Page 97 of The Faceless Queen

“My wife. My princess. My queen, whatever you’ll give me,” he said, breathless. “Olivay, can I—” his chest heaved, “can I kiss you again?”

I stared into his eyes, memorizing the different shades of green, feeling that sense of familiarity, compounded by the want rushing through my veins. “You knew the answer before you asked,” I whispered.

And then his lips were on mine, his hands cupping my cheek, his body pressing me back against the golden-leafed tree, exactly as he’d been wanting to do. I swept my hands up his arms and shoulders, seeking out the skin at the nape of his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair, desperate to touch him, to get closer than the steel plates of his formal armor would allow.

I licked the seam of his lips, his mouth opening to mine, our tongues tangling as his hands slid down my face, to my neck, and then lower, caressing my exposed collarbone, before I felt his fingers slip down my breasts, pushing against the corset between us. One hand remained, cupping me through the boning and fabric, while the other sought out my waist.

I arched my back, trying to feel more of his hands on my curves, to take in more of his touch. I wanted it, I needed it, and I was seconds away from using my magic to make the damned thing vanish. To take all of my clothes away so it could just be him and me. My chest heaved, and Brennan squeezed my breast. I tilted my head back, exposing my neck.

With a gasp, I felt Brennan’s lips slide down my jaw, down to the crook of my neck. He latched on, sucking and licking until my hips bucked. I reached for his hips, pulling them in toward mine. Brennan’s hips lifted at once, his knee wedged between my legs as he tilted my head up, kissing his way across my collarbone, pressing a kiss between the tops of my breasts. I bucked against him, my chest heaving as he sought out my mouth again, groaning as our lips crashed.

“Gods, I want you,” he murmured, kissing me harder, deeper. I started to rock against him, my cunt sliding against his knee, my hands reaching for his belt buckle, my knuckles brushing against the erection straining to break free behind it. “Fuck,” he gasped, his body jerking.

“I know,” I heaved.

“We shouldn’t,” he said desperately, even as he began to thrust in response to the undulations of my hips. “Not yet.”

But then the connection formed between us, and his energy poured into me. His lifeforce flooded my senses, like a dam had burst.

I sucked on his tongue, moving against him more deeply, teasing the edge of his belt back.

Kiss him, take him, have him. Devour him. The Azete was screaming inside of me, overwhelmed and overjoyed with the kind of meal and freedom I’d denied it for years.

Brennan was all in, wanting me, needing me.

And yet, in the back of his mind—he wavered. He meant what he said about wanting me as his lover, his friend, his wife, his queen, but then the girl against the tree, the one kissing him, the one he was desperate to undress and take on the spot—his guards be damned—was no longer Olivay.

She was the girl with brown hair, the dancer with the seductive smile, the hazel eyes.

Samara.

He thought the word so clearly, I thought he’d said it aloud.

I broke the kiss, my chest heaving, as I clutched at my heart.

Brenna stumbled back, shaking his head, before pushing his fingers through his curls in frustration. He turned away from me, shoulders shaking from exertion as he tried to compose himself before turning back.

He’d confused us, confused Olivay with Samara and Samara with Olivay, had been mixing them together. And was beating himself up for it.

“Fuck, Olivay—Princess.” He groaned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—that was—Gods.”

I swallowed roughly, still out of breath as I shook my head. “No, don’t apologize. I wanted you, too.”

“I swear to the Gods, I did not bring you here for this.”

I reached for his shoulder, a retort on the edge of my tongue, something Samara would say. A line to get him to continue, to keep paying me, feeding me. Didn’t you?

But I bit my lip, forcing myself and the Azete down, forcing myself to remember.

I was Olivay now. And Brennan was—he was …

He will die.

“This is not the actions of a prince.”

“I don’t think your title can be undone so easily.” I clutched my chest, desire still rippling through me. “I know your character. I know you didn’t bring me here for this,” I said, but still, his energy was streaming, feeding the Azete, feeding me, though not as powerfully as before. “I am also at fault. I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No.” He stepped back, like he needed to create literal space between us, and took my hand, kissing my palm.