Cinnamon Rolls and Villainy

Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

T he water drips into Ayc’s eyes as he makes his way back to his kitchen in Wyntra Castle. Whatever warmth the night held has surrendered again to a winter’s chill, but it’s far, far better than the heat he felt long after he stripped down and dove naked into the icy waves of the Bellum.

The party has dissipated from the courtyard by the time he makes his way through. He shivers and pushes back the hair clinging to his face. His damp clothes paste themselves to his skin. At least, no one is waiting for him. Not Peregrin to yell at him, or Xylie to check on him, or Lora to fight with him more. Good. He wants only to be alone.

But when he reenters the castle and turns the corner that leads to his room, he freezes in place. A figure steps from the shadows by his door. Ayc curses himself for being relieved too soon. He would have preferred Lora. Fuck, he would have preferred a Drakr hiding in the darkness to Yris.

“Have a good swim, human?” the Sovereign asks, as she draws herself to a halt still ten feet from him .

Only a few moonbeams make their way through the windows; all the lanterns were turned off hours ago. In the darkness, Yris’s nearly white hair and pale skin make her look like a wraith about to devour him whole. He searches the darkness behind Yris, but if she’s chosen to have a guard with her, their cloak’s hood is up and the enchantment renders them invisible. Either way, no one will intervene between Ayc and Yris.

Ayc doesn’t draw any closer. He bows his head and pastes on a smile. “Good evening, my lady. Isn’t it a bit past your usual bedtime? Shall I fetch you a cup of tea and some leftover cake?”

“No.” She takes a few more steps. Only five feet between them now. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you. It will only take a moment.”

Unease drags at Ayc’s smile. Keeping it in place feels painful, as if he hammered nails into the corners. “Of course, my lady.”

Another two steps. Only three feet now. “You caused quite a scene today, yelling at my daughter the way you did. I would never have suggested you to fulfill the Totus Omni’s silly little prompt if I thought you would be so disrespectful.”

“ Why did you suggest me?” Ayc dares to ask.

“I have my reasons.”

One more step, until he’s within reach of her pointed talons. He doesn’t retreat. He refuses to let her know that he still fears her, even if he does. Even if he knows people would be foolish not to fear her.

“But I want to make it very clear, human. She will be your Sovereign one day, and I’m sure you know the oath you took will bind you to her. Until then, you will obey Loraphne as you obey the Sovereign.”

The words land so forcefully he stumbles back.

No, she can’t…

“Do you understand me?” Yris snaps, her eyes flashing silver. “Her commands will be my commands. The consequences of disobedience will be the same. That is my will.”

The order yanks at his throat like his collar pulling taut. He nearly chokes, nearly sputters. His pain buzzes like a thousand hornets writhing. A scream builds in the back of his throat. A smile spreads on Yris’s face, telling him she knows exactly what she’s done, the chains she has added to his neck.

And his worst fears are realized. Lora has always had power over him.

Now, it is limitless.

“It seems like you understand.” She reaches her hand with her sharpened nails to pat his cheek. It’s all he can do not to flinch. “Keep her safe.”

She walks away, leaving Ayc fighting for breath in the hallway. When she’s gone, Ayc stumbles the dozen feet to his door and launches himself inside. The door slams behind him with such force it shakes in the frame. Only the light of the moon illuminates the room, and he wishes he could rip off his bracelets, slip into the darkness, never to be seen again. But running away stopped being a possibility a long time ago.

He presses his fists to his temple, taking gulping breaths, trying to fight the panic rising.

This can’t happen.

This can’t ? —

Hands slip from behind him, covering his eyes. “Surprise.”

Before he can recognize the voice, Ayc moves instinctively. He grabs the wrists, spins, and shoves her toward the door, pinning her arms above her head. She gasps in surprise, and he freezes, forcing air between his teeth. But he doesn’t release her, because Wren looks so pretty, pressed against his door, her arms stretched above her head. He draws in another deep breath. His senses flood with lavender, and that feeling returns—the one like drinking fae wine much too quickly—blurring his panic, his racing thoughts, his pain. Fuck, she couldn’t have come at a better time. He needs this.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Wren says, a slow grin curling up her glitter-dusted cheeks. “You’re full of surprises.”

“You startled me,” he explains, curling his fingers between hers and bringing her hands down beside her head.

“Not as startled as I was to learn you’re one of Loraphne’s Five.” She blinks, the gemstones in her eyelashes catching the moonlight. “Whatever happened to being enemies?”

Ayc hovers his lips near hers but doesn’t let them touch. “I suppose we’re keeping each other closer than normal.”

