64. Chapter 64 #2
Finally, with one last deep stroke, Kaelin collapsed on top of Ren, both of them breathless.
Moments after they regained their breathing, Kaelin lazily stretched out on the bed. She unbuckled the harness around her hips and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. Then, Kaelin crooked a finger at Ren, beckoning her closer.
Ren crawled toward her, her cheeks still flushed, and a slight tremble in her limbs.
“Come here and lick me clean,” Kaelin purred, spreading her thighs wide in invitation as she lay back against the pillows. “Taste how wet you’ve made me.”
Ren licked her lips, and obeyed, settling between Kaelin’s legs. Ren leaned forward, her breath hot against Kaelin’s slick folds. Kaelin tangled a hand in Ren’s hair, guiding her where she wanted her.
With a tentative lick, Ren tasted Kaelin’s essence. Kaelin moaned at the contact, her hips rolling forward, seeking more. Ren took the hint, her tongue delving deeper to lap at Kaelin’s center.
“That’s it,” Kaelin praised, her voice breathy with pleasure. “Get your tongue nice and deep. I want to feel you everywhere.”
Ren complied, sliding her tongue along Kaelin’s slit and circling her clit.
She suckled the sensitive nub, drawing gasps and moans from the fae.
Kaelin ground against Ren’s face, lost in the sensations.
As Ren continued to feast on Kaelin, Kaelin’s thighs trembled, her breath coming in short pants.
She was so close, teetering on the edge of bliss.
“Don’t stop,” Kaelin gasped, her grip on Ren’s hair tightening. Through gritted teeth, Kaelin uttered, “Right there – right there – ”
Ren doubled her efforts, her tongue a blur of motion against Kaelin’s clit. Kaelin’s orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body arching off the bed as pleasure consumed her.
Kaelin collapsed back against the mattress, panting and sated. Ren looked up at her, her lips glistening with Kaelin’s essence. Kaelin reached down, cupping Ren’s chin and tilting her head up.
“You did well, darling,” Kaelin murmured, her thumb gently trailing Ren’s swollen lips. “I got you a gift.”
Ren arched an eyebrow. “You’re spoiling me.”
With a wave of her hand, Kaelin summoned an item.
She tossed it to Ren, a wicked grin on her face.
“A little surprise I picked up at The Serpent’s Kiss.
Dangerous name, isn’t it? Fitting, really.
It’s a shop tucked into the market’s outer sectors.
They sell all sorts of indulgences there: intoxicating wines, elixirs said to make your blood run hotter, and trinkets that claim to spark desire with a single touch.
” Her grin deepened, a sharp glint in her eyes.
“Half the court pretends they’d never dare set foot inside, yet the place is always busy.
” She straightened, her voice turning firm.
“I want you to pleasure yourself until you come undone.
And I want to watch every second of it."
Ren’s eyes widened, and she hesitated as she eyed the object. It was slick and small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Yet when she held it, she felt warmth radiating from it.
“Go on,” Kaelin purred, lazily suckling Ren’s nipple until it hardened against the fae’s lips. “Lay back and touch yourself.”
Ren hesitated before lying back against Kaelin’s shoulder to position herself. As soon as she held the object to her center, a low buzz filled the air. Startled, Ren instinctively pulled it away, but Kaelin brushed a strand of hair from Ren’s forehead, her fingers cupping Ren’s cheeks.
“It’s harmless, Ren darling,” she murmured. “Only intended to bring you pleasure.”
Processing Kaelin’s words, Ren pursed her lips and spread her legs apart, hesitantly pressing the object to her heat.
Just as it made contact, the vibrating sensation tickled her clit, and immediately her body responded to its menstruations.
With a moan, Ren pressed it firmer against her clit, her hips bucking up to meet the stimulation.
Kaelin settled back to watch, occasionally suckling on Ren’s jutted nipples or nibbling playfully at her neck.
Combined with Kaelin’s menstruations and the sensation between her legs, it didn't take long for Ren to cry out, her body quivering as ecstasy washed over her.
