Page 89
Senna rapped a metal staff against the marble floor twice.
The sound rolled through the throne room like thunder, silencing conversations and music alike in a single breath. Hundreds of crimson eyes turned toward the great doors as they groaned inward.
Lucan entered first.
Shadows trailed behind him like the train of a king’s mantle, swallowing the torchlight as he crossed the threshold. His cream-colored tunic peeked out behind a black velvet dinner jacket embroidered with golden thread that climbed from cuff to collar like thorned vines. The orange, silk square folded neatly in his breast pocket had once belonged to his birth father, long before Aurelion reduced their line to obedient hounds. He hadn’t worn it in decades, but tonight, he felt reckless.
Only the shifting of Lucan’s wrist revealed the thin, golden bracelet slipping beneath the hem of his jacket, and with it, the impossibly fine chain trailing behind him.
Elarian followed a half pace behind Lucan.
The collar gleamed brightly at her throat beneath the chandeliers hung with witchlights. Every moonstone drank in the light until they shone almost as bright as the stars with a ghostly fire. Though fever still raged through her body, she had recovered enough to walk with her chin up. Those wine-dark lips curved into the faint, practiced smile of a woman accustomed to being admired. She cast her gaze around with languid ease, never resting long in one place. Even dressed in rose-colored silk, feverish and collared, she had not stopped being an assassin.
Something ancient stirred beneath his ribs.
Gods, what an impossible creature.
Then he remembered the silvered blood sliding down her throat scarcely an hour before. Tell me, Lucan, are you only keeping me alive long enough to tell yourself you’re nothing like…
Aurelion.
His jaw tightened. Only words meant to rattle him, nothing more. Surely she had not found the darkness within his soul so easily. Twitching with rage, Lucan abruptly turned to face Elarian. If she wished to see a monster, he would gladly give it to her. Courtiers would whisper, and rumors would fly that at long last, the prince had lost his sanity, but Lucan did not care. Where others languished in their routine, frozen even as they stole life from She Who Is Death, Lucan still fervently wished to live.
Godsdamn the elf for unearthing what he long thought lost.
“Strip.”
The command left his mouth barely louder than a whisper. Elarian needed nothing more to set her cheeks aflame and pulse stuttering. She met his gaze, both pleading for him to say it was all a cruel joke and challenging him to make her comply.
“That would be a spectacle,” she replied calmly.
“Yes.”
Is this what you want? Another stage, another audience to fool, another game to play hidden amongst sharpened words and cruel intentions?
He thought Elarian might reach out and slap him. Instead, she lowered her gaze, lashes fluttering as a sigh heaved her bosom. She fingered the deep neckline plunging to her stomach, hooking a finger beneath the silk. Lucan’s eyes followed; only a fool would deny her ethereal beauty, spun moonlight in her hair, and stardust in her skin.
Lucan lifted his hand, but before he could reach for her, she gripped the silk tight in one hand and tore the delicate fabric from her torso. The golden chains looping across her breasts snapped like brittle bone. Silk slid down her lithe body. Lucan’s breath caught as she lifted her feet delicately from the silks now crumpled on the marble floor. She stepped forward, one hand extended to the prince like a dutiful courtesan. Beneath the simpering eyes and warm smile, her pulse thrummed wildly, heart racing faster than a fey wolf hunting prey.
She looked fucking exquisite.
She looked like she was only his.
Lucan’s thoughts slurred as her faint scent wafted to him, mixed with that hint of sweetness between her thighs he could never forget.
“Beautifully obedient,” he whispered.
He leaned in closer with every intention of mocking her weakness. Instead, his lips brushed her wound.
Though he knew he shouldn’t, Lucan stole a taste of her salt-and-iron-laced cut beneath her ear. Fucking divine. He shuddered against her, the chain rattling gently as he fought to control himself. With the next breath, he forced himself away. Elarian watched him with lidded eyes, her dark lashes fluttering as her breath shook.
“Come.”
Turning back to his court, Lucan plastered a look of indifference across his face. Already, the whispers had begun.
“Moon elf-born…”
“He has a favorite again.”
