19. Writhing Inferno
19
WRITHING INFERNO
L oud, jarring screams echoed throughout Luella’s mind, reverberating through her dream space like a murder of crows come to relay a harbinger of death.
She kicked her feet out, limbs tangling in silken sheets as her mind forced her to sift through memories of rolling heads and dismembered bodies, the sick crack of broken bones…
She opened her eyes, only to see a sight that had plagued her for the last few weeks. A sense of repeating the past washed over her, and as the fleeting sands of her realistic nightmare slipped through her fingertips, she felt her throat close up at the image.
But now she knew the name that fit the face of the male looming above her. Tharen.
In a strange mockery of their first meeting—that wretchedly fateful night in which he stole into her tower and dragged her from slumber with a dagger against her throat and a twisted glint in his eyes—the mage once more was on top of her, pulling her from her nightmares, only to awaken to one even worse. A living nightmare. She had no escape. Not even in her waking reality.
The Prima was on top of Luella, a hand resting casually at the base of her throat, not gripping, merely laying across the delicate skin there as if in a soft warning of what he was capable of.
His lips twisted into a wicked grin, one side of his mouth curving higher than the other in a lopsided, fiendish smile. His features were severe, the hollows under his cheeks filled with shadows, eyes dark with unsaid promises that weighed heavily in the scant space between them.
His smell was entrancing.
Ice and fresh-fallen snow. Crisp and inviting and starkly cool.
Luella’s eyes shuttered, and she gave one last kick of her foot to try and force him away. But it was no use.
"If I knew how easy it was to get you writhing underneath me, I would’ve made my way to your bed much sooner, Princess," Tharen sneered.
"G-get off," Luella stuttered, her hands pushed weakly at his muscled chest—bare, of course. Fingers splayed over the ridges and hard lines of him, and she distantly thought this was the first time she had ever touched a male’s naked chest before.
The crisp scent of snow cascaded over her, and one of her hands fell back against the soft pillows, tangling with strands of her golden hair, as he leaned forward, nose pressing right against hers so harshly that the tip of it was smushed. A large, unyielding knee came to settle between her legs, slotting into that space nestled high up between her thighs. She gasped at the sharp pulse that speared through her from the firm pressure…
A foreign tingling.
Unwelcome touches bred sparks of something that must have been pleasure shooting through her veins, causing her toes to curl against silky sheets and plush blankets.
Her bare leg brushed against Tharen’s foot, and the heat of his skin made her heart stutter in her chest. A stutter that turned to a gallop as he moved his head to press his face into the crook of her neck. He breathed deeply, like he was savoring her scent as much as she was his.
"What are you doing?" she breathed.
"Taking what’s mine. Savoring what’s mine." The grumble of Tharen’s words vibrated against her neck, and she felt it throughout her whole body.
"I’m not yours," she gasped, and the sound of it surprised her. She had never made such a breathy sound before. Tharen must have liked it; he growled low at the noise, one of his large hands spreading across her waist.
"You are. Everything about you is mine." He lifted off of her slightly, pulling one of her legs up with a firm grip around her calf. The sheets fell away, as did the short hem of her gown—it settled at the junction of her thighs, baring a small strip of the pure, white fabric of her panties. With an insistent stroke along the arch of her foot, he said, "Even down to your little toes, you’re mine."
The action caused her back to bend, forcing her chest even further into his. His touch tickled, pleasant little sparks radiating from the trail of his deft fingers.
Somehow, she didn’t feel quite scared. Threatened, perhaps. But not with the promise of violence… Threatened with the promise of pleasures unknown to a fae heirus like her.
A new curiosity of the unknown flared within her.
While something more sinister roared to life.
The fragile peace she had found with Bastian—and even more hesitantly, Graves—was shattered. The illusion ripped away callously as she remembered.
With every touch on her body and those icy blue eyes that bore into hers, Luella remembered. Remembered a dagger against her throat, being chased throughout the bloodied, dark halls of Solis.
A small part of her also remembered how Tharen had ripped apart the males who threatened to touch her. Hurt her. He had done so without a second thought. But Luella shoved those memories down. Not willing to focus on what it all could mean—for her and her future as a captive.
Luella had no misgivings of the nature of her captivity—one founded in cruelty, the glint of swords, broken and bloodied bodies, and pleas to live. Somewhere along the way, she had grown complacent in this new life. Perhaps it had started in the dungeons with Az… The safety he had offered her from his blood vow had lulled her into a false sense of security. Just like those lullabies he had hummed to her each night, chasing the nightmares away.
Then Bastian, with his sweet words and sinful vows, promises to keep her alive, no matter what, and the gift of freedom and escape that could only be found between the pages of a book. Even Graves, the silent watcher and feathered liar he was, had not laid a finger of malice on her, only with those scorching deep eyes as he explored her with something more invasive than touch: his mind.
