Chapter 18 Basten
Basten
Gods, if Sabine could only hear what I can.
As Sabine and I make our way back through the Reliquary Garden, bowing and accepting adoring prayers to her, my ears fill with hushed, awe-filled whispers that stretch back all the way to the outer wall.
Word is spreading through town. Immortal Solene has risen to save Old Coros from the Cold Coins.
We reach a line of gray-haired advisors waiting to touch our foreheads in blessing. I have to grit my teeth and remind myself to wipe the impatient scowl off my face.
Kendan is going to hear an earful for this stunt. Forcing Sabine to reveal her fae nature is an asshole move—even though, I begrudgingly have to admit, it worked.
Still, Sabine’s fey glows in uneven bursts—she’s so damn overcome that I’m afraid she’s going to break apart at the seams, burn every person’s eyes with her silver light.
I’m desperate for a second alone together. I’m her acolyte—her protector. She’s worried she’s going to hurt me, but the need to check on her burns through me.
“Congratulations to our Queen and Goddess,” a stiff advisor cuts in, eyes flashing like a fox’s. “We are eager to discuss potential negotiations with your father, King Rachillon. If we were able to get our hands on that monoceros…”
“We will speak soon enough.” She smiles tightly, cutting him off. It’s more of a grimace, really, and I lay a protective hand on the small of her back.
I say, “Of course, Lord Blakely. We look forward to long, productive meetings with you…at another time.”
More well-wishers press in, anxious to lay hands on us like we’re blessed statues, and my own heartbeat starts to hammer.
Damn, these stiff clothes. I wasn’t even the primary one thrust in the spotlight, but the seams poke at me in all the wrong places. I wish I could rip them off, go back to my loose hunting garb.
“We are graced with your presence, Lady Solene!” an elderly cook proclaims, stepping forward with the kitchen staff.
Sabine stiffens under the sudden attention.
I smile disarmingly while I lock hands with Sabine and form a barreling ram with my other arm to push us through the crowd as politely as I can.
“Yes, yes,” I murmur through clenched molars. “Such an honor…she’s a marvel…will work hard to serve the kingdom…”
Women surge toward Sabine, reaching to touch her gown like it’s spun from legend. They press in so closely that I’m forced to tighten my grip on her hand just to keep her near.
On the other side, advisors close in around me, voices clashing, each trying to claim a piece of my attention.
Then, in a blink, the crowd shoves between us—my fingers slip—and she’s gone.
Swallowed whole.
Her wide eyes find mine one last time through the crush, a silent plea hovering there—before the tide takes her.
“Enough,” I grunt. “Fuck it.”
I barrel my way through the crush of bodies like a beast. Gasps ripple as I reach her and, wordlessly, scoop her into my arms, lifting her right over my shoulder like a sack of flour.
Regal? No. Effective? Absolutely.
She yelps, but her arms loop around my neck on instinct.
Hell, let everyone gawk and stare. If they want her, they’ll have to go through me, first.
“Basten!” Sabine cries, clamping a hand onto her crown to keep it from falling off. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting you out of here, wildcat,” I murmur, adjusting her on my shoulder.
I’ve shocked the crowd enough by manhandling a goddess that it’s easy to push through now. Gaping sentries scramble to open the castle doors for us, and I stride right past shocked staff up the stairs and don’t stop until I’ve plunked her down on the royal bed.
Gods—it reeks of sandalwood in here. Rian’s signature scent. No doubt the maids wanted to ensure our marital bedroom was appealing, but they really shouldn’t have.
If Sabine’s between the covers, that’s all I need.
“Your pulse was skyrocketing,” I say. “I had to get you out of there before you opened the earth and swallowed everyone whole.”
I tug at my stiff collar, practically growling at the uncomfortable fabric.
She bounces on the mattress, pupils blown, lips trembling, fey flaring across her temples. Her crown tumbles onto the black satin sheets.
“Basten,” she breathes, as she runs her hands over her arms, throwing back up her human glamour. “Matron White…what was that?”
I sink next to her, immediately protective, and scrub my hands over my face.
“I didn’t know she’d be there—I swear it.
The day we arrived, Kendan revealed to me that the Matron had survived the fire, and she convinced me that we need her to get the Red Church on our side.
But I swear to you, I didn’t want you to find out like this. ”
Sabine looks down at her hands, at the fey that is only now starting to steady. I’m afraid she’ll claw me with harsh words for the lie—but then she seems to soften.
