16. Ayna
Ayna
Surprisingly, it’s the Fairy King’s general stepping in to save Myron from himself and remind both kings of the purpose of this meeting. “Keep it together, Myron. You no longer hunt for brides nor demand for any. The bargain is moot. Recienne is no longer your enemy.” He turns to Recienne as if to prove a point. “And you, your Majesty, should remember Myron is not his father.”
Cold calculation infuses every word as Astorian fills his role as Askarean courtier and strategist while Clio scans the Crows, the Flame, and the rebels by the wall like a guard ready to step in should our entourage decide now is the time to let one of their blades fly .
“You’re right. King Myron is not Carius, and this audience isn’t about the past.” Recienne’s words surprise me. I wouldn’t have taken the Fairy King for someone who agrees with anyone—unless it suits him.
His face changes to smooth, beautiful, yet unreadable, all colors of the rainbow dancing over him as he stands from his throne, gesturing to the door we came through. “Take them to the guest quarters. I’m sure they’d like to freshen up before we discuss the situation over a glass of wine and a proper meal.”
Eyes skipping over Myron and me to study Royad, Silas, and Herinor, the Fairy King strolls down the stairs toward the side of the room. “Whatever you think, your blades won’t be of any use should you decide to attack. You’ll need to use your magic, and that won’t be of much use either, now that I know your names.”
He disappears before he reaches the inconspicuous side door near the group, and we all stare wide-eyed at the spot that hosted the Fairy King a moment ago.
“What does he mean by that?” Andraya demands, a bit shaky on her feet in the wake of who they call the most powerful fairy in all of Askarea.
Astorian smooths back his auburn hair, glancing at Clio as if for help. The mask of the general has fallen away, a hint of concern leaking through instead. “He means name control.”
“Name what?” Pouly blurts while a million thoughts are rolling from Kaira’s mind to mine.
“ Askarean high fae can execute control over a person through their name. It ’ s one of the things lower fairies fear most. But we ’ re not lower fairies, are we? Herinor is a Crow, whatever that means for controlling him through his name. I have no idea if Crows can be controlled at all. They aren ’ t Eherean creatures after all, so different rules might apply to them. Or they might be strong enough to block it. But Ayna… She ’ s not a Crow. Not really. She can shift and all, but what does that make her? And I ’ m only part-Flame. I ’ ve never needed to shield against name control, but it ’ s possible I ’ m no better off than Andraya and Pouly. At least I ’ d have felt it if a fairy had tried to control me through my name. Clio and Tori seem to be of the kind who don ’ t resort to such terrible measures. At least, not with us.”
She’s definitely not intentionally projecting her thoughts, which means I’m reading them as they leak from her mind. What that means, I don’t have the capacity to analyze right now since Clio is gesturing for us to follow her back to the hallway, and we march after her like a band of misfits in a cage of jewels.
“Name control,” Clio repeats. “Fairies pulling on creatures’ strings like on puppets. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.” She waits for us to start moving, ready to herd us out the door. “Now, let’s get you all freshened up before we dive back into discussions that don’t do well on an empty stomach.”
We leave the throne room, following Clio down a long corridor, up a set of polished, sparkling stairs, and past carved columns that remind me of Myron’s residence in the seeing forest. Gods, I miss the times when my only worry was whether or not my questions made the Crow King bleed.
As if summoned by my thought, Myron’s gaze snaps to mine, his arm winding around my waist as we trudge after the Fairy Princess with more noise than an army of fairies would ever make. There is no point trying to be stealthy when the King of Askarea already knows we’re here.
“Down there. Last door on the left.” Clio gestures at the set of doors lining the hallway we turn into at the top of the stairs. The air tastes of hay and butter croissants, both smells of summer that seem to roam this part of the fairy realm later than even the Plithian Plains.
Andraya and Pouly obediently head in the direction Clio indicates while Silas and Royad make no move to leave our sides, both ready for battle even when they trust Cliophera DePauvre. We’re in enemy territory of a different sort. While in the wilds of the forests, the Crows’ history with the fairies has long stopped conjuring feelings of animosity and distrust, being here in the fairy palace makes my hair stand on the Crows’ behalf. If someone had trapped me in a forest for centuries, I don’t know if I’d ever speak to them again with anything other than my blade.
“ We need allies,” Kaira reminds me through our mental connection as she stops a step behind us alongside Herinor. “ Twenty Crows and a part-Flame aren ’ t enough to take on a traitor Crow, the king of Tavras, and his army.”
It goes unsaid that we need to be smart about trusting the rebels. Even with Andraya and Pouly so fiercely on our side, they have different motives from ours. The rebels want to see a Milevishja on the throne while I…
I simply want Ephegos and Erina to pay for what they did to us. If I’ll ever take up the Tavrasian throne remains a whisper between stars .
