Page 87 of Tale of the Heart Queen

The obvious is solving this mess. Figuring out who should be leading Aphelion. Finding Atlas and bringing him the justice he deserves. Deciding what brand of justice is suitable for his crimes.

“Probably not,” I say. “Unless you can wave your hand and take me away from all of this forever.”

She gives me a sad smile. “You know you really wouldn’t want that. You are loyal to your kingdom and your king. You could never abandon them.”

I snort wryly and take another swig of my drink.

“You want to bet?”

The worst part is that as much as I don’t want her words to be true, they probably are. And that makes me an idiot. I want to be able to pick up and walk away. Go down to the docks, board a boat to some other, distant land, and never look back. Rewrite my history and erase my existence.

But she’s right. I’m a sucker, and I don’t have the guts.

“Maybe there’s something else,” I say as my eyes dip again to her impressive cleavage. I pull them back up, not wanting to stare like a lech. Her smile suggests she knows what I was just doing and doesn’t mind. Noted.

“What?” she asks, giving me a mock innocent smile. “What could possibly take your mind off all of this?” She sweeps out a hand, and she has a point. But I’m desperate for a distraction. I don’t want to think about anything important. Nothing that matters too much. The pain of this constant responsibility is caving my shoulders inwards. Once upon a time, I was forced into a life of subservience, but maybe that’s what suited me.

It turns out I’m much happier when someone else makes the decisions and faces the harsh consequences of those actions. I can’t help but feel like I’m doing everything wrong.

I lick my lips as I scan her body. She’s wearing a light robe over what I hope is nothing. Would that be too much to ask? Is that something I should even be wishing for?

“I want to feel . . .” Gods, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I just tell her what I want? I never have trouble just coming out and saying it.

“I want to see what’s under there,” I finally say, and her eyes light up.

She looks down at herself, touching the collar and sliding her fingers along the incredibly soft silk. But I doubt it’s as soft as her skin.

“Oh, you mean this?” she asks as she plucks at the tie that circles her waist, giving me a coy smile.

“That’s probably inappropriate,” I say.

“Is it? Why?”

“Fuck. I don’t know,” I say. “I’m trying to be responsible or something.”

She grins. “Even the most responsible kings are allowed a little indulgence.”

“I’m not a king,” I remind her.

“No, but you’re carrying the burdens of one.”

Good point. She pulls on the ribbon holding her robe together, and for a brief, sparkly moment, I’m the happiest Fae in all of Ouranos.

It turns out she is wearing something underneath, but the pinch of my disappointment isn’t too sharp because the nearly translucent scraps of underwear are the next-best thing. As I imagine what they’re concealing, I decide this might be even better.

She stands up from the divan, and I drink her in, noting the way the sheer fabric reveals her tight pink nipples and the smoky darkness between her thighs.

She allows me a moment to enjoy the sight—she knows exactly what she’s doing—before she places a hand on each side of my head and brackets my knees. The position gives me an eyeful of every soft curve and line, the lushness of her hips and her breasts, and I want to sink my teeth into her soft, creamy flesh.

“How’s this?” she asks. “Does this help?”

“A little,” I say with a sly smile.

I feel a fuckton better, but I want more.

“Oh?” she asks, then plants one knee on the cushion next to my hip and then her other before she hovers just above me, maintaining a sliver of space between us. The heat of her pussy immediately filters through the fabric of my pants, where my cock is already hard.

“How about this?”