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I glare up at him. “I’m not some little doll for you to play dress up with.”
“Trust me.” His eyes flash with heat. “I know all too well that you’re a real woman.” The sensuous tone underlying his words has me wanting to taste his taunts, and frustration tears at me.
I shouldn’t want Atticus’s attention. He’s toying with me. There can be no other explanation for his actions, right?
“Why are you so set on this?” My voice comes out too rough, too raw.
“You will be our queen. Unfortunately, not everyone is convinced of your future, which is why there’s need for you to wear one of the Spidress’s signature designs. The elders will take her support of your candidacy seriously.”
His sincerity does what the seamstress’s orders, Jace’s gentle teasing, or anything else could not. I’m vulnerable with Atticus because I don’t know what role to play. He wants a queen, a royal, an equal—and under his intense scrutiny, I can’t decide if I should scream or run or… or kiss him.
I drop my gaze, unable to hold his. “I’ll change into the dress, and then we’ll be done?”
“We will never be done, Rosemarie.”
My heart stutters to a stop, skips a beat or two, then races as if it’ll take on wings of its own and fly out of my chest. “You expect so much from me. Sometimes I wish I could disappear into the nothingness I seem to be for everyone else.”
“I will always see you.” He says it like a vow, and I want to push him to prove it. Which makes no sense.
When he spreads his wings even wider to block absolutely everyone from seeing me and stares at me like I’m his and his alone, I stop thinking, stop worrying, stop being scared. If he wants a queen who’s not afraid to travel realms, face trials, and do whatever it takes to figure out what comes next, then by god, that’s who he’ll get.
He thinks he can play with my emotions?
I’ll mess with his. Screw him. Temper surges through me. This gargoyle jumps on every nerve left exposed from years of being the sweet, helpful, obedient version of me the world expects. I’m so tired of twisting into whoever and whatever others need me to be.
Digging deep and seizing on the most bonkers, brave thing I can do, I drop the shirt to the floor and glare right back at him.
Let’s see if this was covered in your books, Atticus.
17
ATTICUS
ACE OF SWORDS: STRIP A NEW IDEA DOWN TO ITS SIMPLE TRUTH FOR MENTAL CLARITY
My heart threatens to beat its way out of the stone rib cage carved around it much like my erection threatens the seam of my pants. Every plan and strategy flies out of my head faster than cupids chasing after a chimera in heat.
Rosemarie just fucking pulled a checkmate with that little stunt of yanking the ties of the shirt that dwarfed her until it pooled at her feet. I don’t know whether I want to fall to my knees to kneel and worship her like the queen she’ll be or haul her over my shoulder and lock her away to keep her safe from the trials.
Clothed, she’s a stunning study of curves and cravings. Nude, she’s a masterpiece. My masterpiece, and I’ll be damned if I share her beauty with the Spidress, her minions, or anyone else.
“What’s—whoa.” Jace snaps his wings out, and I can’t tell if it’s instinct to shield a mate or shock at her knockout perfection.
Fine. I’ll share her with Jace but no one else. I stretch my wings farther, and between the two of us, we completely shield her from everyone but the soul guardian who takes a sudden interest in the food plate.
When Rosemarie glances back at Jace, her hair moves to cover a breast, the dusky pink nipple taunting me between locks. I resist the urge to fill my hand with her gorgeous tits, to play with a nipple, to latch my lips on one until a fang brushes against it. What sounds would she make? A gasp? A whimper? It would sure as hell wipe the smug expression off her face. She knows she’s won this round.
“Turn and let him see you,” I tell her.
Should I command a queen? No.
Does it come naturally? Yes.
Rosemarie lifts her chin, the heat in her eyes as challenging as the smirk on her lips. I want to kiss that dare off her mouth, to taste it. With deliberate, taunting slowness, she spins to face my twin, and I curl my claws into fists to keep from touching her.
Jace’s gaze drops to take in her curves before bouncing back to her face. His nostrils flare, and his jaw goes tight beneath the ink that marks us as Diviners. My poor twin. She overloaded his senses.
She looks over her shoulder at me. “Happy?”
