Epilogue #2
“And, really, Sera, anyone might have walked by.” He kneeled in front of her licking at her sensitive clit as he continued the steady, even tempo of his hand.
She fisted his hair, and then conversation died as he pleasured her with his mouth and fingers, building all that delicious friction until—
“Fuck!” He jumped up, staring down at her with genuine distress.
Sera’s body still pulsed and tingled, her mind blissfully empty.
He began to adjust her dress, putting her clothes in order. “Kieran, wait, what are you—”
“Look at the time, Sera.” He quickly swiped at his mouth as she rolled over and looked at the clock.
“It’s nearly two, so wh—oh my gods.”
She leapt from the desk.
“We cannot be late.”
“I know, damn it. I know, I just… I may have forgotten… briefly.” She righted her clothes as he went to the door.
“Kieran, you’re going to need to clean up before we get there.”
He kissed her, for five searing, passionate seconds.
“I intend to make full use of the carriage ride over. I can clean up after.” He ushered her from the office and locked it behind them.
—
Jeremiah Fulton watched North and his wife flee North’s office. The workday still had two hours remaining, but they were heedless as they bolted into the afternoon. He swallowed, an embarrassed sort of heat filling his cheeks. He turned to one of his colleagues and she gave him a sympathetic nod.
Good lord, they must be insatiable.
—
Sera’s climax had rocked the carriage. Their clothes were askew, buttons undone, clasps left open, and bliss had threatened to make them sluggish as the carriage pulled to a stop outside Winter.
They had made use of every second of the ride, because once they reached home, there would be no more scandalous activities until well into the evening.
Doing up buttons and fastening his pants in hasty abandon, they sorted their clothes enough to race home without tripping.
Tarley met them at the door.
“Are we late?” Sera asked, out of breath as she shirked off her coat.
“Not quite, but Miss North is getting antsy,” Tarley answered.
“Okay, so we have a second.” Sera and Kieran took the stairs two at a time and separated to their individual tasks. Sera had her own private rooms, heated with lava stones to her preferred temperature. She also had an entire wardrobe dedicated to her home attire.
After several years of trying to find ways for Sera to be warm enough in their home, she had devised a variation of lava stones that were threaded into the fibers of her clothes. She was perfectly cocooned in warmth no matter where she went in the house.
Her breakthrough had launched an entirely new line of fashion where anyone might buy clothes that could alter their ambient temperature.
Winter Fae could buy clothes laced with glacite when venturing through the city, same for Summer or Day Fae in cooler months.
They had been wealthy before, but the funds generated from her various improvements to the city and ingenious inventions combining fae and human technologies had ensured their family’s stability for several generations to come.
Sera threw on the first decent dress from her home wardrobe and quickly washed her face and hands. She fumbled to redo her hair in record time.
Kieran saw to his own clothes and hygiene.
They could hardly show up at their appointment reeking of sex.
Kieran met her on the stairs and eyed her hair with a sigh.
“Unacceptable, our instructions were to ‘be presentable to the royal court.’ This will never pass muster.” He began to help her adjust her silky strands into a more refined arrangement.
He had put on his best tails, the invitation to the event had insisted on black-tie.
Once he approved Sera’s hair, they joined arms and proceeded into the back garden of their home.
Luminore had been placed around the patio and a table set in the center with five chairs around it. Two were already occupied, dignitaries from faraway countries if Kieran remembered correctly, and their host tapped a very impatient foot as they approached.
“Apologies for our tardiness, my lady,” Kieran dipped into a low bow, “but your mother lost track of time.”
Sera speared him with a glare of betrayal as he rounded the table and held out her chair.
Lark North was seven years old with Sera’s dark eyes and Kieran’s snowy hair—no one was quite sure where the curls had come from, but they bounced along her back as she took her place at the most important seat at the table, clearly marked by the assorted sticks, leaves, and weeds adorning it.
The table was laid out with a lovely tea service and finger sandwiches, some pine cake for him and some honeyed toast for Sera, but Kieran noted the elegant vase was adorned with flowers that looked suspiciously similar to those in the front off-limits garden.