With all of it, she had forgotten. And in the absence of King Vale, especially, she had forgotten. Now, with Tharen, the Prima of Serpentis, atop her with a leg between her thighs, pressing into the softness of her heat, and his large body caging her in against cool, sleep-rumpled sheets, she felt a familiar fury rekindle. A small spark that sputtered and whined with its desire to be let loose into an inferno of flames.
But that fury was not something Luella was used to giving in to. So, she made herself smaller.
Like always.
Though Tharen’s leg was slotted between hers, and his face buried in her neck, he did not move, only breathed deep, holding his body utterly still save for the rise and fall of his chest as he took her in—caged her in. Her chest was forced close to his, and through the thin gown, she felt her breasts press against his hot, bare flesh, the muscles on his stomach rippling with power as he held himself up over her.
Panic seized her lungs. What was he going to do to her? He could do whatever he desired; she was wholly at his mercy.
"W-wha—" she started, but he silenced her with a finger against her lips, head bent down so low the tip of his nose brushed against hers. Her entire body was shaking.
Tharen shifted, and one of her thighs fell further open, her hips brushing against his.
" Fuck ," Tharen groaned. "They’ll kill me—" he cut himself off, but Luella had a strange sense that he was referring to the others.
Was he not supposed to be here?
As Tharen pressed himself along the line of her body and settled into the crook of her parted thighs, hips pressing against hers as they fell open even more, a soft groan fell from his lips as though he couldn’t quite help himself—she lifted her hands to shove him away, palms against the hard muscles of his chest like she might move such a beast.
"Please." A whimper was torn from her lips.
Luella didn’t know what she was pleading for. To be saved, or something… else ?
He nosed the expanse of her lithe neck, whispered breaths against her pale skin, against her fluttering pulse point. His scent was heady and vibrant, like she was standing outside in a snow flurry. A soft whine was pulled from somewhere deep within her at his smell, at his touch, at his weight, where he rested firmly on her small body.
Never before had she felt so fuzzy and undone. Never before had she felt so splayed open and laid bare.
Luella still didn’t know if it was a welcome sensation or not. But she had an inkling that it wouldn’t have mattered to the mage. She didn’t have a choice in this.
Even as she breathed in his scent like she had been starved of oxygen her whole life and had only just been granted the ability to breathe. Even as she reveled in the small sparks of pleasure radiating from where his thigh was pressed between her legs.
Even then. No choice.
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, trailing along her temple.
His breath rattled in his lungs as he breathed her in one last time before extricating himself, fingers slipping through the strands of her golden hair like silken threads, chest lifting from where it was pressed against the soft swell of her breasts, and hands skimming over her waist and ribs as he pulled away.
Luella stayed splayed out on the bed, her own chest expanding with quick little huffs of air. Fingers curled around nothing, her hands by her head, and her thighs still slightly parted, falling open in an enticing invitation to the male standing by her bedside like a revenant of the hedonism forced upon her.
Icy blue eyes locked on where her gown fell to her hips, exposing the pale flesh of her legs, all the way to her upper thighs, lingering on the lace of her panties.
She turned her head against the pillows, another silent tear falling from her golden eyes.
At her indecent state, Tharen swallowed heavily. "Fix yourself.”
She sat up, hands shaking so hard they barely supported her as she propped herself up on the mattress. In the absence of him, her whole body quaked.
Listening to his command, Luella righted her gown, tugging it down against her lower thighs. She still felt exposed in the thin slip of her nightgown, so she pulled a blanket up to her chin, covering the rosy flush to her chest and neck, but it did nothing to hide the heat on her cheeks. A blush she knew Tharen could easily see.
The mage adjusted his pants, slung low on his hips. His abs flexed, a faint trail of hair leading from under his belly button. She averted her eyes, pointedly ignoring his lower half as she trained her gaze on his neck. In her nervousness, she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.
“Little lamb,” he crooned. His voice was louder now, less shaken and hushed like the distance he had put between them allowed his head to clear. Luella wished she could say the same. “King Vale has called for your presence in the throne room. That’s why I’m here. Get dressed.” He moved to lean back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“Why does the King want to see me?” Luella inquired, scooting to the edge of the bed and standing, keeping a snug hold on the blanket wrapped around her. Tharen laughed as she walked to the wardrobe, the long end of the blanket trailing behind her like a gown. She quickly gathered a day dress from inside, barely paying attention to the color or style in her haste to flee.
She made her way to the bathing chambers, attempting to shut the door and prohibit him from watching her change, but in a flash, he was there, a booted foot notching between the door and the frame before she could close it fully.
“Ah, ah, keep it open,” he ordered, smirk playing along his lips. “The King ordered me to bring you safely to him. What would he do if something were to"—he paused, a threat weighing heavy in his words as he looked her up and down—"happen to you, and I wasn’t there?”
