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I opened the drawer in the bedside cabinet, removed the oil, and climbed onto the bed. The smell of that oil summoned with it a thousand different memories. I snarled them away, jerked Arin’s trousers down his thighs, and exposed his round, firm ass.
There was no time to think; if I paused and let the thoughts inside, the floodgates would open.
Grasping my cock, I oiled it, spread Arin’s ass, and pressed my dick against his hole. He gasped, clenched, and I stretched him open.
Arin swore. The hand that had been on his cock shot to my thigh, trying to lever me back. It was too late for that; I was in him now. His tightness burned us both—good. I withdrew, heard his exhale, and thrust again, hearing him gulp.
He tried to rock forward, to escape. I clutched his hips, withdrew, and slammed in once more, balls deep, riding a burst of pleasure and pain. He let out a gasping, choking moan. It was too much, too deep. I knew it was. It hurt him. I thrust again, needing to move, to have his hole choke my dick, to have him writhe and pant.
“Wait…” he breathed. “Lark, wait—”
I slumped over his back, grasped his lagging dick, and pumped hard and fast. His hole clenched, throttling my cock.
He shuddered, muttered to the gods. “Lark, yes…”
Faster, I pumped my hand and rocked my hips, fucking him from behind while he fucked my fist. When he spilled, I let go, clutched his hips, and fucked him like I hated him, like I was Razak and he was Zayan, cuffed to the bed, taking it, because he had no choice. Balls and thighs slapping, I grunted like a damned animal, and pounded like one too, faster, harder. I needed to come, to spill deep inside and make him mine. Fuck pleasure, this wasn’t that. It was revenge.
I let go of his hip and bit into my own thumb’s soft flesh. A ripple of ecstasy ran through me and turned to delicious sparks, spilling down my back. I cried out around my teeth, buried in my hand, and slammed deep into Arin, my dick pulsing its seed.
Deeper—I needed to be deeper, needed to touch his soul. I jerked his ass desperately close with each releasing wave.
A surge of self-loathing rolled over the numbing comedown. What was I doing? I wasn’t Razak. But I’d hurt Arin, I knew I had. I pulled free. Creamy cum dribbled from his raw hole. I’d gone too far. Had he asked me to stop? I couldn’t remember. I’d hurt him, like Razak hurt me. Quickly tucking my cock away, I stumbled for the door.
“Lark, wait, don’t go—”
I fled through the room, flicked the lock behind me and took the key, then left Razak’s bed chamber, left the corridor, and the floor, taking the stairs down to the ground, and ran outside, down the steps. Rain-soaked streets welcomed me. I disappeared among rivers of people, anonymous but for the royal clothing, but few even cared to peek from under their umbrellas. Rain slicked my hair to my face, glued my clothes to my clammy skin, and chilled me to the bone. I walked and walked, taking streets I hadn’t visited in years.
And then, when I came to the corner where a boy had once played a fiddle and sung for coin, I stopped, as though searching for him.
Little had changed. Trash cans and soaked newspapers banked high in the nearby alley. I should have brought a fiddle, then I could have played, and begged for coin, and killed the next man who tried to lure me away.
I looked at my hands, looked for my two missing fingers, my gloves—I’d forgotten them. People stared now. Did they know? Could they see the truth of me? I slunk back into the shadows and leaned against a wall, using it to hold me up.
Why was I here, why had I walked all this way? Who was I really searching for? I wasn’t damn well going to find the answers on the corner of a nameless street.
And I’d left Arin.
Would he hate me?
It didn’t matter. I had to get back before anyone noticed I was missing.
I emerged from the alley and stepped back into the flow of people. I had to hold it together until tomorrow, until I got the crown, then we could leave, and all of this would be another nightmare to add to my collection of broken dreams.
A hand shot out from a figure I’d passed and grabbed my wrist. I looked up, into old, familiar eyes.
“Now what would you be doing here, young prince?” Danyal smirked.
He’d gained another scar on his cheek, another murder since we’d last met, under the Court of Love’s oak tree at Arin’s mother’s funeral pyre. The sudden appearance of my handler sent my thoughts reeling. A knot of panic almost choked off my voice. I swallowed it down and yanked my hand back, or tried too, but his grip hardened, crushing my wrist. “Unhand me, Danyal, or suffer my wrath, and we both know you won’t enjoy the punishmentIinflict.” I put everything into the act, all I was capable of, and glared back at the man who had known me as LarkandZayan. If anyone was going to see the truth, it would be him.
His eyes narrowed. Razak did not march off for walks in the rain. Did Danyal know the significance of the corner I’d just left? Had he followed me here? There had always been a ruthlessness to my handler, a sharp-eyed keenness, as though he’d seen or done things that would turn Razak’s blood cold. I’d rarely lied to him, not needing to, and only when Arin and I had become closer. But even then, I suspected he’d known the truth—somehow.
He searched my eyes for too long. He wasn’t afraid, because he knew. He sniffed and straightened, then freed my arm. “Let’s get you back to the tower, where you belong.”
“I’m fine walking.”
“It is the least I can do,Prince.” He bowed, and the crowd swept away at the word:Prince, creating a void nobody wanted to touch.
If he knew, and if he planned to tell the council, then I had a single carriage ride to kill him. If I didn’t, he’d expose Arin and I. Arin’s life depended on Danyal’s death.
