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The shock that passed her eyes suggested she did, but just in case…

Rymedur willed a shadow forward, and it ever so slowly peeled from his skin, snaking down. Concealed by the table, Rymedur felt it slither along the cold, stone floor, moving around the indents of stone and worn bumps and scrapes until it came to the point of her heeled boot.

Slowly, sensually, the shadow inched forward, spiralling up and around her toned legs.

Rymedur’s heart hammered a hummingbird’s beat—rapid and lively. The shadow sent what it felt down the bond with its master, meaning Rymedur could feel everything. The way it curved over her soft, supple skin, the slow ascent as it drew closer to her upper thigh, teasing her. When it reached the apex of her leg, he felt every delicious stroke it sent as it flicked at her core and gods, the feeling of her already wet and ready nearly tipped him over the edge.

His hands curled into fists to stop himself from reaching across the table and taking her right then and there, damn the audience.

Rymedur willed the shadow like an extension of himself, and it followed its master’s instruction. Heart beating stronger, his shadow recoiled slightly, resting around her thigh. He watched Areanel’s reaction intently. When he saw the way her eyes blinked, a thrill coursed through him, straight to his manhood. Gods, he wanted her.

Rymedur watched her chest rise, tight in that dragon-scaled corset, as she inhaled deeply. Her nostrils flared, no doubt scenting his wanton desire.

He did not care for those around them, but the slight shuffle in his periphery told him Areanel was not the only one who’d noticed the shift in his scent. Percival inched away from him, face scrunching in disgust as his gaze batted between the pair. Still, Rymedur’s eyes never strayed from his wife’s, holding her unwavering gaze.

‘Seriously?’ He heard Percival curse under his breath. ‘You two are disgusting.’ The creaking of wood told him that Percival was moving his chair as far away from Rymedur as he could get.

Areanel struggled to keep that mask of indifference from cracking at Percival’s words. He saw the way she fought a smile. But his wicked, stubborn wife was never one to back down from a challenge—and that was when he felt it. The soft glide of fingers along his shadow. They traced the edges of its corporeal form, until it reached the end closest to her knee.

A single finger twisted along the shadow, playing with its tail. The lords gathered may not have any desire to bow to her, but gods, Rymedur would gladly get on his knees and worship every inch of his little demon in front of them all.

His lips stretched into a lopsided smile, pulling into a sly, mischievous grin as he let his hooded gaze roam over her one more time with a silent, sinful promise. They would continue this later. Excitement bubbled within him at the resolute and confident look Areanel sent his way.

Chapter 16

Areanel

Having reminded Eborthorn of his place, Areanel’s heart finally began to settle, and she returned her attention to the council. The lords were silent. They waited for her, and none dared utter a word.

Areanel motioned for Sevain to continue, and he looked between her and the gathered lords, wringing his hands. ‘I-I—’ he stuttered, before abruptly clearing his throat. Areanel gave him a subtle but encouraging nod, watching curiously as he straightened the cuffs on his shirt—a movement that reminded her of their father. ‘I suggest we take a small group and return to Vennedove. If we examine the areas most affected by the fire and speak with the villagers, we can determine exactly what happened and who aided the rebels. We can bring them back with us and relocate them to the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the city, where our healers may attend to them.’

‘You would give the traitors refuge and have our own healers mend their wounds?’ a council member shot at Sevain accusingly.

Areanel carefully analysed the exchange, curious as to how her brother might reply. A flash of surprise crossed Sevain’s eyes—a dull blue, like a stormy sky, so unlike her bright hue. His gaze jumped between the lords; all but nodded in agreement. The lord sat at the far end of the table, stoic.

A flash skittered across Areanel’s thoughts. Interesting. Her attention rested on the wiry male, with thin upturned eyes and feline features. He must have been around her age, and though his eyes were earthy, they glimmered with a cunning she recognised.

Sevain continued, but her attention remained on the younger lord. ‘If we show mercy and kindness, then the villagers will trust us. They will be more likely to freely feed us information, and we will be able to give them justice and solace in their time of need.’

‘You are too kind, young prince.’ An older lord, small in stature, with circular glasses too large for his face, sighed in exasperation. ‘To give the inhabitants of Vennedove access may very well lead to our destruction. We may well be willingly inviting rebels into our home.’

‘Do not condescend to him,’ Areanel seethed through clenched teeth. ‘Sevain’s ability to show mercy is not the weakness you think it is. He shows compassion—thinks first of others. That takes strength, and it is a force that not only empowers but uplifts individuals and communities. A single act of kindness can unite, and that will be remembered long after we fade from this world.’

‘I agree.’

Heads swivelled towards the furthest end of the table as the wiry male finally spoke. The lord mirrored Areanel’s position, fingers steepled and placed under his chin. There was something scheming about his crafty gaze.

Who was this newly appointed lord? The others failed to see it, but Areanel noted the golden yellow that flared behind his earthen gaze.

‘As I said before,’ the lord continued, ‘taking in the citizens of Vennedove will show strength and give us an advantage. Right, Areanel?’

That golden yellow glowed, and Areanel could have sworn she saw his features morph. Something about him had changed—but what? Areanel could not pinpoint it.

Subconsciously, Areanel tilted forward, drawn to him. It felt as though she had witnessed something she shouldn’t have. This male reminded her of someone else, but that couldn’t be right. There was no one like them. There couldn’t be.

Her gaze sharpened. Was that amusement that crossed his features? There and gone in seconds. A mask schooled his face, but not one of indifference and cruelty. It was… politeness?

‘You will address her properly.’ A growl—possessive, bordering on animalistic—came from across the table.