Later that evening, Ren let her gaze drift across the dining table, marveling at how strange it felt to be here again.
The last time she had dined with the royal family of House Vaelaran, Kaelin had seethed at her presence, her disdain visible. Ren remembered the way Kaelin’s lips had curled in disgust, her body angled as far away from Ren as possible, as if the mere act of sitting beside her was offensive.
Now, it seemed Kaelin couldn’t sit close enough.
Her shoulder brushed Ren’s at every opportunity, her long fingers tracing casual patterns against Ren’s wrist. She didn’t even bother with subtlety.
A crimson nail grazed Ren’s elbow. A strand of Ren’s hair caught between Kaelin’s fingers, tugged gently as if testing how easily Ren could be undone.
Ren tried not to stiffen at each touch, not to look like she was about to combust under the weight of it all.
But the royal family didn’t seem to bat an eye.
Lyra seemed more interested in Ren’s magic, leaning forward with keen curiosity to ask how Ren had first discovered it. Maelion wanted tales from the pits, his laughter booming across the hall when Ren admitted she’d once felled a man twice her size with little more than a broken chair leg.
After Ren finished telling that story and took another sip of her wine, Lyra asked, “What are your plans for after you complete your contract?”
From the corner of Ren’s eye, she caught Kaelin’s hand tightening against the table’s edge.
Once, the answer would have been simple. That as soon as Ren finished her contract and collected her payment, she’d disappear into some quiet corner of the realm
But now, her gaze flicked to the fae at her side.
Kaelin.
Kaelin, who had once been Ren’s bitterest thorn, whose sharp tongue and sharper pride had grated against every nerve Ren possessed. Yet what had begun as a rivalry had shifted, twisted, and bloomed into something she could no longer ignore.
Because when Ren thought of her future, she no longer saw an empty road leading away from everyone. She saw Kaelin .
The silence stretched, the table heavy with expectation. Ren parted her lips, but no words came.
It was Kaelin who broke the silence.
The princess’s hand slipped into Ren’s hair, twirling a loose strand around her red-tipped finger .
“Perhaps we might find a more permanent position for her here at court,” Kaelin murmured. “It would be a waste to let someone with her skills vanish.”
Across the table, Maelion set down his fork with deliberate care, his expression sobering. “Yes. There may yet be a more permanent place for her here in Pyraelia.”
Once, Ren would have rejected the very notion of chains, no matter how gilded. But now, the thought of being bound here didn’t feel like chains at all.
It felt like belonging.
The market was alive with color and noise and a tangle of smells.
There were spiced meats sizzling on skewers, leather oiled and polished, sweet honey cakes cooling on trays. Voices mingled in a dozen tongues, foreign dialects clashing like overlapping songs, each one vying for attention.
Ren marveled at how bustling it all was despite the season. Back in the north, winter meant shuttered doors and howling winds that gnawed at the bone. Here in Pyraelia, the winters were mild in comparison.
Through the hum of the crowd, a woman sat alone against a stone wall – a bard with hair streaked silver.
Something in her gaze told Ren she had seen things too raw to ever unsee.
She sang of the Witherblight, her melody threaded with decay, beauty, and despair, painting images of fields rotting mid-bloom and hearts blackened from within.
“Where children once played, laughter, only echoes answer now.
The Witherblight took their voices and left the earth to bow.”
The contrast was jarring, life and death braided into every note. People skirted wide around her as though the melody itself might cling to their skin. They shunned her like a bad omen, as if ignoring her voice might keep the truth at bay.
Ren’s gaze flicked for a bowl, a pouch, anywhere the woman might be collecting coin.
But there was nothing. No offering plate, no scattered copper.
The bard seemed less like a street performer and more like a death wraith made flesh, a siren risen among the living.
Her eyes were hollow voids that had seen too much, her voice unraveling grief into the winter air.
Ren felt a chill crawl up her spine as the truth struck her.
This was no song for coin, but a final act – a lament meant only to be lost into the world before silence claimed the bard, too.
