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“Do you still want me?” His low voice rumbles through me.
I’m soft and boneless, yet the deepest recesses of me still ache to be touched. And we’re still not close enough. My skin wants to be covered by his, my body possessed, wholly.
“Yes, Solskir,” I whisper, using his true name. Reminding him of the gift he’s given me. “I want you.”
His strong arms frame my face, the weight of his body presses against mine, and I exhale in exquisite relief as he slides his length into me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, our voices mingling in twin ecstasy as we’re joined together, his body filling me, mine entwined around his. I see now that the sky above has darkened, a powerful bank of clouds cresting across it. Flashes of brightness dance at their edges, a promise of lightning waiting to strike.
The next orgasm, building as he thrusts his hips in effortless motion, comes from somewhere within the very center of me, radiating out until even my fingers and toes feel like they’re tingling with pleasure. Ruskin drops his head, burying his face in my shoulder as he comes, but I catch a glimpse of his beautiful expression as he does, perfect in its portrait of pure release and joy. It’s lit by the flash of lightning above us, a huge bolt spearing across the ceiling so powerfully I almost expect it to split in two.
Afterwards, our bodies stay entwined as I cling to him, not wanting to lose the closeness of this moment under our enchanted night sky. But before long, we both drift off into sleep, the pull of it inevitable when we’re both so happy and satisfied.
That is, until my own, treacherous mind wakes me up.
It must be the middle of the night, though the ceiling above looks like the sky just before dawn. There’s moonlight spilling in through the window, across the bed where Ruskin’s huge arms hold me. I feel safe here, protected, and yet my mind refuses to settle and let me enjoy it. Instead, the image of the Monarch Gate keeps swimming before my eyes. I try to close them, banishing the thought of it, but sleep eludes me.
I have my way out now. In a matter of minutes, I could be on my way to see my father again. And yet here I am, in Ruskin’s arms, daring to feel happy when Dad is probably worried sick about me.
I miss him, the sadness of it like a pin in my heart, scratching away at me. I remember how I promised him outside our cottage that I’d come back.
There in the moonlight I decide I won’t break my promise to him, but that I won’t break my promise to Ruskin either. I said I’d stay to cure him and I will. Not just because I’m starting to be unable to picture a world without him wrapped around me, but because he needs to know he’s wrong about people. That he was wrong about me.
It still takes me too long to find sleep again.
Chapter 27
I’m true to my word. The very next day I’m in my workshop, trying to unravel the curse, trying to ignore the part of my mind that is still elsewhere, creaking open the Monarch Gate. Once Cebba’s trap had been sprung against Destan, the jewelry box was safe to return to, and we carefully extracted the gold rings, finding several that matched the one Ruskin remembered her wearing the day she cursed him. Ruskin didn’t seem surprised his sister was paranoid enough to so viciously booby-trap her prized possessions. He reminded me that traps were Cebba’s thing, and if she wasn’t laying them out for the Hunt, he could see how she’d take pleasure in devising them for unsuspecting thieves.
I turn one of the rings over in my hands now, examining its color. It’s made from gold from Styrland, I suspect, more solid than the Fae kind, which means its composition should be familiar. I try to silence all other thoughts from my mind as I study it, searching for the answer it holds, willing it to help me solve this problem. The metal warms to my touch as I carry out my inspection. I think nothing of it at first, but the heat continues to grow. I’m about to drop the ring, worried about hurting myself, when it appears to soften beneath my fingers for a moment, the even circle sagging into an oval. I blink and it’s perfectly round again—hard and cool.
I shake my head, setting the piece of jewelry down. Ruskin checked the rings for any dangerous magic before he let me touch them, so I don’t think it’s one of Cebba’s spells making it act strangely. I think to the gold flakes in the animal blood and how they seemed drawn to my touch. It could be coincidence, or some other strange side effect of Faerie at play, but I find myself staring at the ring on the tabletop, focusing my will once again on the glinting metal.
I think I see it quiver, inching a fraction across the surface?—
I’m distracted by the door opening. Kaline comes in, bringing me food, which I accept gratefully. By now she knows how I don’t like to break from my work for lunch, especially if I’m in the middle of unknotting a particular problem.
“Any news from Destan?” I ask in passing.
“Oh yes, he’s awake,” Kaline answers. “I heard it from one of his dressers.”
Of course Destan has servants specifically to dress him. But that thought is quickly eclipsed with joy at the news of my friend’s recovery. I rise, forgetting my work and the food.
“Oh great,” I say. “I’ll go there now.”
The urge to see him is strong, not just to check he’s okay, but to feel the assurance of his colorful personality, and the familiar comfort of his wit as he looks me in eye and makes some joke about me and Ruskin. I’ve felt a little unmoored since waking up in the middle of last night, and I’m sure seeing him will help.
“I think Halima is with His Highness,” Kaline says, biting her lip. She knows technically Halima is supposed to know where I am at all times.
“Just tell her I’ve gone to visit Des, will you? It’s not far.”
Ruskin likes to keep his friends close, and though I’ve never been inside Destan’s quarters, I know they’re to the east of Ruskin’s, near the court dining room.
But I don’t get that far.
I’m skirting the orchard when I hear the first snickers.
“Well, if it isn’t the prince’s prize pet.”
I turn to see a group of High Fae I only vaguely recognize from the court dinners. But they certainly seem to know me. Their brightly colored eyes narrow with malicious mischief as they circle me. There’s six of them, men and women, and they seem young even by fae standards. My heart speeds up, my body automatically reacting to the perceived threat.
