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He gave a single nod. “My sixth affinity is a diverse creation affinity, the ability to create art and music. It’s nothing mighty or powerful, and according to my father, it was an embarrassment.” He shrugged. “But there you have it. That’s what my last affinity is.”
I gazed at him in wonder, then looked at the painting again and the piano he’d just played as though the instrument had been created for him. “You truly painted that and composed that song?”
“I did. My mother used to love listening to me play.”
My throat tightened when an aching wave of his sadness barreled toward me on the bond. His mother’sdeath was still so fresh. I knew it would be many, many full seasons until his grief began to pass.
Hoping to distract him, I cocked my head. “What else have you painted?”
His lips curved in a cheeky smile, and he pulled me onto his lap, nestling me between his strong thighs. “Do you remember the tapestries lining the throne room hallway? The scenes from all of the territories?”
I nodded. I’d first seen those resplendent masterpieces on the night Norivun had taken me to the Betrothed Ball.
“I painted those too, and do you remember the music from the Betrothed Ball?”
I nodded. “It was beautiful. Hauntingly so.”
“I composed that.”
My jaw dropped, wonder filling me. “That’s amazing.”
He shrugged. “Not all think so, like I said. It’s a frivolous affinity, nothing that strengthens my rule.”
I gripped his shoulders and leveled him with a heavy stare. “I think it’smagnificent. You’re like Daiseeum. You too can create beauty. Our continent needs that. We need music and art to remind us of the beauty of our land. Not everything needs to be about death and power.”
“That’s what my mother always said.” He ran a hand along my cheek. “I’ve been wanting to paint you.”
I shivered. “I want you to.”
He leaned forward and kissed me before we both settled back, and another moment of silence passed.
“Do you truly think I stand a chance at becoming king?” Norivun asked quietly as I leaned against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart and depth of his breath as the warmth from the fire in the other room filled the air around us.
“I do.” I ran a finger over his shoulder, right where his mating mark was. His muscles jumped beneath my light touch. My attention kept drifting to the painting above the mantel and then to the haunting music he’d just played for me. “It’s been long enough since we first began to spread the news of the truth of your father. Everyone now knows what you did for the innocent fae that had been living on the Cliffs of Sarum. They know that your father wanted those fae murdered, not you. And they’ve seen how you’ve been working full seasons to save all of them and how all along your father was actually the villain. Not his crown prince.”
“I was still the Death Master. I stillamthe Death Master. I’ve taken more lives than I can count.”
“Someone has to be the executioner, my love.” I placed my palm flat on his chest and raised my chin to meet his gaze. “But you’ve born that burden long enough. We can find another if your soul grows weary.”
His eyes narrowed, and he ran a finger along my cheek. “But then I wouldn’t be able to torture Vorl and ultimately decide what I’m going to do with him.”
My breath hitched before a nervous smile tugged at my lips. Vorl was still being kept in the dungeons. Still in the same cell that he’d been in for months on end.
Norivun had visited him frequently during the lastsix weeks. I had no idea when my mate’s rage would be sated or when his vengeance would abate. Perhaps it never would.
“Do you think he’s suffered enough?” I asked, despite knowing that Vorl would always be a vile male who sought to hurt others. But now that his thumbs were permanently disfigured, he would have a harder time accomplishing that task.
“No.” My mate’s response was quick. Definitive. Leaning down, he flicked my chin, then kissed me softly before his tongue slid along my lower lip. “I plan to keep him for many months to come. I told you that I was going to take my time with him.”
I shivered as a lick of his darkness gathered around me.
“Perhaps it’s best if I’m not king.” He continued his slow procession of lingering kisses. He kissed along my jaw, throat, and down my collarbone. Heat began to grow inside me. “My thirst for punishment may be too great for some.”
“Not me.” I gasped when he lifted me, and I straddled him. My dress bunched around my hips before he swept my underthings to the side. He inched his trousers down until his full length was revealed, and then he slid me onto him inch by inch.
“And that’s why you’re perfect for me, my love. You accept my darkness. You understand it.” His lips curved when he kissed me again, and then he hissed when the remaining inch of him filled me completely.
“Gods, I will never get enough of you.” His breaths came faster, and I began to move.
