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'Fyia,' he replied. He kissed her spine as his fingers continued to circle.

'Do it,' she said, sounding half-crazed … sounding like he felt. He needed no further encouragement. He pushed inside her, exhaling loudly as he took what he'd denied himself for so long. He stilled, knowing if he moved, it would be over in a heartbeat. He used his fingers to torment her while he became accustomed to the heady feel of her around him.

He moved, slowly, savoring every minute sensation as he thrust in and out, cherishing her moans. He pulled out, and she protested, but he moved them so she sat atop him, so he could see her face, and breasts, and kiss her lush, plump lips.

She sank onto his length, her legs spread wide, and she gasped, her hands on his shoulders, her back arched, presenting her breasts like an offering. He took one in each hand, pinching her peaked nipples, and she bucked her hips harder as she rode him. He lifted one breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth, then bit her gently.

'Yes,' she breathed. She slid her hand to the base of his neck, using him for purchase as she slid up and down.

'Warrior,' he groaned, releasing her nipple as she tilted her hips. He moved his hands to her backside, and her moans became frantic, her movements desperate. She stiffened on a moan, convulsing around him, taking him over the edge with her. 'Fyia,' he breathed into her neck. 'Goddess … Fyia.' He bit her shoulder, his mouth needing something to sink into, and she cried out, convulsing again, rocking to eke out the pleasure.

He caressed her until she finally stilled, and then she kissed the shell of his ear, her breath against his sensitive scales making him shiver. He brushed his fingers against her lower back, across her own golden mark, and she moaned, rocking her hips once more, but this time, their scales didn't glow.

'I'm definitely thinking about agreeing to marry you,' she murmured, 'but we should do that a few more times, just to be sure.'

Chapter Seventeen

'SAY YOU’LL MARRY ME,'Cal ground out. Fyia's back was against the wall of her cabin, his mouth on hers, her hand down his breeches.

'I might … but I need just one or two more …' He removed her hand, then yanked down her pants and underclothes. Words failed her as he buried his face between her thighs, pushing his tongue inside. 'Cal,' she breathed. Her legs threatened to buckle as he added his fingers to the task, and she exploded, her insides convulsing.

Cal stood, freed himself, and pushed inside her. He lifted her off the floor, his rock-solid arms holding her seemingly without strain as he pounded into her. They were nearing the Temple of the Sea Serpent, their time running out, and it had made them both frantic. They'd slept little, eaten nothing, and ignored every attempted interruption, even the last one, where Sensis had not-so-politely asked them to keep it down, because her cabin was next door, and she wanted to sleep.

A knock sounded from the door next to Fyia's head, just as Cal came on a string of expletives, with a series of short thrusts. Fyia had to stifle a laugh.

'Your Majesty,' said Edu's voice. 'We land in ten spins of the hand. We respectfully request you join us, so we may discuss tactics.'

'I'll be with you in just a moment,' said Fyia, then kissed Cal until her head swam.

They'd been on their way to breakfast, but hadn't quite made it out of her cabin. Fyia re-dressed, and kissed Cal one last time before swinging open the door.

'You forgot this,' said Cal. He dropped her cloak around her shoulders and fastened the clasp. She threw a heated look back over her shoulder, and he kissed her cheek.

Fyia and Cal entered the dining hall with their heads held high, their shoulders back, and with no hint of abashment. And, except for Adigos, who couldn’t tear his eyes from the two of them, the others carried on as though Fyia and Cal hadn't kept half the airship awake all night.

Fyia accepted a plate of bread and eggs from one of her soldiers, then sat beside Opie at the table. 'Tell me,' she said, 'how are women treated in the Kraken Empire?'

Opie set down the forkful halfway to his mouth, then thought for a moment. 'They are treated … well … it's complicated. They have more freedoms than in your kingdoms, there is no doubt of that. My sister invented this flying machine, and was free to do so. Women can own businesses, and gain an education, but when they marry, their assets transfer to their husband.'

Fyia frowned. 'Why may they look after their own affairs before, but not after?' she said, feeling the burn of injustice in her chest.

Opie shrugged. 'A quirk of the system, I suppose. Most husbands allow their wives to do as they please, at least until they have children, and then they are largely confined to the home.'

Fyia shook her head. How had it become like this in some kingdoms, but not others? The Black Hoods had no such senseless rules, nor Queen Scorpia's kingdom in the south. Her own kingdoms were even worse. Why?

'Your Majesty,' said Rouel from the doorway, 'we are descending.'

Fyia nodded and pushed back her chair. She was ready.

Fyia stood on deck, flanked by her wolves. She would not go cowed to the Emperor … would make him look upon the strengths she possessed … strengths he did not. But as they touched down, and Fyia's eyes scanned the awaiting group, she found no man matching the description the Spider had given her. Instead, a short, good-looking man, and a tall, good-looking woman appeared to be in charge.

Fyia descended the gangplank, and the woman stepped forward. Her hair was long, black, and shiny, and she was scantily clad under her heavy cloak, the fabric of her pants light and colorful, with long slits up the sides. 'Your Majesty,' said the woman, with a half-bow, 'it is a pleasure to welcome you.'

The words were sugary sweet, but laced with poison. They were in Fyia's lands, after all. It should have been her welcoming them, not the other way around. Fyia gave a small, stiff nod.

'I am Princess Re'lah, and this is my brother, the Crown Prince Panat.'

Fyia inclined her head in greeting, first to the Princess, and then the Crown Prince, who wore brightly colored but plain clothes.

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