“Yes, her comment made it seem like you two are very close.”

Wren pulls her lip between her teeth, then releases it. Is she actually jealous? The thought thrills Ayc. Maybe, he actually got under her skin. The idea that someone might not be entirely unaffected by him is intoxicating.

“She couldn’t let any of her team look like an easy target.” It’s the same explanation that Lora gave him, the one Ayc still doesn’t quite believe .

Wren raises an eyebrow. “It seemed that, last time we spoke, you were appalled by the very idea of her being Sovereign. And now you’re helping her?”

Ayc really wishes they were talking about anything else. “It’s complicated.” Hoping to distract her from further questions, he tilts his head and hovers his lips over her jawline, but doesn’t touch her. Her breath quickens, her breasts rising and falling so heavily it brushes against his chest. He revels at the effect he has on her. It makes the need rise swiftly in him. It takes all his restraint not to strip her bare.

“Why?” Her word turns into a gasp as he presses a kiss to the curve of her neck. Her arms squirm, but he tightens his hold, keeping them in place. “What power does she have over you?”

Ayc pretends not to hear the question, least it stokes the panic. He needs this too desperately: needs to forget the pain and this night. And most importantly, he needs to forget Lora and the fire she causes and how it still simmers within him. He calls it hate, because that’s the easiest, safest thing to call this feeling, the one that refuses to be shaken no matter how he tries.

“Is this what you came here for?” Ayc asks. “To interrogate me about Lora and her Five?” He grazes his teeth against her neck next, followed by his tongue. “Or did you come here for something else?”

His hips surge forward, eliminating the distance between them, showing her what he’s prepared to give her. The thin fabric of her dress leaves little to the imagination. She makes that moaning noise deep in her throat, the one he would be willing to do very bad things for.

The moan turns into words, “Fuck me, Ayc. Please. ”

He leans back so he can study her eyes. “Did you come here to be fucked? Or did you come here to be fucked by me ?” He needs to be clear for the sake of his own sanity.

This time, when she pulls away, he releases her. She slides her hands on either side of his face in a touch far more tender than he expects. It makes something dangerous constrict in his chest. Her eyes blaze silver. “Ayc, I want you to fuck me.”

She hauls his mouth to hers, and the last of his restraint shatters like porcelain against cement. He growls into her mouth and yanks at her skirt, not stopping when he hears the seams protest. She attacks him with the same veracity and desperation. His trousers are only at his knees and her skirts around her waist, when he lifts her up, and she wraps her legs around him and— yes, fuck, yes . She is already bare for him, and he slides inside her.

“So fucking good,” he snarls into her ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

She slips her fingers into his hair, matching every thrust of his hips with a tug at his roots or a nip at his neck. It drives him harder, faster. More. Fucking more.

“Have you thought about our night together since then?” she asks between gasping breaths.

He’s too lost in her to deny it. “Yes. All the time.”

“Me too,” she breathes, her tongue trailing over his ear. “All the time.”

It shatters something in him, and one hand releases her ass to yank at her bodice. The deep V dips to the side, threads whining in protest, but soon one of her breasts is free—full and taut in the dim moonlight. He pulls it into his mouth and matches his administration with the movement of his hips. He alternates sucking and broad, circular strokes of his tongue.

Her hands tighten in his hair, holding him close. “Ayc,” she whimpers. “ Ayc!”

His name transforms into a scream on the final note. Her legs tremble as her body surrenders to the pleasure. The feel of her release almost drives him over the edge, but not yet.

Before her body has subsided, he maneuvers them to the floor, nearly tripping as he does so. He kicks his legs free of his pants and slides down her body to put his tongue where he was just buried.

“Again,” he encourages. “I want you to scream my name as you come again.”

And she does. Again. And again. And again.

“Where did you get these?” Wren asks, pointing to the bracelet on his wrist which lays lightly on his chest, only an inch from where her head rests on his shoulder.

They have since moved from the kitchen floor to his bed, their clothes discarded somewhere in between. They’ve crawled beneath the blankets, his arm wrapped around her. Every breath he inhales is lavender. It’s dangerous how much he likes it; he could get used to this.

She traces a finger over his bracelet. The smooth brown leather. The braided edges. The metal plate in the center embossed with the silhouette of a bear. “You always wear them.”

It’s not the first time he’s been asked about the bracelets, but other than a handful of exceptions, he’s always deflected the question. He answers honestly now. “ My mother gave them to me when I was little.” He lifts his wrist and turns it so she can see the extra little holes they had to poke into the leather to fit his small wrists.

She trails her fingertips down his arm. “According to the stories, your parents sold you to the Drakr, and Yris saved you and took you in.”

