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Pavonos moves toward it, but Amartis says he’d rather take the stairs.
At the top, we all take a moment to rest before Amartis points at the stone wall. “That’s your room.”
It’s a wall. “Is D’Artaron testing me?”
Amartis frowns. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Or mine,” Pavonos says.
My portals take me from one place to the next, but I’ve used them wrongly to reach his court, so I can’t repeat my mistakes. The last thing I want to do is fail some kind of test the commander has set up for me by daring me to erect another darned portal when I know I shouldn’t. Since I don’t see a way in, my magic starts paving the way in before I can pull it back.
“Here it goes again,” I warn.
The tower allows sunlight through the cracks in the stone, and my magic grabs the light, solidifies it into glass, and, in a single thrust, hits the wall. The impacted stone shatters, creating a gap big enough for me to enter.
I squeeze through and look around the space. A single small window with iron bars. Walls with iron ink writings, iron-framed images, an iron mirror, and plush white bedding over an iron bed. A private alcove, which, I presume, will hold the chamber pot, and, if I’m lucky, a private bath.
An iron vanity under the window is complete with an elaborate golden mirror and jewelry hanging from little hooks next to the mirror.
On the small iron bench lies an old Summer crown.
Puzzled, I turn around and bend a little because the opening is quite small, and I want to see the males outside. “Hey, was this room made for the king’s mother?”
The males nod.
“It looks like a nice torture chamber.”
The Summer king hunts his mother for kidnapping his queen, even though the queen returned in better shape than when she left. She returned as a fae fate. No matter. His mother did the unthinkable, and the king is said to be crazy about his queen, so he wants to neutralize any threat to her. Imaginary or otherwise.
It must be nice to be loved so fiercely.
I sit on the bed and fold my hands in front of me, awaiting my fate.
11
D’ARTARON
The evening briefing I received from the Spring Court shocked my lieutenants, along with Benoit and my two rogue friends in attendance. The lieutenants will brief the soldiers and our palace guards. Since the news hasn’t spread yet, I presume someone is containing the gossip mill.
Once everyone clears the command room where the briefings are held, I sit down and rest my head on the back of the leather chair. Mentally, I contemplate the safety of my own royals for any changes I should make. Some of the royal guard is with the king in the Winter Court, and the rest of them I’ll assign to the Spring royal I’m holding in the tower. But not before I ensure she’s not a threat to any of the guards.
Which means her well-being depends on me. I must feed her, dress her, and provide her with the essentials during her stay. A surge of arousal inflates my shaft, and the growing pain reminds me I should take care of myself now that I’ve identified my disturbing attraction to my best friend’s younger sister.
Groaning, I cup myself and squeeze until the pain of it makes me hiss.
During an average turn, I hate springtime because it brings on the mating season, and now I hate it even more.
I must visit with the healer. If I can spare time tomorrow, I will see her.
The royal healer helps contain my arousal by giving me teas that suppress my mating instincts. This is how I manage during the spring mating season and rarely during the summer spans. I admit that since my king has mated, it’s been more difficult to contain my own arousal due to the royals constantly releasing their scent to attract one another.
The queen is already pregnant, so I am unsure why the king insists on making her hornier. Her womb is seeded. It is done. He should get on with his life at this point, but no, he’s as obsessed with her as if it were the first span he saw her.
I have no intention of taking a wife and thus see no reason to indulge in frivolous lovemaking. Prioritizing my king and the royals in my charge makes no female happy, and a heartbroken female is a sad creature to behold.
Even when they hide it well, I’ve seen heartbreak in the eyes of females far too many times. Trouble is most people think they can cure their heartbreaks by changing the lover who broke their heart.
My father thinks that. He thinks he cured my mother’s lustful indulgences, but he hasn’t. I’ve rescued her from dire circumstances more times than I can count. When I left home, I left because I couldn’t watch her destroy him anymore. And frankly, I tired of rescuing a lost cause. Hence, I know a thing or two about indulging in pleasures of the body.
