Chapter 30 Quinn
QUINN
The castle was as ostentatious as memory warned.
It managed to be both undeniably beautiful and irrefutably hollow.
I had walked these halls in another life when I believed the capital might yet be mine to inhabit.
Now, the shine read as an apology, the grandeur as a shallow plea for my forgiveness.
“Quinnie,” Edric began. “Before we make our way to your rooms, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
I gave a dip of my chin in acknowledgment, though it seemed he was determined to follow his course of action regardless of my response.
Edric led us down another endless corridor. I was about to ask how much farther when he slowed, the echo of our footsteps dying beneath the vaulted ceiling.
“Ah,” he said, voice laced with quiet satisfaction. “Here we are.”
At first, I thought he meant the tower. Then I saw it. Stretching across the wall beside us, two stories tall: a mosaic rendered in thousands of tiny tiles, each meticulously placed.
The likenesses were unmistakable.
Edric, his hand outstretched, his expression noble and triumphant.
And beside him—
Me.
The breath stuttered in my throat. My face, my eyes, immortalized in stone and glass. The artist had caught the pale curve of my cheek, the fall of my hair, even the tilt of my chin with unnerving precision.
I felt Mav go rigid beside me. When I dared to glance his way, he looked as though he might be sick.
Thistle broke the silence first. “Well,” she said, low and wry, “I guess that explains why everyone was staring at you in the market.”
Branrir cleared his throat. “When did you, uh, have this…masterpiece assembled, dear king?”
“It was meant to be a wedding present the first time around,” Edric replied, face tightening with the words. “Remarkable craftsmanship, isn’t it?”
Mav scoffed, mumbling to Vesper. “I’ve heard of keeping portraits of your exes, but this is outrageous.”
Vesper released a sputtering, hissing laugh.
Edric’s lips pressed together. He’d heard Mav’s words and chose to ignore them. “Let’s continue, shall we?”
My arm remained looped through Edric’s on the climb to the guest tower. His touch remained light and formal, yet every brush of him against me grated my nerves. I did not wish to lay eyes on him, let alone touch him. I considered shoving him into one of his ridiculous marble replicas and fleeing.
Unfortunately, I needed him.
Or rather, I needed his acquiescence. I kept my mask in place, ever the courteous guest.
My companions followed at a respectful distance. Corridor yielded to corridor, stair to stair, until the vaulting gave way to the familiar circular landing of the guest tower.
A servant waited with gloved deference and indicated to four doors.
“Your chambers, Lady Quinnève, here. Your companions—” a polite wave “—accordingly placed.”
Mav’s chambers were directly opposite mine. It was too far. The tether pulled taut as the distance grew. Pain bloomed low and insistent, humming within my ribs as the bond objected.
The longer my arm stayed linked through Edric’s, the more the tether thrummed with jealousy and rage. I could feel Mav’s gaze between my shoulder blades as if he pressed a hand there.
I allowed a king to deliver me to my door.
The tether snarled with each step. My ribs throbbed.
Across the landing, Mav stood with his frame locked, expression nearing murderous, eyes calculating how many royal crimes a man might commit before dawn.
Our eyes met for a heartbeat in silent conversation.
At my door, Edric turned, expression softened to the precise degree practice dictates. “I hope the accommodations are comfortable.”
“Most generous,” I replied, civility polished thin.
Edric lifted my hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles. “Good night, Quinnie.”
I had never been more grateful for evening gloves.
“Good night, Your Majesty.” With a rushed curtsy, I slipped into the chambers and closed the door, thankful for the barrier.
The chamber was as overdone as the corridor. Ivory panels were worked into vines, a marble hearth banked to a glow, and an overly large four-poster bed dominated the space. It was far too much space for a life measured in two-week increments.
The tether yanked the air from my lungs. I caught the edge of the vanity to keep from falling. The latch clicked. Mav thundered through the door. I went to him without hesitation, wrapping my arms around his middle, inhaling his comforting scent.
He exhaled into my hair. “Are you—was that—”
“Mav, you cannot allow the king to upset you.”
He drew back, breath unsteady. “I am going to be upset any time someone who is not me puts their hands on you.”
The overwhelming need to erase Edric’s lingering touch claimed my every sense. I needed Mav to rewrite the sensations imprinted on my skin.
I kissed him and could not help the smile against his mouth. “Then put yours on me, Mav.”
He did.
With one hand at the back of my head, the other sure at my waist, he kissed me as if making up for lost time.
I broke away only long enough to catch his hand and draw him toward the ridiculous bed.
I pushed him back into a sea of violet pillows.
He looked up at me with a flash of hunger, edged with surprise.
I tried to climb over him, thwarted by the layers of my gown.
“Undress me,” I said, breathless.
His grin was quick and wicked. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He reached around to the laces at my spine. I leaned into the heat of him, tracing my lips along his throat—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
We stilled.
“Quinnie?” Edric called through the door. “I have your…bags from the inn.”
I looked at Mav. “You must hide,” I whispered.
He looked aggrieved on a moral level. “You can’t be serious.”
“Tragically, I am.”