She says it like she’s skeptical of the story’s truth. She peers up at him through the jewels in her lashes. He considers telling the true story, if only to make Yris angry. She certainly doesn’t want anyone knowing the part she played in Aluina’s ruin. He still doesn’t understand her motivations for doing it, but he knows it’s a secret she’s buried. She’s reminded him frequently that the fewer people who know who he truly is, the less likely the Drakr will know someone from Creed survived and come finish the job Yris started. He knows that’s the least of her fears, but it’s always been enough to keep him silent.

He’s never told anyone, and he’s not truly ready to tell Wren either. It would feel too much like stripping himself bare, all the way down to his soul.

Instead, he says, “My mother was long gone before Yris needed to save me.”

“Your mother was good to you, then?”

“The best.”

Ayc was only ten when she died; his memories of her feel like recalling dreams. Some are hazy and sweet, and some shine bright and vivid. He can remember her brilliant smile and her easy, quick laugh. He can still feel the wooden stool beneath his bare feet as she taught him to bake. He can hear her humming as she tended to the counter of her little bakery in their small, sleepy village.

“How’d she die?” Wren asks .

He releases a deep breath. “The way humans so often do. There was a sickness in the village. Lots of people died, and so did she.”

“I’m sorry.” She lays a gentle kiss on his breastbone, as though she thinks it might soothe the pain she knows lies beneath. “It’s a special kind of pain, losing your parents. I lost mine, too. My father died in the last Trials. He was the Bromalis victor.”

Ayc winces. “No wonder these Trials mean so much to you and your sibling.”

Wren nods and continues, “My mom died seven years ago. She was a warrior in the aerial armies. After Aluina fell to the Drakr, she was a part of a movement that wanted to help human rebel fighters reclaim their homeland.”

Ayc adjusts to see her face, afraid she might be teasing him. But her tone, and her face, is deeply serious. “I never knew about a rebellion in Aluina… or that anyone in Everadyn wanted to help.”

Wren sets her head on her hand and looks down upon him. “Everadyn fae were allies to Aluina for centuries. It’s why they were the only fully human-controlled territory left in the continents. They were able to withstand against an invasion from the Drakr because Everadyn fae had helped them ward their boundaries against their entry, so only humans and their allies could enter. We had trade agreements: enchanted weapons and army support in exchange for lumber from their forests and iron from their mines. Sorry… you probably know this.”

Ayc certainly knows about the former allyship and the wards, though little good the wards did. Before the Drakr took Aluina, Ayc suspected the wards were nowhere near as strong as people thought. When Ayc woke from nightmares about the Drakr, his mother always assured him it was fine, but then he would see her sitting up the rest of the night, a crossbow sitting on her lap. There were rumors of lapses in the ward, of gryphon riders who flew to human aid when Drakr’s attacked border villages near the mountains. Peregrin was even one of them until a Drakr drove a magical blade into their leg. After Creed Castle, when Aluina fell completely under Drakr control, he always assumed the wards were never that strong to begin with.

But he's never heard it from the side of an Everadyn fae. Ayc suspects Yris has forbidden anyone in Wyntra from discussing it with Ayc.

“Please, go on,” Ayc says. “I don't know as much as you would think. I certainly don't understand how the Everadyn and Drakr became allies.”

“No one really does, just that it began when Yris became Sovereign. It happened subtly. Trade agreements with Drakr for resources and a slow decline of conflicts, though nothing that contradicted our existing allyship with Aluina. Well, except how Yris slowly relocated our soldiers stationed in Aluina back to Everadyn." Wren shakes her head. "Looking back, I don't see how we missed it. Perhaps we just didn't pay attention, until it was too late. Until the massacre at Creed Castle."

Ayc fights not to flinch, like the words don’t come with images of blood and the sound of screams that still make him want to wretch. Mercifully, she doesn’t seem to notice and goes on.

"When Yris refused to send aid to stop the Drakr onslaught and ordered the rest of the Everadyn soldiers back, so many people were angry. I was angry. I'm still angry. "

A rumble of that rage echoes in her voice, and Ayc draws her back to his chest. Whatever connection he senses between them tugs at his heart. It feels like a balm against an old wound, knowing that she cares so deeply about the fate of his people. She settles her head back upon him, so he can feel the vibration of her words as she continues, "My mother was so furious she joined a group who were giving aid to Aluina. They fought for a couple of years, rescuing humans and bringing them here or to Tenebra, out of Drakr reach. They even set fire to a Drakr army base, but then the Drakr retaliated and burned down a village. Well, one village in every single clan. So many people died.”