“You should have told me,” she says, still looking down. “But I understand as well as anyone that there are…” she hesitates, “…reasons to keep secrets.”
Secrets? Is she keeping some of her own?
But her look grows more contemplative as she runs her fingers over the silk sheets, and the moment shifts. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Being in Rian’s bed?”
I groan, at least relieved to move on from the topic of Matron White. “That’s the last thing I want to think about.”
She frowns at how I’m plucking at my clothes, then pushes up to her knees on the bed. “Stop that, you’re only going to rip out the buttons, and Ferra will scold you ceaselessly for it. Let me undo them for you.”
I surrender to her small fingers, which deftly free me from the restrictive clothing. As soon as I can, I shrug out of the shirt and scratch all the places on my chest where it itched me nearly to death.
She smiles in amusement, unable to stop herself, which breaks the heaviness between us. “You’re like an itchy old dog.”
“Guilty,” I bark.
She winces as she pulls a pin from her hair. “Men have no room to complain. You have no idea how uncomfortable women’s clothing is. And this antique gown? It might as well have been cobbled together from granite and wood.”
My voice drops. “Then, I guess we’d better strip you, too.”
I reach for her sleeve, pushing my luck.
She sees the glint in my eye and shimmies away, slapping at my hand. “This gown is a thousand years old. Ferra will want to spend an hour carefully getting me out of it.”
I rub my chin, not liking the sound of that. The day has been torture. Waiting, waiting, smiling, waiting.
“We have a fleet of seamstresses. They can mend it.”
I grab the heavy brocade skirt and drag her to the foot of the bed. She feigns affront but can’t hide her laughter. I spin her around, pressing her belly down into the mattress, as I tear at the buttons down the dress’s back.
With every peek of creamy skin underneath, my blood runs hotter.
Gods, I need this.
So does she.
Once I shuck the gown off her, she’s left in a thin slip that leaves little to the imagination. “Stay there,” I order. “Don’t move an inch. I want to fuck you in this crown.”
I scoop up her circlet, climb onto the bed, and rest it back on her messy braid.
She looks back at me, over her shoulder, with sly eyes that do all kinds of wicked things to me. “I didn’t think you cared about crowns.”
“Riches are riches, little violet. And they look damn good on you.”
She twists to be on her back, and I lean in to capture her lips with my own.
She opens her mouth for me, soft lips teasing my own until I can feel my muscles stiffen with growing need.
I fumble to get my belt off, shucking off my pants, and then crawl over to her.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck.
“Damn,” I growl. “Fucking incense is so thick I can’t smell you.”
I nuzzle against her shoulder, biting her skin lightly. I’m so used to perceiving her in every possible way. Sight, taste, touch. It kills me not to smell her scent beneath the sandalwood oil drenching every inch of furniture.
Something creaks in the big oak wardrobe, and I whip my head around, frowning—but Sabine pushes up to nibble on my jaw, and I forget day from night.
A moan rolls up my throat as I push her back down to the sheets. The crown slides off her head to clatter to the floor. She twists to pick it up, but I trap her wrist, guiding her back to the bed.
“You don’t need it. You’ve always been a queen.”
She gazes up at me with those ocean blue eyes, and with her braid worked halfway loose and wild, I think to myself that I could fuck her forever like this, damn the outside world.
“Not everyone was pleased today,” she points out.
I grunt deep in my throat, dismissive. “A few old fossils who can’t handle change and lack imagination.
They’ll grumble, but they won’t stand in our way.
I don’t like how they went about it, but Kendan and Folke’s plan worked.
The tide’s already turned toward you, little violet.
All those people gazing at you as their savior. ”
She runs her finger down my jaw. “They were looking at you, too.”
I look away. It’s an uncomfortable truth, something I don’t quite know what to do with. I’ve been so fixated on putting her on the pedestal she deserves that it feels really fucking strange to be up on one myself.
I capture her wrists and lift her arms over her head, interlacing our fingers, pinning her to the bed. Locking our gaze, I say in a low voice, “Together. Always.”
She tilts her chin toward mine. “Together.”
I claim another kiss, this one hungry and hot. I want to pour all my faith into her—because there’s that small, nagging part of me that’s worried we aren’t in lockstep. That a crack between us is stretching more and more each day.
That we both have secrets.
Maybe if I kiss her hard enough, it will bridge the growing gap.