Luella looked up at him in indignation, brows drawing low over her eyes as a scowl formed.
She was certain if something did happen to her here, the mage would be to blame.
“F-fine." Her bare feet almost stomped along the floors as she walked to the corner of the bathing chamber, casting a look over her shoulder at Tharen standing in the doorway, blocking out the light from the morning sun that filtered through the glass doors of the balcony.
There were no candles in the bathing chamber—the maids hadn’t made their way in here yet to light them—so it was dim in the room. Her hands reached out in front of her to feel her way around, taking care to not do something as stupid as trip and fall into the bathing pool.
Dropping the blanket, she gave him her back. For all her bravado, she was too nervous to even look at him—content to pretend he was not even there. Especially after he had woken her up the way he did. Her skin was hypersensitive, her body still trembling, all while he was unfazed.
She toyed with the hem of her nightgown, not confident enough to disrobe completely. The gown she had chosen unfolded with a quiet crinkle of fabric as she held it up before her. It was a soft, pale rose color. Almost the same shade as her still-blushing cheeks. The neckline was a soft scoop, and the sleeves puffed in a bell shape. It wasn’t a winter gown; it was made for the warmer months of mid to late spring. She bit her lip. Dare she risk passing by Tharen to retrieve a warmer gown, or should she resign herself to shivering with chill for the rest of the day?
Luella peeked behind her to see Tharen, watching her movements with a feral look on his strong face, a white braid fell over his shoulder as he leaned his side against the doorway, blocking her inside, and his thick tattoos stood stark on his tanned skin. A wild thing. Just like the trio of wolves that seemed to answer to him and him, alone.
She stepped into the gown, pulling it up over her legs to cover her and settle over her hips while her thin slip of a nightgown was still on. Putting her arms in the short sleeves, she already felt goosebumps erupt on her skin from the chill. The laces were undone in the back, and she reached behind her to try and tie them, but it was no use. The strings of the soft lace fell out of her grip, escaping her. Of course, she grabbed not only a gown made for warmer weather but also one with laces in the back instead of in the front, where she could easily reach.
A disgruntled huff fell from her lips as her fingertips met nothing but air. Contorting her body to reach behind her, she finally gave up, hands falling to her sides in exasperation.
"Need help?" Tharen asked from the doorway.
"No," Luella replied, even though she did. But she would never ask for help from the likes of him.
Boots softly padded across the floor of the bathing chamber, lithe and nimble, barely making any noises to alert her to his sudden arrival. Right behind her. Hands brushed over the small of her back, skimming along the light fabric of the rosy gown.
"Won’t you get too cold in this, hm?" he teased. A tug against her waist as he lifted the laces, and in one sharp, swift move, he pulled them taut, forcing a sound from her lips as the bodice of the dress was fixed far too tight against the curve of her waist. His hands worked to expertly do the laces.
Her thoughts couldn’t help but linger on why a male like him would be so skilled in tying the laces of a gown.
As though he could read her mind, the mage spoke again, grumbled words shivering over her skin in sinful promise. "I’m far more skilled in taking off gowns, not helping females put them on."
Luella swallowed, a slight shake to her shoulders as she turned to face him and stared up, up, up into those light blue eyes.
She did not thank him, even when he fiddled with the sleeves, making sure they fell over her shoulders right. He tugged on the ends of her hair, gathering the mass of it into one fist as he tucked errant curls behind her arched ears.
All of his movements were jerky like he was forcing himself to be gentle, but it didn’t come across the way he might have intended. She felt the tension in his every touch, saw it in the stiff set of his bare shoulders and the way he constantly swallowed, mouth seemingly parched.
He settled her curls down over one shoulder, fingers lifting away from one at a time—it was almost as if he had to pry his grip away from where his hands were on her slim shoulders.
"Come." Tharen gruffly cleared his throat. "King Vale is waiting."
Tharen escorted Luella inside the opened doors of the throne room with a hand on her lower back.
Her feet shuffled over the long expanse of carpet that led straight to the male lounging on the throne, one leg propped over the other as he lazily waited for her to come before him.
King Vale was dressed in fine black pants, and a worn boot jostled over his knee impatiently. The soles were dirty. Far too dirty for the shoes of a ruler like he. Golden crown perched upon his golden hair, and those serpentine, green eyes tracked her like a predator. A sliver of his tanned chest was exposed from the low dip of his collared, royal blue shirt. And his cape was thrown over his shoulders, pooling around the edges of the throne.
The room was empty, and for that, Luella was grateful.
Tharen’s fingers gripped her waist tightly, signaling her to stop in front of the steps of the raised dais on which the throne sat. King Vale’s many rings glinted in the light as a perfect, large hand curled around the carved serpents winding around the armrests.
"Princess Luella." The King stood, descending the few steps with graceful ease.
