Chapter Seven
Piris
It was odd. Moments ago she’d been dancing with Gem, giddy excitement a sweet taste on her tongue. Now she was sitting, fuming, at their table, watching Jarok and his cousin argue. Just like he’d argued with her. The man was insufferable, even if every time he touched her she felt it coursing through her blood like a fever.
She’d not danced at an inn before. Hadn't danced outside the strict confines of ballrooms or dance lessons, and even then, rarely, because most who would partner with her after she had come of age dismissed her out of hand because of her supposed lack of magic. Fine by her. She could barely stand the lot of them, save Strella. Especially Prince Jarok… until this trip. Now she could admit to herself her attraction to him, despite his frustrating traits and her tendency to dismiss men as little more than partners who could scratch the occasional itch.
Said itch intensified as she watched the hard lines of Jarok’s body, jerky with anger and his attempts to control it after whatever Gem had said to him before she left. He stalked back to the table, his dark eyes black and boring into her so she felt them like a touch—a touch making her shiver all the way to her core. Anything between them would be a bad, bad idea, but the longer she was around him, the more convincing she needed to believe it.
Piris turned away from his stare before he arrived at the table, pulling her earlier anger at his interruption over her like a shield. He was beautiful and mesmerizing to look at and interact with, but so damn frustrating, especially when he acted as if she couldn’t take care of herself. So much of her life was training, or being constantly mindful of where she was, what was around her, how she presented herself. For him to dismiss her abilities hurt more than she’d admit. Why should this prince have the power to hurt her feelings?
“Gem is… occupied for the evening,” Jarok said to no one in particular.
Piris shrugged. “Fine, I can stay alone.”
“Out of the question.”
She sucked her top lip between her teeth, attempting to calm herself a moment, and Cylian stepped into the fray. “Jarok is right, Piris. There are too many questions, too much at stake, for anyone to be alone.”
Jarok’s tense muscles stood in stark relief, and she felt herself staring at their cut against his leathers before she dragged her eyes away. “Piris, please. I… It’s not about you being unable or unprepared. I made a promise to protect you. And as Cylian says, we all need to watch one another. No one of us should be alone while on our journey.”
Piris huffed, clinging to her anger out of stubbornness at that point, because what they said made sense. It stung her pride, but it was true. She’d made a promise herself, to Strella, to ensure Jarok stayed safe. If he claimed he’d go off alone for the evening, she’d protest too. Not because he wasn’t a great warrior. He’d gotten the jump on her the other night when she’d felt the bite of his blade. She’d also felt the power of his body, on top of and under her, months before, when they’d first met. The memory of that encounter caused her to flush, but she shoved the thoughts away as soon as she had them, trying desperately to focus on the matter at hand.
“What of Gem?” She was pressing both out of worry and to be contrary.
Jarok snorted. “Gem won’t stay gone. She definitely also won’t be alone.”
“She’ll be alone and in a likely vulnerable position for a while. Or, at least I hope for a while, for her sake.”
Cylian snorted at the innuendo but covered it with a fake cough, because they were having a serious conversation after all.
Jarok rubbed his forehead, hanging his head. “I can’t reason with her. If you want to go try, by all means, help yourself. She is set on this course. She’ll return before the night is over, I’m sure of it. Gem also knows better than to be alone for long here.”
Piris wanted to argue more. The fact they’d traveled for days and the closest they’d come to an attack was from their own ally jumping in their carriage was high on her list of points to make. She dropped it, as she dropped her anger. All for the sake of the group and the promise she’d made. Her voice was a sigh of resignation when she said, “Very well. What are your ideas for the arrangements?”
Cylian chimed in, saying, “Darin and I will stay in the smaller room. You and Jarok will take the larger room. Gem will likely show up there later, so you need the extra space.”
Piris stared open mouthed at the suggestion. It made the most sense, of course. She didn’t know Darin at all, and his coldness put her off. Jarok and Darin had some form of truce going now, she’d noticed, but it was fragile enough they shouldn’t room together. Just in case. Which of course left her and Jarok together.
Jarok looked like he wanted to argue, opening his mouth to speak, then snapping it shut before he could get anything out. Piris rose to end the ridiculous conversation. “Fine. Me and Jarok will stay together. Just someone, please, show me where the rooms are so we can be done here.”
Jarok stood straight, tall, his golden skin tight and showing the barest hint of a flush as he swept an arm out, inviting her to move from the table as Cylian took the lead, making his way to a back set of stairs tucked on the other side of the inn, as far from the open dining room as they could be to give the overnight guests some semblance of quiet and privacy. Piris wished she could have that too, but she suspected such a thing wouldn’t come tonight, not with Jarok in her room. Something hot and dark slithered through her chest, a different desire she wanted to keep locked away tight, but that also might not happen with Jarok sharing her room.
For a supposedly large room, the space was small. So small, in fact, there was only one bed. Piris blinked at the single mattress atop a basic wooden frame, no headboard or footboard, a simple blue wool cover draped over it and two pillows nestled at the top. Nothing extravagant, but serviceable. For one person, as it was one bed. In their current situation, not helpful.
“Stay here,” Jarok called behind her, closing the door with a snap before she could reply. She stayed, mainly because her mind was whirling too fast for her to do much else. Jarok’s incoherent yell from the distance drew her out of the odd stupor she’d found herself in. She shook it off, muttering to herself about her father being disappointed in her. She needed to be on her toes, even if there’d been no attacks up to this point. There was no need to let trouble have an easier time of it when it found her and her party because she’d been shocked there was only one bed in the room. With her luck, she should have seen it coming. A niggling in the back of her mind tried to whisper it was actually a good thing, but she ignored the urging.