Ayc’s shoulders tense. “How long ago was that?”

“Seven years ago.”

Ayc’s eyes flutter shut as the timeline settles into place. Xylie’s village. That’s why the Drakr’s attacked, when there were no attacks in the years before or in the years since. Her village and her parents were revenge for an act of rebellion.

“Yris was furious,” Wren continues, “and in order to restore peace with the Drakr, she rounded up a dozen fae who helped with the rebellion. All the other fae were banished, but my mother—” Wren’s voice tremors, and she cuts off. Ayc soothes a hand up and down her spine as she takes a few shuddering breaths to gather her strength. “Yris thought my mother was the leader. She wasn’t, and Yris had no proof. But that didn’t matter. Yris had her executed anyway. She made Sterling and I watch.”

“Fuck, Wren,” Ayc says, unsure what else to say. “That’s awful.”

“It really was,” Wren agrees.

Ayc sees a spark of a tear on her cheek and reaches to caress it away .

He thinks he remembers that day, seven years ago. The Wyntra students murmured about an execution, and Ayc stared in horror as a stage was built with a single block on it. People gathered in the courtyard. The air hung heavy and thick as when a storm blows in from the sea. Loraphne cornered him and said she was in a particularly bad mood, and if she saw him in the courtyard that day, she was going to stab him. He went down to the beach, but he knew the moment it happened, because a gryphon’s scream shook the sky, far louder than the crashing waves.

Surely, that was the day Wren’s mother died.

He doesn’t burden Wren with his recollection; she has enough memories of that day.

Wren sniffs and moves on. “I want you to know that assholes like Hason are loud, but most people in Everadyn—Lux Aester excluded—don’t hate humans or think of them as inferior.”

“I know,” Ayc says softly.

For every loud asshole kid at Wyntra, there were just as many who were content to leave him be or even be friendly. He never could tell which would be which, so with the exception of a few brief flings, he never trusted anyone enough to build any friendships. His presence has always been welcomed at festivals, and he’s met many dozens of humans who have made Everadyn their home, found sanctuary here after escaping Aluina. Mostly, the Everadyn are kind. Mostly.

“What happened to the rebels after that?” Ayc asks.

“I don’t know. I think the movement disbanded, but I think a lot of people would want to help Aluina if they weren’t so scared of Yris and the people loyal to her. It’s one of the things Sterling and I want to change. We’ve sat by and let Aluina suffer for too long. Things are going to change after these Trials.” Wren sits up and gazes down upon him. The moonlight frames her from behind, a soft, alluring glow. “And you could help us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you feel trapped. You must if you’ve agreed to be one of Lora’s Five. You don’t have to tell me why, though I wish you would.” She fans a hand over his sternum and waits. When Ayc says nothing, she sighs and moves on. “But you don’t have to help Loraphne, Ayc. You said so yourself; you keep your enemies close. That close, you could make it—” She pauses, as though choosing her next words delicately. “You could make it… difficult for her to win.”

“What? Like, sabotage her?”

“Exactly.”

Ayc laughs. Surely, she can't be serious. But Wren doesn't join in, and the laugh suffocates in his throat. He sits up.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Wren pulls the blanket around her shoulders and closes it over her naked chest. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I want my sibling to win. They will be a far better Sovereign than Loraphne would ever be.”

“Maybe, but…”

“But, what?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? But what?

Ayc doesn’t want Lora to be Sovereign and condemn himself to obeying her for the rest of his life. And here he is, uniquely in a position to prevent her from winning. All he would have to do is say nothing and let tomorrow take its course, let the plan he overheard Mienna and Hason discuss play out. Yris gave him an order to protect Lora. Keep her safe. But she was foolish enough not to say Loraphne’s name. Little details like that are easy to exploit.

The idea cements itself on his chest, heavy, but attractive. For once, he could seize a little power. For once, he could perform a little villainy of his own.

But would he be able to live with himself if something happened to Lora when he could have prevented it? What kind of monster would that make him if he let her die?

Wren gently pushes the hair from his face, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

Ayc catches her wrist and lays a kiss on her palm. “I promise.”

The worry on her face doesn’t ease. “I hope you do. I hate to think of us going into the Trials on different sides, of us being put in a position where we could be forced to kill each other.”

Ayc laughs at the absurd thought. “Kill each other? I’d never kill you.”

Wren doesn’t join his laughter, and he swallows down the merriment. “That’s what the Five are meant to do,” she says.

“Fuck that. I don’t plan to kill anyone, least of all you. That’s not the kind of man I am. And you’d never hurt me.”

