Chapter Thirteen
Seth
I am besottedwith my mate, and she has no idea.
The realization hits me during the morning Council briefing. I’m standing beside Lucian’s throne while some minor lord drones on about grain shipments. I should be paying attention—after all, this is my job, my duty—but all I can think about is the silk dress I gave Selene last night.
The way her eyes went wide with disbelief when I presented it to her. Deep, emerald green, the color of forest shadows, cut to drape and cling in ways that made my mouth go dry just imagining it on her body.
“Seth, this is too much—”
“Nothing is too much for you.” I pulled her close, breathing in her scent, already half-hard from proximity alone. “Try it on.”
And gods, when she did…The silk whispered against her skin like a lover’s caress, molding to every curve, bringing out the sapphire in her eyes. She looked like something precious and rare—like she was mine.
I teased her about how she should thank me, and she decided to take it seriously. My mate has a wicked side to her in bed, an instinct that drives me crazy.
She thanked me with her mouth, sucking me dry as I groaned and whimpered her name. When she looked up at me, her mouth full of my cock, lips glistening, I lost it. The very silk dress I’d bought her lay tattered next to our bed when I left to come to this meeting. I’ll have to get her another one, I muse. Maybe red this time. She would look gorgeous in red, on her hands and knees.
“Seth.”
I jerk to attention, heat crawling up my neck as I realize Lucian is staring at me with a scowl.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” I ask sheepishly.
“If you don’t control your thoughts right now,” he says under his breath, his voice a low growl, “I’m going to douse you in ice water.”
Several nearby advisors shift uncomfortably, probably catching the scent of my arousal.
Shit.
“Apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Try to focus before you embarrass both of us.”
I force myself to stand tall, to shift my attention away from memories of Selene’s soft cries and the way she clung to me as another nightmare tried to claw its way into her sleep.
Three weeks. It has been three weeks since the warlocks examined her and found nothing. No trace of magic within her body, no residue, no explanation for why she had believed Zane was her fated mate. The red powder we’d collected from the forest? Of unknown origin. The warlocks had never seen anything like it.
Dead ends everywhere I turn.
But one thing has changed: Selene herself. She’s been avoiding Zane’s invitations, making excuses, claiming sudden duties or illness. I’ve felt her panic spike through our bond every time he sends a message requesting to meet. She doesn’t want to see him anymore, and that should satisfyme.
It doesn’t.
Because the nightmares haven’t stopped. Neither has the compulsion to sleepwalk. Every night between midnight and dawn, I feel her body go rigid beside me, sense something trying to drag her toward the forest. So, I keep her busy. Pin her beneath me, worship her body until she’s trembling and sated, too exhausted to do anything but sleep safely in my arms.
It’s not a solution. It’s a temporary fix to a problem I don’t understand.
And it’s driving me insane.
My gaze drifts across the assembled Council members, cataloging faces, assessing threats out of habit. Then, my eyes land on him.
Zane Radrick.
He is seated three rows back, perfectly composed as always. Dark hair styled with meticulous care, expensive robes that probably cost more than most soldiers make in a year. He’s listening to the grain report with apparent interest, his expression politely attentive.
But I see through it. I see the look behind those brown eyes, the way his fingers tap against his knee in a rhythm that speaks of impatience. Waiting for something.