“There is enough space in there for all of you,” Clio informs us. “Fresh clothes will be provided. I’ll have something sent up for you.” Clio studies Myron, then me, a frown on her face, and shoves her hands into her pockets. “The Queen of Askarea is roughly the same size as you, Ayna.” Her gaze grazes my comparatively tall frame—“Roughly”—and a smile tugs on her lips. “I’ll see you in an hour. Don’t go exploring on your own. Recienne doesn’t take kindly to busybodies, and we all know that’s what you all are.”
Her grin does little to appease the fear gathering in my stomach. She’s still our friend, isn’t she? We haven’t just walked into a trap.
It’s what I tell myself as I follow Silas into the luxurious suite the fairies provided for us, silently wondering if Astorian didn’t join us for a reason. Is he already discussing strategies with his king? Did I trust the wrong person again?
I remember it doesn’t matter whom I trust because, eventually, it doesn’t matter if they consider themselves our friends as long as they consider themselves our allies.
“Ayna,” Clio calls as I step over the threshold.
Myron stops with me, shoving his shoulder between Clio and me in what seems to be a subconscious gesture rather than a proactive attempt at protection. With a hand touching his bicep, I push him aside, clearing my view on the Fairy Princess.
Her eyes sparkle all shades of jade as she throws me a look that might have inspired fear, had I not seen it a hundred times on her during our time at the Crow Palace .
“Clio?” Forcing myself not to fidget under the stare of all of our party, I hold her gaze, willing calm into Myron’s veins so he won’t make a mistake.
“After your king and mine figure out how to not kill each other in an alliance, you and I will work on your magic.” Her words are as surprising as they are shocking.
It’s no secret there is enough tension filling the halls to slice open anyone’s throat, but Clio jumps in, addressing, for the first time since I got my powers back, the subject of actually helping me.
My shoulders sag with relief, and for a heartbeat, I could swear Myron smiles, but when I turn toward him, his expression is as sour as when we left Recienne’s throne room.
I don’t respond before disappearing into the room, but in my heart, I know she’s the right person to help me unlock the depths of my powers—even when my magic seems to be that of Crows now rather than the fickle water-wielding Vala gifted me. I still need to rediscover that liquid spark inside of me.
The Crows and Kaira follow me into the suite where Andraya and Pouly are standing by a set of silver brocade sofas and armchairs reminding me of metal rather than comfortable furniture. The main room is big enough for us all to scatter while, along the fir green and cream walls, a few sets of dark wooden doors lead to individual bedrooms.
“You need to control your temper, or we’ll lose the willingness of the only fairy out there who can actually make a difference in this war.” Royad has his opinion ready, dishing it to Myron in front of everyone .
Andraya sucks in a breath as if readying herself for a blow of magic to rush the room while Pouly grabs for his sword like the guard he is.
“I didn’t see you playing the diplomat,” Silas points out at the Crow King’s cousin without batting an eyelash. “And frankly, he doesn’t deserve diplomacy after everything he did to us.”
“None of them do,” Herinor interjects, “yet here we stand in the royal residence of the very king who decided we weren’t worthy of our own freedom.”
He isn’t wrong. Then, we all agreed there is no way around this visit and that we trust Astorian and Clio enough to facilitate discussions. The friendship I’ve found with Clio and Kaira isn’t the same as the cool respect the Crows hold for her, but when I watch them interact with Astorian, it’s clear the males share a bond just as strong, knit together through their time in the dungeon. Herinor seems to be the only outsider in the group.
“And everything we did to him.” Myron stalks to the chair closest to the wide, silver-curtain-framed window and drops into it, eyes on the greenery behind the window. It’s a familiar sight even when we’re one level up from the throne room. “Never forget what my father did to earn Recienne’s hatred, yet he is ready to talk alliances.” He props his head up in his hand, elbow braced on the armrest. A phantom wind moves loose strands of his hair, making them dance across his creased forehead. “Don’t forget that Clio was once held captive by Carius the Cruel. Yet, she forgave us. Tori forgave us. ”
I don’t need to meet his gaze to read that he’d never forgive a people who took me away from him.
By the time the clothes pop up on the coffee table we’ve all gathered around, the discussion has ebbed, and we’ve all retreated into our own thoughts. Even Kaira hasn’t spoken to me through our minds, and I’ve been focused on every tiny shift in Myron’s mood.
After the Crows all added their opinions to the pile, Pouly and Andraya seemed ready to bolt from the raw amount of power filling the room. Kaira kept watching in silence, only nodding on occasion and avoiding Herinor’s burning stare whenever she agreed with Royad or Silas.
In the end, it doesn’t matter what any of us think if Myron can’t hold his temper together. I have hopes, though. He wants Erina and Ephegos defeated as much as I do, so he won’t risk an alliance, no matter the hatred and history between the Crows and the King of Askarea.
Herinor is already digging through the stacks of fabrics for something remotely like armor, grunting his disapproval when he comes up empty-handed. Pouly has opted for a pair of black pants and a deep purple linen shirt entirely too big for his human frame, but it’s better than the fairy-sized black tunics loosely covering Royad’s and Silas’s muscled torsos when they reappear in the main room after washing up in the spacious bathing chamber.
