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In the center of the room was a lower space, like the middle of an arena. On the far side of the room, directly across from the doors, stood a raised platform of gleaming gold on which two thrones sat. One was smaller, draped in rich black and deep purple velvet.
A woman was seated upon the smaller throne, swathed in a blue silk dress. The bodice of her gown was made of fine, delicate lace spun to look like cobwebs. Around her graceful neck, an onyx and silver necklace hung in the form of a raven, its crimson eyes gleaming like droplets of blood. Her ruby red hair was woven with black and silver ribbons and glistened with moonstones, and overtop it rested a high crown of twisted gold and silver metal, embedded with diamonds.
This was Draven's mother. The Queen Regent Sephone. She was beautiful and enigmatic. Had I expected anything less?
She smiled slightly as Draven walked us slowly into the room. Was the smile for her son? Or for us both?
Beside the queen lay what I presumed was the Umbral Throne. Carved from dark volcanic rock and encrusted with red rubies and other gems, the throne looked off-putting and deadly. Sharp, razor-looking protrusions bordered the edges of the throne and made me wonder how comfortable it would be to sit in.
Draven’s touch on my back intensified as he led the way into the room and towards an empty row of black silk cushioned seats that seemed to have been reserved for us.
Stepping back, he let the group around us enter the row first, each one slowly taking their place.
Javer ushered Beks to a pair of seats hurriedly, as if afraid his protégé might make some embarrassing misstep.
Hawl awkwardly stepped into the row after them, their massive furred body completely filling the space.
There was a tittering from around us, as if the crowd found Hawl’s very presence an amusement. The Ursidaur ignored them all, taking a seat with surprising grace. I felt a swell of pride.
Gawain, the large-framed red-haired man, sat down beside Hawl. Crescent was seated next. Then Odessa.
And then... Only one seat remained.
I started forward, assuming Draven’s place must be elsewhere. Perhaps on the dais beside his mother.
A firm hand on my hip stopped me.
“Wait,” Draven murmured.
He stepped in front of me and claimed the seat, then gestured.
For a moment I was frozen. Incredulously I stared at the seat he was offering to me.
His lap.
He thought I was going to sit on his fuckinglap.
My lips were parting. I was going to tell him this was not right. Sound started to come out.
And then Draven’s strong hand grasped mine and gave a ruthless tug, whirling me towards him as if we were following the steps of some ancient dance, and I was sinking down onto him, my hips colliding with his chest, my ass resting on the firm hard lines of his thighs.
His hands snaked around my waist, holding me possessively against him.
While his lips... His lips went straight to my neck, nuzzling my skin as if I were a delicacy to be sampled.
I couldn’t help it. I gasped.
“Play nice, Morgan,” he whispered against the sensitive skin of my neck. “Easy now.”
“Easy” was what you said to a fucking horse. Next thing you knew he would be calling me “good girl,” too.
My cheeks blazed. Everyone was looking at us. Watching Draven touch and caress me as if I were his pet.
I caught the eyes of a woman across the throne room, bright blue and lascivious. She smiled and licked her lips, then turned to whisper something to the man beside her. He grinned appreciatively.
What kind of people were these Siabra exactly? Were they getting off on this?
“Do they all know who I am?” I hissed.