Ren and Elira drifted between stalls like moths through lantern light, neither of them buying much but both pausing to watch the glassblowers shape fire into delicate forms, the fortune-dice throwers shouting over each other, the jewelers fanning out their wares where the sunlight caught every gleam of metal and stone.
They paused at a rack of dresses, browsing gossamer silks, the hems weighted with tiny coins that chimed together like distant bells when touched.
They made their way back into the market, and all too suddenly, the first fat raindrop splattered on Ren’s cheek. Then came another. Within moments, the sky tore open in a torrent. Shouts rose across the market as vendors scrambled to cover their wares.
“Come on!” Elira grabbed Ren’s wrist, her hand warm against Ren’s cold skin, and together they darted through the downpour. They weaved between shuttering stalls, boots slipping on cobblestones now slick as glass.
At last, Elira shoved open the door to a tavern Ren couldn’t catch the name of.
Golden light and raucous laughter spilled out, chasing the shadows from the rain.
They stumbled inside, dripping water, drawing a few glances but no real notice as the place was already filled with smoke, chatter, and music from a fiddle in the corner.
A fire snapped in the hearth, chasing the chill from Ren’s bones.
“Two cups of whatever burns the fastest,” Elira told the barkeep.
They’d barely taken a seat when someone dropped into the chair across from them.
“Well, well,” Lucan drawled, raising a brow. “Looks like the storm decided my luck for me. Mind if join you ladies?”
Elira shrugged, clearly amused. “Suit yourself.”
Lucan ordered a round for all three, and before long, the table was loud with conversation. Lucan had a way of filling the silence .
When the darts came out, Lucan challenged Elira, expecting to win. But Elira’s aim was sharp, each dart sinking into the bull’s-eye with steady confidence. Lucan whistled low.
“By the gods, woman. You’d give any marksman a run for his coin.”
Elira bowed with a flourish, soaking in the applause of a few half-drunk patrons watching. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”
Lucan nudged Ren playfully as she nursed her mug of ale. “First day of training and Ren passed out during her first round of sparring.”
Ren whipped her head toward him. “Because your friend cheated and used magic during sparring!”
Lucan barked a laugh. “True. He nearly sent you flying off your feet.”
Ren glared at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Lucan lifted his mug. “Still. You overextended your stance.”
Elira leaned her elbows on the table, swirling her drink with lazy amusement. “Overextending your stance leaves your heart-line wide open. A rookie mistake.” she glanced at Ren. “I’m sure pit fights are different from fighting with steel.”
Ren leaned back in her chair. “Finally, someone is speaking my language. In the pits, you don’t talk about technique. You just hit first and hard enough that they don’t get back up. Gods, I miss the simplicity.”
Ren was so caught up talking with Elira that she didn’t notice Lucan’s expression had shifted. He set his mug down, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “That phrase. Heart-line. That’s something we learn in training. Are you a fighter, Elira?”
The table went still.
“Elira is from House Tharowen,” Ren drawled. “She’s a kick-ass blacksmith.”
But Lucan didn’t look at Ren. His eyes stayed locked on Elira’s.
And Elira had gone perfectly still. She also didn’t look away.
Two warriors measuring each other in a room full of drunks.
Finally, Elira eased back in her chair. “Relax. You look like you’re about to interrogate me for knowing a single fancy word.
” She lifted her mug and shrugged. “I hear that phrase every week. I spend my days surrounded by soldiers and their oversized egos. It’s hard not to absorb their battlefield jargon. ”
Lucan thought for a moment and then demanded another round of drinks, on him.
Elira offered a toast with her mug, to which Lucan clunk their glasses together.
Music swelled, and someone began singing a bawdy song near the fire.
The storm still howled outside, but within the tavern, the world felt brighter.
Ren leaned back in her chair. She turned her mug in her hands, watching the foam cling to the rim before taking a slow swallow. The ale slid down her throat, nothing remarkable in taste.
But Ren’s gaze flicked sideways all the same.
Elira was no stranger to ale. Ren had seen her drink it often enough, so something about the ease in her voice and the quick glint in her eyes left Ren’s instincts bristling.