough alone. “Good night, Chancellor.”

He watches me as I stride past him, making no effort to touch me or stop me.

“Sleep well, highness,” he says as the door swings shut behind me.

I’m raging by the time I reach my room, but I don’t know why. It leads to a bath, to pacing, to trying to ease that anger with another orgasm, but all methods fail me.

The thin sleeping gown and robe I’ve draped myself in barely ward off the chill of the Citadel’s halls, the echoing sounds of the party continuing as drunken revelry turns to drugged lechery.

I pass many open engagements that remind me far too much of my mother as I walk the halls, finally entering the base of Atlas’s tower and climbing.

I don’t think I intended to see him. I’m just looking for the means to end this restlessness inside me. Fucking Zenthris should have fixed it. And it has, to a point. But there’s more that needs addressing, and I’m at a loss to find the means on my own.

He answers my knock, startled to find me there, as surprised as I am. “Remalla.”

“Atlas.” I shrug, hugging my robe around me. “I need a favor.”

The Overprince’s surprise turns to curiosity in a flash. “By all means, come in. I’m nothing if not favorable.”

I laugh at his joke, exhaling heavily. He’s shed his mask and costume, tossed aside on a chair, and he crossed behind me, offering me wine that I refuse with a shake of my head.

“I’ve had enough for tonight,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t meant to say that, either, but it seems the right thing to do.

“No need,” he says with his own sigh. “I understand, Remalla. You have every right to be angry with me. With this.” He looks up, then back at me. “I lost you in the crowd. Did you leave?”

I nod. “Have you ever heard of a term called kinspark?” Why did I ask him that?

He frowns a little, sitting down, thoughtful as always. I cross to him without stopping, reaching up to smooth back his hair. It’s in his eyes and makes him look so young, though he’s two years older than me.

Atlas doesn’t pull away. “It’s familiar,” he says, “but I don’t know why.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Thank you. For trying to be kind.”

He shrugs. “And you.”

My jaw clenches. “I’m not kind.”

“You have been to me,” he says, gentle, sweet.

Far too sweet. Why is he like this? Surely, he knows better than to show such vulnerability?

It’s his turn to reach out, to tuck hair behind my ear, come from the elaborate braid when I tugged free the mask.

“Why don’t you think you’re kind? You’re not allowed to be? ”

I meet his eyes, grim and jaded to his lovely openness. “You’re an idiot,” I say. But I’m talking to myself.

“I am,” he sighs, then smiles. “I should have asked you to marry me the moment we met.”

We stare at one another, Atlas suddenly blushing as I reach up and cup his face in my hands.

I lean my forehead against his before I hug him to me. He embraces me slowly, tenderly, and I sink against his chest, cheek on the bare skin at his open collar, breathing him in. The predator settles, sighs, and curls into him, finally at rest.

When I pull away again, I’m no longer anxious or angry. I’m confused.

“That word,” Atlas says, clearing his throat, standing and walking away from me, but not far. He’s perusing his books as he goes on, hand sliding over the spines. “It reminds me of drakonkin. Could that be the connection?”

I frown at his back. How could it be? “Explain.”

He makes a soft sound of delight and discovery, pulling a heavy, black leather tome from the top shelf and bringing it to me.

When he sits down again in front of me, I tuck in next to him, our cheeks practically pressing to one another’s as he turns the pages.

My arm drapes over his shoulders, our breath in sync, deep and abiding comfort in his presence like a key in a lock.

“Here,” he says. “I thought so. ‘ Fabled as a last gift of the dragon kind who made them, the kinspark kindles between those drakonkin whose souls were mated when the dragons still lived .’” He wrinkles his nose with a little laugh. “It’s just a legend, if a romantic one.”

“What does it mean?” I should be arguing that it’s impossible, that Zenthris made it up. Instead, I listen as Atlas explains further in his warm, kind voice.

“The legend says that the men we know as drakonkin were made, not just by dragons, but from them. The first of their kind were formed from the living souls of the last of dragonkind.” He shrugs, turning his head so his lips touch my temple when he speaks again, his words spoken into my skin. “By magic, no less.”

I stare down at the spidery script that covers the parchment pages of his book, but I can’t read them. Not because I’m illiterate, not at all. But because tears swim in my eyes suddenly, one fat one landing on the page and spreading out the ink as it splashes.

He turns me to face him while I weep, though I’m shaking my head as he hugs me.

“What did I say?” He’s as confused as I am.

“Nothing,” I tell him, voice trembling. What is wrong with me? “It’s been a long night.”

“A long stretch of days,” he says, stroking my hair, then rubbing my back.

I sigh deeply and push away, wiping my face with the palms of both hands. “I haven’t cried since I was a child.” Tears were not allowed in Jhanette’s court.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Atlas says. “There’s something very satisfying about a good cry.”

I laugh and hug him around the neck, and this time his embrace in return is instant. “Silly,” I whisper.

“I thought I was an idiot,” he protests softly. “Why the downgrade?”

I snort, and he chuckles. It’s the most natural thing in the world to kiss him.

This time, he kisses me back without hesitation.

I’m led to be gentle, soft. There’s no need left, not like the craving for Zenthris. This kiss is just as heated, though, if in a different way, and before I understand the shift, Atlas lifts me into his lap.

We kiss for a long time, languid and exploratory. He tastes delicious. I sigh into his lungs, and he breathes the air I give him, hands as slow as his mouth.

When his lips travel to my neck, I close my eyes and melt, humming with pleasure that has no hurry to it, no desperation. This divinity carries me on a slow wave that I ride happily.

It’s Atlas who parts my legs and has me straddle him where he sits. And Atlas, who bends me back over his desk, guiding himself inside me after his exploring fingers find me wet and ready for him.

It’s his blue eyes above me, holding my gaze, lips parted, whispering my name that I wonder over as he again triggers that deep, aching longing.

But his pace builds us both at the same rate and when I inhale, his fingers stroking softly over my clit at his moment of orgasm, I’m breathing his name, too.