Royad’s eyes sparkle like sapphires in the sunset light, and Silas stares at Myron with onyx and impatience as he studies my still-unchanged attire.
“Isn’t it time for you to get ready?” He clears his throat. “Your Majesty. ”
Myron crooks a brow at him. “You don’t really want to start calling me Your Majesty now, do you, Silas?” He stands from where we are sitting side by side on the settee by the cream and fir wall then holds out his hand for me. “I was waiting for my queen to be ready to join me.”
All he does is wink at me as my heart launches into a tailspin, my tattoo tingling and heating as if he’s touching it. “Ready?”
Bobbing my head, I let him guide me to my feet and follow him to the bathing chamber, grabbing the only bundle of female clothes left while Andraya and Kaira are changing in two of the adjacent bedrooms.
I’m not remotely ready to step in front of the Fairy King once more, but losing my dirty clothes sounds like an appealing idea. Especially with Myron there to help me out of them.
The bathing chamber is large enough to host all of our travel party, but when Myron shuts the door behind us, leaning against the wall beside it, it’s like we’re alone in this palace, this realm, this world. His ocean eyes gobble up the sight of me in my faded tunic and pants, my braided hair, the heap of fabric in my hands, and he leans a shoulder against the marble-tiled wall beside the door, folding his arms across his chest.
“I have no intention of letting you put on those clothes once I’ve peeled you out of these.” Like a gust of ocean wind, his gaze grazes the front of my tunic where the fabric pulls in at my waist. Heat rises in my belly, spreading like a spring tide, and I take a deep breath, breasts turning heavy under his stare. It’s been a few days since we last took a moment together to simply enjoy each other’s presence, and his former enemy’s bathing room is definitely not the place my mind should ponder all the various ways he could bend me over the bathtub edge and take me, or how his weight would feel on top of me if he pinned me against the fir and cream patterns adorning the tiles beneath our feet. I’m not even looking at the chair in the corner, wide enough for him to sit and accommodate my knees if I straddle him?—
“Whatever you’re thinking, I want it all.” Myron pushes away from the wall to follow me to the center of the room, sunlight reflecting in the mirror to our sides and painting lines of gold and fire on his features.
Myron’s fingers brush mine as he takes the clothes from my hands, his gaze never leaving mine, and drops them on the floor in a heap of midnight blue and silver.
“We should get ready.” My voice trembles as I try to convince myself I can ignore the desire flickering to life inside of me.
Myron cocks his head, fingers tracing the neckline of my tunic, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin. “ You should get ready, Ayna.”
“For what?”
I don’t get another warning as he grabs my hips and shoves me toward the chair, thumbs hooking into the waistband of my pants and tugging to my calves as he sits me down. I suppress a yelp as my bare ass lands on the green velvet cushion, and Myron lifts my arms above my head, pinning them to the high, carved backrest while his mouth crashes down on mine .
“Don’t move,” he orders me as he lets go of my wrists, and I hold still, eager for more of his kisses.
The next time his lips touch my skin it’s not my mouth, though. With expert fingers, Myron tugs my shirt over my head, dropping it beside the chair as his breath flashes over my breast. I moan my approval as his tongue flicks my nipple then circles around it, teasing.
A part of me remembers that we will be summoned to meet with Recienne again soon, but I no longer care when Myron kneels down in front of me, hands roaming my sides, down my hips, to the inside of my thighs. Each touch leaves a trail of fire, each breath coming harder than the last. My heart beats out of my chest, heat pooling in my core as Myron pushes my knees wide and his gaze snags on my center.
A wicked smirk curls his lips, and before I can remind him there are six people next door who could overhear us if he makes me scream, Myron lowers his head between my legs and licks straight through my core.
My hands snap to his hair, fingers digging into the black waves like I’m a drowning woman and he’s my anchor, and his chuckle dances along my wet flesh like an overture to the pressure of his tongue following a heartbeat later.
This time, I squeal, thighs shaking in his grasp and pleasure coiling tight inside my belly.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Ayna,” he hums, lips brushing my folds in idle kisses. “And you taste like a Shaelak-given miracle.”
I want to touch him, want him inside of me when I come. But when I tug on his shoulders, urging him to fill me with his hard length, he shakes his head .
“Fuck me, Myron.”
My plea drives a shudder through his body, but Myron merely lets go of one knee to guide a finger to my entrance. It’s not what I wanted, but I don’t complain when he adds a second finger and slides them in, pumping slow and hard in time with my quivering muscles while he keeps licking and sucking.
The room brightens in a streak of silver light a moment before I splinter with ecstasy, and a part of me wonders if that was him or me or if we are being attacked, but Myron’s relentless tongue pushes me farther over the edge until I forget I exist at all, and his touch is the only thing I live for.