The mage retreated as King Vale came closer, relinquishing his hold on her and giving her away to the King. The absence of his touch against her back pained her more than she would care to admit. She felt bereft without him, mooring her to reality—even if that reality was one she did not wish to live.
"King Vale," Luella whispered, bowing her head in feigned deference.
"Always such a meek thing," the King commented.
There was enough space between them that she did not feel crowded. But that small sense of peace was ripped away as he came closer. Closing in on her and the last few breaths of air that separated them. He was so close that she could smell his scent, wrapping around her like the bejeweled adornments on his fingers. Enticing. It was a smell of burning wood and crackling embers. Woodsy like standing in a forest, but unique enough that it was not just any aroma from roughened bark. It was the distinctive scent of a split-open cedar tree. The reddish pink insides cracked apart to reveal a tang of natural and fresh tones—smokey, but lightly so; musky, but in a soft way.
Luella’s eyes fluttered shut against her will as she breathed it in. She did not look up at him. Too afraid to break the quiet and hesitant revelry that had descended upon the room like a thick blanket. Even Tharen was silent from where he stood behind her.
A long finger notched under her chin, tilting her head up to meet King Vale’s piercing, green eyes. She felt faint from his proximity. It was more intimate than the first time they had been this close. No courtgoers watched on, and with Tharen’s silence, she felt like it was only the two of them—the stolen Princess and the conquerer King.
"Are you afraid, Princess Luella?"
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Honesty compelled her. He would see through the lies, anyway, so what was the point? "Yes."
King Vale nodded once, the crown upon his golden hair not moving an inch—as if even it was fearful of disobeying the male’s iron will. "You should be, but not of anyone but us. Remember what I decreed. An attack on you is one on me. No one will touch a hair on your pretty little head." His attention shifted to said hair, and he brushed a golden curl away from her cheek, the touch featherlight. Before she could ask his meaning, he carried on. "You will start attending court gatherings. You’re to spend your days here in Serpentis as one of my war spoils." His lips quirked up. "I do so wish to flaunt you to the masses. It is an honor. You’re the only living, breathing trophy I possess, Princess Luella, and I treat my possessions with care. Most of them, anyway." The last part was tacked on like an afterthought.
Attend court?
Luella had heard tales of the type of court the shifters held—and none were made for a fae heirus.
"If you treat your possessions well, why did you throw me in the dungeons and discard me?" The question fell from her lips, unbidden, and she lowered her gaze, training her attention on King Vale’s feet. He held firm to her chin, not releasing her, but she did not want to give him the power of having eye contact. Little rebellions.
"To break some of that fire, but I see it wasn’t as successful as I had been hoping." The King gripped her face even tighter. So tight she feared he would leave finger-shaped bruises on her delicate skin. "Look at me when I speak to you, Princess Luella," he ordered.
She slowly lifted her gaze, arrested by his eyes, held captive in his orbit.
Luella wanted to open her mouth and reply. To let him know just how successful it would have been—if not for her demon cellmate. His plans had been thwarted, if ever so slightly. She could not imagine how broken she would be if not for Az. A soft, rueful smile stretched her lips, and she bit her tongue.
The King didn’t need to know that she awoke disoriented in her lush bed, dreaming of the soft drip of water falling to a puddle on a stone floor. Or devoured every morsel of food placed in front of her, in fear her next meal would be taken.
The only thing good to come out of her stint in the dungeons was the one who haunted her every thought—both waking and sleeping. Luella had not once forgotten the soft-hearted demon who vowed to protect her with a binding oath forged in blood he willingly bled and words he willingly spoke.
But still, Luella feared she would never be the same again.
Not after everything.
"Why do you call me by my title? Solis is—" A sob bubbled up; she cleared her throat. There was no space for weakness here. "Solis is no more. I am no longer Princess Luella."
King Vale hummed. "You are still the Princess, though, are you not? To some, at least. If your kingdom is laid to waste and its subjects under new rule, there are still those who dare to dream. Dare to hope." He lowered his face to hers, whispering over her cheek, "And dreams and hopes, Princess Luella, are very dangerous things." King Vale stepped back, removing his hand from where it had been gripping her chin. "Even I cannot demolish a birthright."
There was something to his words. Something that spoke of more , lingering unsaid. Something the King did not wish to outright express, only coyly hint at, leaving a trail of clues for her to follow if only she dared.
King Vale looked to Tharen. "Take her back to her room for the day." And then, he turned his attention back to her. "Rest up. You will need it. The night will be long. Best be prepared and fresh-minded." Ascending the few steps of his throne, he kept her in his sights, never turning his back on her.
The King sat, sweeping his cape behind him as he did so, reclining on his golden throne and regarding her with interest and barely contained amusement. As if she were a mere plaything.
"Tonight, Princess Luella, you will see just how the citizens of Serpentis revel."