A conversation for another time, this was an important event, after all.
“Now. Let us begin. May I pour you some tea, my lord?” Lark asked, gesturing to Kieran’s glass.
“Yes, thank you, my lady.” It was a rule that he always refer to Lark as ‘my lady’ during her tea parties and her harsh scolding had cemented the habit very quickly.
“I would love some tea,” Sera said, holding out her own cup.
Lark lifted her chin. “Tea is for those who were not late.”
Kieran grinned as Sera leveled him with her eyes. He knew better than to admit fault and, yes, he had passed the blame as quickly as a grenade.
“But I suppose you may have some toast,” Lark gestured to the plate. “Help yourself.”
Kieran took a tentative sip of the freezing tea, thankful that Tarley had overseen the preparation and not left it up to Lark, who had served water laced with candy last time.
“Oh,” Lark leapt from her chair and pulled Kieran to her height so she could whisper, “pretend your tea tastes funny.” She rushed back to her seat.
He took another sip and scrunched his face, to Lark’s amused giggle.
“There is something off about this tea,” he commented.
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t have any,” Sera mumbled, biting morosely into her toast.
Lark went to him again, pulling him down to add, “Now, pretend it was poisoned.”
Kieran paused, then clarified, “Poisoned?”
“Yes. I’m pretending it’s an assassination attempt against you and then I have to avenge your death by finding the assassin, who is,” She made a cringy face as she pointed discreetly at the doll with pink yarn for hair.
“I see. And where, exactly, did you learn about poisons and assassination attempts?”
“Uncle Gideon,” Lark supplied happily. Then she went back to her seat.
Kieran now returned his own pointed stare on Sera, who shrugged. “I’m not in charge of what he does when he watches her.”
“Now, daddy,” Lark anxiously pointed at his cup, desperate for the next phase of her game, “don’t forget to pretend,” she stage-whispered through her hands.
With a sigh, Kieran lifted the cup to his lips, took a generous sip, and then promptly spit it across the table. Sera jolted backward. Lark erupted in laughter. And he… very much hated the resulting mess. But, dedicated to his character, he held his throat and sputtered.
“Wait… was that… poison…” He considered falling over the table, but the mess of his tea and the food prompted him to adjust his chair so he could crawl to the floor and lay flat. He gave one final anguished gasp, and then closed his eyes.
Lark took a moment to stop laughing, then continued. “Oh no! He’s been assassinated!” She slammed her hands on the table. “And everyone here is a suspect.”
Sera attempted to keep a straight face through her interrogation, but she was not as good at controlling her laughter as Kieran. After twenty minutes, the culprit was revealed and Lark raced off to do battle in the garden. Kieran opened an eye.
“May I return to the living?”
“Yes, I think you’re safe for now.” Sera helped him back into his chair and they moved so that they could lean on each other as they watched Lark dart among the hedges.
Contented silence spanned between them as they peacefully observed their daughter viciously attacking her doll to avenge Kieran’s murder.
“We need to speak with Gideon about his choice of games,” Kieran murmured.
“Die! Die! Die!” Lark mimed cutting off the doll’s arm. “Ah! No! Blegh!” She voiced the doll’s distress and then continued to dash about with the boundless energy of youth.
“Yeah, I’ll speak to him,” Sera agreed, wincing at a particularly gruesome display of Lark attempting to make the doll eat her own severed limbs.
Once the game had ended, and Lark’s energy spent, they prepared for the family dinner on the terrace. Gideon and Rachel would be there soon, as well as Varian and Seth. It had become a tradition every Friday, though they now rotated between their three homes.
Sera set up some of the smaller lava stones around her seat, generating a small field of warmth.
Lark, it seemed, could tolerate both extreme cold and human levels of heat.
She had inherited Kieran’s fae gift, sensing Death on those around her and, for the first year or so after they learned of her power, Kieran had anguished over her life looking anything like his had before Sera.