Another knock. “Quinnie? I—I’m coming in.”
Mav scanned the room, cursed softly, and vanished into the armoire.
Edric entered bearing my travel-worn satchel and the parcel of new clothing I had purchased in Pinehelm. “I thought you might want these.”
“Since when does a king deliver luggage?” I asked.
His smile aimed at charm. “Since he has centuries of apologies to begin.” He crossed the room. “Shall I set them in the armoire?”
“No,” I exclaimed, too quickly. “The bed will do. I shall arrange them presently.”
Edric tilted his head, studying me. “You look well,” he said at last. “I had the servants draw a bath. Lavender and honey, if memory serves.”
Memory did serve. The remembrance should have felt caring, but from his lips it was a snare. I offered a stiff nod in confirmation.
He softened. “I’ll help you with your dress.”
Thump.
A muffled protest from the armoire.
Edric turned.
I caught his chin lightly, redirecting his gaze. “No, thank you,” I said with finality dressed as grace. “I can manage.”
He stilled beneath my hand, breath catching.
“After all this time, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he crooned. “I can’t believe fate has brought you back to me.”
Edric leaned in. I curtsied, evading his affection. His kiss landed upon my brow. It burned nonetheless.
“Good night, Your Majesty.”
He retreated with the air of a man mildly wounded. “Good night, Quinnie,” he murmured as he crossed to the door and left.
I waited for Edric’s retreating footsteps to fade and flew to the armoire. Mav was a storm, barely leashed—chest heaving, hands balled into fists.
“Are you all right?” I asked, even though I could see clearly he was not.
“He offered to unlace you.” Mav’s voice came rough. “To help you into the bath.”
“He did not say the latter.”
“I’m sure he was about to,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. “I should cut his hands off for believing he has any right to touch you. I’m your—”
My heart pattered an unsteady rhythm. “You are my what?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. He placed one hand on my shoulder and one on my waist, and turned me so my back was against his chest. His fingers went to the laces again, deft, quicker now.
“I’m the man who will make you forget any other existed,” he said against the shell of my ear, full of wanting and promise.
With each pull, the corset loosened. Heat rose beneath my skin.
He sealed the final tug with a kiss at the nape of my neck.
Then another. A line of kisses followed the path the laces had kept shut.
A sound escaped me; half sigh, half need.
He smiled against my skin. I faced him, easing the gown’s straps from my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
Only the chemise remained—thin as breath.
His eyes tracked every curve and hollow with an awe-edged hunger.
He kissed me.
This was not the sweetness of the ballroom.
This was heat. Want, unvarnished.
Mav lifted me, the world pivoting as we spun, and he pressed me against the armoire, hands and mouth everywhere at once.
I shoved his jacket off, fumbled at buttons; he spared us both the trouble and tore it off, buttons skittering across the floor.
My palms found his skin, and a helpless sound scraped from my throat.
His hands slipped beneath the thin silk.
I gasped, and he swallowed the sound with a deepening kiss.
He broke away only to tuck his face into the hollow of my neck and press slow kisses down the line of my neck.
“Saints, Quinn,” he breathed.
He pushed the chemise upward at my hip, his palm landing on bared skin with a claiming sweep. My body said yes as my mind paused. Sensing my hesitation, he drew back.
His chest was rising fast, expression open and aching. “Do you want to stop?”
His gentleness only made the ache sharper.
Everything in me wanted to continue—but desire could not outweigh the fear threading through me.
I had been here before, not here, perhaps, but close enough to taste the same danger.
The first tether had taught me devotion could be wielded like a knife; the second, that longing could become its own kind of prison.
And the prince, before I was placed under the spell, had taught me what it meant to be loved only as a possession.
Each time, I had given my heart too quickly, believing love alone could make it safe.
Each time, I was proven wrong and left broken.
Now Mav stood before me—kind where others had been cruel, steadfast where others had faltered—and still I could not silence the voice that whispered of ruin.
I wanted to trust him, to trust in the possibility of us, but the ghosts of what came before wrapped tight around my ribs, reminding me how easily affection could become destruction.
I feared the aftermath more than the act itself.
The quiet after passion, when reality returned, and I would once again be left reaching for someone who had already turned away.
And yet, there was something in the way Mav looked at me, as though he’d already seen every scar and decided they were worth tracing.
It made me wonder if love might not always have to hurt.
I did not want our first experience to be shadowed by my fears.
My hands framed his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks as I held his gaze. “I desire you deeply. Tonight, I do not wish to go further.”
His eyes gentled at once. Heat dimmed from wildfire to ember. Mav pressed a kiss to my temple. He slid one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my back and carried me across the room. He set me upon the absurdly soft mattress, and the bedding rose to cradle us as he lay down at my side.
His shirt lay discarded somewhere, a casualty of wanting too much, too quickly. I curled into him, my cheek to his bare chest. His heartbeat was loud beneath my ear, then steadied. His hand drew slow circles upon my back. I closed my eyes.
In the moment before sleep took me, he whispered something low, too soft to catch—a promise my heart recognized before my mind could name it.