She gives him a wistful smile and runs a finger across his collarbone, sweet and light. “You’re a good man, Ayc. You’ve got a kindness in you I wasn’t sure existed anymore, besides Sterling. I’m glad I met you.”

“Thank you.” He hesitates, then adds, “And don’t go across the bridge tomorrow.”

She blinks. “I thought that was a requirement. Everyone has always gone over the bridge.”

“And it turns into a bloodbath. There’s no actual rule. Xylie did research, and it’s merely a tradition. Leave the city a different way. Fight another day.”

Her eyes flick across his face, and then she smiles, a full, relieved grin. “Thank you, Ayc.” She frames his face in her hands and kisses him. It’s not a kiss like they’ve shared before. Instead of lust, there’s tenderness and affection that makes it feel like candlelight during an otherwise long, dark night.

When she leans back, she asks, “Who’s Xylie?”

Ayc grins and settles back against the wall, happy to move on to less complicated topics. “She’s Loraphne’s Second and her cousin. She’s also my best friend. She’s lived in Wyntra almost as long as I have.”

“She’s Yris’s niece?”

Ayc nods.

Wren lets the blanket fall and turns so she can relax her back against his chest. He wraps his arms around her, reveling in the feel of her skin against his.

“That’s odd,” Wren says. “I’ve come to many parties at Wyntra, and I’ve never met Xylie.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Ayc nuzzles Wren’s neck, and she curls her head to the side to give him more access. His fingers stroke slowly across her belly. “Her brain works differently than most people. It makes her the smartest person I know, able to notice things people miss and remember every detail she’s ever read in a book. But I think that can also make everything else feel like… too much sometimes. She can’t speak around most people, except for me and Lora. She was only there tonight because Yris forced her to be.”

“I suppose that explains why she looked like she was going to be sick,” Wren says sympathetically .

When Ayc’s fingers trail down to her hip, she lets her knees fall open and leans her head back against his shoulder. Her breaths are already speeding up in the way that’s quickly become one of his favorite rhythms.

“What about the man beside her?” she asks. “He looked like he might be… well, blind.”

“Tavish? He’s our navigator.”

“Navigator?” Ayc isn’t sure if her gasp is one of surprise or because his fingers are now on the inside of her thigh. “How is that possible?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Not my story to tell. Besides. I think I’m done talking for a bit.”

She makes a strangled noise, as he’s finally, finally found her center. “All right, but then I really have to leave. It’s late, and tomorrow—oh, fuck, don’t stop. Tomorrow is— fuck, Ayc . No, you’re right. We should definitely stop talking.”

After, she kisses him again like before, slowly, tenderly. It feels like the beginning of something new. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Ayc. I’m afraid I’m starting to find myself hopelessly attached to you.”

“It’s my baking skills, isn’t it?” he teases.

She laughs. “That’s part of it. But only a part. And now I have to go.” She groans and wiggles from his grasp. He makes himself let her go.

She steps into the kitchen but returns wearing her dress. It lays crookedly on her chest now, and he grins at his work, not sorry. She isn’t looking at him, though, but rather at the tapestry that hangs on the wall beside his bed. She cocks her head. “I didn’t notice it before. It’s a beautiful tapestry.”

It is. Breathtaking, in fact. The fabric is made so artfully that it almost doesn’t look like fabric. The first time he saw the tapestry, it felt so real that for a moment, he was a kid again, lying on the floor of the forest around his village—trees and flowers rising above his head, fireflies lighting the air. The branches high above frame a full moon and a whole universe of stars.

Wren reaches out to run her hand over it. “It's so soft. Like liquid.” She glances at him. “Who’s the artist?”

Ayc shrugs. “I don’t remember. Saw it at a festival a couple years ago. Bought it on a whim.”

“I see.” She frowns at the tapestry once more, before returning to him. She grants him a kiss that’s far too brief. “Promise me you’ll think about what I said. And be safe.”

He swallows. “I promise.”

When she’s gone, Ayc collapses onto his pillow where her glitter still lies, grinning a smile he’s sure looks absolutely ridiculous. Hope is a dangerous thing, but it's too big to contain, so he lets it fill his whole chest.

A couple hours later, he awakes to pounding at his door. He rolls out of bed, half-asleep, and collides with the floor. He fights with the blankets that have tangled around his waist, manages to get to his knees and jerks the door open.

“Oh my divine!” Xylie shrieks and then flings herself around. “You’re naked! Why are you naked? And why are you still in bed? The opening ceremony is starting in fifteen minutes .”

“Oh, fuck me,” Ayc swears.

This time, Lora really is going to stab him.