Page 99 of Black Sea

I tied my hands behind Amlach’s neck and pulled him closer to claim his mouth . . . but the soldiers’ voices caused me to whip my head toward the dungeon entrance.

Amlach’s lips ended up on my cheek and parted to leave a wet kiss that reminded me of how he had licked me between my legs, making me gasp. I felt his satisfied smile, then he softly rubbed his nose against my cheekbone and stepped back just as two guards appeared at the bottom of the steps.

The elf who wasn’t carrying a heavy pair of shackles swallowed nervously as I glowered at him. He barely raised his chin to meet my gaze, his sweaty hand slipping subtly along the pike’s shaft. “The prisoner has been summoned to the garden of Their Majesties, Your Highness,” he announced in Elvish.

“The prisoner,” I said with peppery sternness in the common tongue as I left the cell, “is the King of Men. And he will not be chained.”

The second soldier tried to protest. “But, Highness, he—”

“I shall escort His Grace myself,” I declared on a whim, in a tone that left no room for objections. “Go back to the palace.”

The young guards looked at each other uncertainly, then bowed and left.

Soon after, Amlach came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, one hand just below my breast, and the other pressed on my lower belly in a possessive way that made me shiver against him.

“Easy,” he whispered.

I put my hands over his, trying to absorb his warmth to fight the fear that had suddenly gripped me. “Let’s go.”

Amlach walked to the palace with an expression of amazement, admiring the towering evergreens, the small bridges and walkways over the crystal-clear waterways, the steps carved on steep paths, the shapes of the temples and small stone gazebos scattered among the trees, and the fauna that coexisted peacefully with us.

My parents’ private garden was behind the compound. It was like a clearing on a steep slope, always bathed in sunlight, with retaining walls that not only looked decorative but also protected the soil from water erosion. Stone and wooden steps wound through the lush grass, and a small waterfall with a pond flowed from side rocks, in whose cracks brightly colored flowers and plants with long, narrow leaves grew.

My family was waiting for us at the top, gathered in the large, ornate wooden gazebo.

Amlach stood beside me, reaching out his hand to help me up the steps with a gallant gesture. He responded with a mocking half-smile to Araton’s deadly glare, gave me one last gentle stroke on the knuckles with his thumb, and then let me go.

“Your Majesties,” he said, bowing. “Prince,” he added with a simple nod.

A beaming smile stretched my mother’s rosy lips as she moved away from her mate to approach Amlach.

Clad in white and gold like Father, she represented the purest light. Her hair was longer than mine and lighter in shade, a shimmering veil of defined, silky waves. Her blue-green eyes were so intense that they seemed capable of reading minds, and the oldest among the elves claimed that her aristocratic beauty surpassed that of any previous queen, even Calien’s.

“At last, we meet, King Amlach,” she said in a velvety voice, in the common tongue, extending her hand with pale, slender fingers.

He demonstrated his familiarity not only with our language but with our customs, too, by not leaning forward to kiss her knuckles. Instead, he gathered her hands and gave her a deep nod. “It is an honor, Your Majesty.”

Impressed like the rest of us, Mother withdrew her hands and looked at Amlach with a slightly sly expression. “Now I understand many things,” she said cryptically, casting a knowing look in my direction before returning next to her mate.

Neither Amlach nor I could help but glance at each other sideways, my arm brushing against his.

“Spirits,” Araton cursed in Elvish. He sat on the circular bench, his dark gray clothes making him the only somber note in the lush garden. “Can you at least show a shred of decency and not stay so close to him around our parents?”

“Araton!” Mother exclaimed in indignation, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe her own son was capable of such hostility.

“Mind your manners, Araton,” Father warned him, refusing to switch to Elvish, although Amlach did understand it. “Or you can leave.”

My brother rolled his eyes, crossed his legs, and folded his arms over his broad chest, clearly biting his tongue to stay silent. His gaze met mine, and we engaged in a silent duel that heightened the tension under the gazebo.

Amlach shifted his weight from one leg to the other to hide his arm touching mine again, calming my anger. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and spoke to my parents in that charming, diplomatic manner of his that had enchanted the Masters of Rubra.

“As I already explained to the prince, Your Majesties, the princess and I don’t stay so close on purpose,” he said. “They kept us chained together, even during the fights. We had to learn to become each other’s shadows to survive.”

Mother rested her hand on the ones Father held on his lap, still visibly shaken by what I had faced in the Lands of the West.

“Yes,” Father replied heavily. “Nauriel told us everything.”

Amlach shot me a swift, mocking glance, aware that I hadn’t revealed everything. I tried to focus on the embroidery on my father’s tunic to avoid blushing.