This time, when he bites down, his fingers pluckhardat my nipple.
Pain—not pleasure—tips me over the edge. I shoot for the stars with a cry of surprise. His mouth keeps working me, extending my orgasm, drawing it out and twisting it until I’m on the verge of another.
“Come again.” His words buzz against sensitised flesh. “Squeeze my tongue.”
Harsh words, but he follows them with a thrust of his tongue inside me at the same time that his hand at my breast squeezes punishingly hard. I detonate. My breath rushes free, and all the tension in my body falls away.
I pull his head back, but I don’t have the strength to meet his eyes. Part of me is convinced I’ll see indifference, or worse, that he won’t be looking at me again. What if he disliked it? He wasn’t as vocal as the others. None of the groans or snarls I’ve become accustomed to from Jaro.
“Put me back, huntress. You’re not done.”
His husky words snap me out of my fog, my eyes blink open, meeting his with shock. His mouth is glistening, pupils blown, and my hands have sent his usually neat braids into disarray.
“Put. Me. Back.” He licks his lips. “I’ll tell you when you’re done.”
My arms react before I can even comprehend what I’m doing. Something in that dark, commanding tone has managed to bypass my rational thinking, demanding my compliance. Drystan’s head settles back between my legs, his hair tickling my inner thighs as his mouth goes back to slowly and methodically dismantling me one nip and suck at a time.
Every obscene slurping licking sound steals a fraction more of my sanity until I’m a shameless, shuddering mess. I can feel the gazes of the rest of the Guard on us, watching him play my body like it’s an erotic show meant just for them.
Through it all, Drystan’s iron sense of control never wavers. He never loses himself to passion, and the distance between us is a taunting, dangerous thing. The temptation to demand he lose that icy façade—or more—to lift his head and kiss him until he’s just as overcome as I am, is so strong I would do it… If I could muster the strength to move.
I’m shaking, writhing against him by the time he carefully pries my hands free of his hair and takes his head back, I’ve lost feeling in my toes and a fine sheen of sweat covers me, mingling with the dust weeping from my wings.
He puts his head back into place, and I feel him crack his neck a few times before he settles into silence. Even Lore says nothing, though I can feel his smirk.
“Get her to drink this,” Bree urges quietly, and I startle as I realise he started riding beside us at some point. There’s a nameless longing in his eyes as he passes Drystan the waterskin, and the winter fae holds it to my mouth.
I should be embarrassed to have him look after me like this, but I don’t have the energy to be. So I recline against him, letting him and Bree work together to feed me tiny mouthfuls of food as Jaro continues to shelter us from the rain.
I may be strung out and exhausted, but I’m also floating on a cloud of pampered bliss. It still feels surreal that it was Drystan, of all my males, who brought me to this point.
Fourteen
Caed
The solid gold gates of Pavellen are so damned shiny it hurts my eyes. The ostentatious display of wealth is almost worthy of my father. Of course, the fae have decorated with emerald encrusted swirls and rivers of crystal-clear water rather than the heads of their enemies, but they intimidate visitors just the same.
“Keep close,” Kitarni says, spurring her horse forwards. “Don’t speak too much. Your accents will give you away.”
Little does she know that I’m pretty good at impersonations, but I nudge my mare forward, as ordered. Prae is stiff as a board beside me. She’s clearly uncomfortable entering a fae stronghold, despite being armed to the teeth and well concealed.
The two of us are covered in layers of thick glamour that disguise us as high fae knights from Elfhame, complete with purple tabards and ridiculously ornate and shiny armour. Kitarni’s magic has transformed everything about my cousin, leaving me free to take care of my own glamour. I’ve borrowed a pair of Bram’s gloves to cover the mark on my hand.
The gates are open wide, allowing a large crowd of fae to mingle beneath. The throng parts for our horses as Kitarni leads us forwards onto the main street which runs alongside the enormous grand canal.
The capital of the Spring Court was built at the confluence of two great rivers, and the entire city glimmers with the wealth that being on such a trade route has bought them. The rich cream travertine stone of its arching bridges and open colonnades is complemented by the perfectly crystal-clear turquoise of the water that flows everywhere.
Like everywhere else in this damned court, the city isdrippingwith flowers. I want to retch at just how heavily scented the air is. It’s not even sweet, it’s suffocating.
And they’re growingmoreof the fucking things.
“The queen demands more roses!” a pompous-looking fae clucks at a group of workers as they coordinate to persuade a vine into bloom in a garland that wraps between the columns. “The tribute to the Nicnevin must be perfect!”
“They plan to welcome her by stinking her out?” I mutter under my breath. “Ancestors, this place fucking reeks.”
“Welcome to the City of Rivers,” Kitarni says, drowning out my sarcastic remark. “We’ll make our arrival known at the palace, then I’ll find somewhere for you both to stay and leverage Prince Madoc’s connections to procure a permanent glamour charm for Praedra. Whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself, don’t swim in the river, or the canals, don’t talk to anyone, and don’t—”
“We get it. Lie low.” Prae eyes the water with suspicion. “Are there any ways we can make some money while we’re here?”