Jarok’s voice was harsh, raised, but unintelligible through the hallway and two doors separating them, so she chose to ignore it and do something more productive. Piris moved to the bed, checked to see if there was a second mattress to be lain on the floor. None was there. She studied the thickness of the cover, which was barely enough to keep someone warm on the bed, much less as a pallet or cover on the floor. Bending down on her hands and knees, she checked under the bed, thinking she really should have checked before even approaching the bed. Whatever had gotten into her today was making her incredibly sloppy, and she didn’t like it.
She didn’t hear any more shouts from the room across the hall, so it appeared Jarok had calmed some, for now. There was a small chest of drawers along the wall opposite the bed, not far from the small dent from the door handle marring the walls, which had once been white but were slightly cream with age and continual use. Not dirty, simply old. Much like the drawers, which squeaked as she opened each, the smell of cedar drifting up and soon overpowering the space. Nothing was there to help the situation, so she snapped each drawer closed.
A water basin stood in the corner by the bed, but it was the only other thing in the room—no closet, no trunks, nothing where another mattress or blanket would hide. No solution to the one-bed problem, but the longer she sat alone, the more it seemed not like a problem at all.
She rose from sitting when Jarok banged back in the room, pacing even before the door completely shut behind him. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked nervous about something. It was not the usual vigilant nervousness or worry he wore like a cape around him most days when he thought no one was looking. She was more than familiar with that part of Jarok, the part she’d witnessed bear down on her since their meeting. This was a different nervous energy, something making light sweat gleam on his golden brow and the corners of his dark eyes pinch tighter than normal.
“The other room is even smaller, if you can imagine, with only a twin bed and barely enough room for a man to stretch across the floor.”
When he didn’t say more, she answered with an “okay,” thinking maybe he wanted her to fill the silence. He stopped pacing in front of the dresser and leaned against it so it took his weight as he crossed his tightly toned arms across his leather-clad chest. She took him in, letting herself really wonder, for the first time, what his body might feel like in a position other than fighting. Usually, if she felt her thoughts wandering in such a direction, she shut them down quickly. As she spent more time with him, she found him both more and less infuriating, and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking on what they might feel together.
Her head jerked when a quick series of knocks sounded at the door, and Cylian’s voice, half-muffled, called out before he entered the room. He carried two bedrolls with him, his and Jarok’s. She’d seen them enough in the past few days to recognize each.
“Here,” Cylian said, handing off his package, then turning to look at her before staring back at his friend. “We’ll be across the hall if you need anything.”
Jarok stared down at his bedroll, a heavy sigh on his lips. “I was so looking forward to…” His voice drifted and he never finished, moving to kneel on the floor and roll out his makeshift bed.
“Looking forward to what?” Piris couldn’t help the question. It slipped out, as if compelled by some magic.
He turned his head, and from his position, it looked for a moment as if he were kneeling at Piris’s feet, a supplicant of some sort. The image made her heart beat faster and her mouth water, but she locked the outward signs down as best she could, waiting for his answer.
He rose, facing her, only inches away, and said, “No need for you to worry, Piris. I just—Gods, I feel like the pampered prince you and others think me to be for even admitting it, but I just really wanted to sleep in a bed, not spend another night on my bedroll.” His smile twisted as he laughed and shamed himself at the same time.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Jarok. In fact, you take the bed. I’ll spend the night on the bedroll. I don’t mind. I did it often enough as a teenager.”
He squinted at her as he shook his head. “Not happening, Piris. You’re in the bed. I’m on the floor.”
She threw her hands up. “I’m not some delicate flower, unlike the cover we’re using. Though, given our current position, seems the cover might well be blown anyway. I can sleep a night on the floor.”
“No,” he said, his firm words echoed in his cross-armed, feet-planted stance in her face.
“Fine. Fine. Then we share the bed.”
He blanched, clearly taken aback by her suggestion, and Piris felt a clench in her gut at his perceived rejection. “No,” he said again, this time less firm.
“Why not? The bed’s big enough. Are you too good to share a bed with me?”
“No, not too good. Never too good. Too much.”
“What does that even mean?” she yelled, her arms flinging out at the absurdity of this fight when they’d had so many others in the past. There they were, once enemies with a current truce of sorts, maybe even an understanding, arguing not to hurt but to make sure the other would be comfortable.
“I desire you too much to leave you alone if we slept close,” he growled before closing the half step of distance between them and grabbing her face in his hands. He squeezed slightly, bringing her closer and closer, until their lips met, and the world exploded in sensation.
Gods, he tasted good, like the clove smell he exuded mixed with fine man and the tang of the wind. His tongue burrowed into her mouth, seeking shelter, and she gave it entrance, sucking it deep and wrestling for dominance. Even in this, their first kiss, they seemed to be in a type of battle. She yielded easily, letting him bend her body back as he deepened their kiss, taking all he needed and giving her back so much in turn.
Suddenly, he was gone, back a few paces before she even realized the kiss had ended. “I should never have done that.” He spoke as if chastising himself, not admitting something to her.
She panted, catching her breath, but no way would she let that fly. “Am I not good enough for kissing?”
He cut his molten brown eyes at her, his voice low and guttural as he said, “I’d do much more than kiss you, Piris, if there weren’t other issues at play.”
She jutted her chin out, goading him with a sneer, the best way she knew to make him break his cool. “Prove it, Your Highness.”
Jarok stalked forward, crowding her until she gave up one, two, three steps, her knees hitting the back of the bed with a soft thud. “Don’t test me, Piris. Not in this. Not unless you’re prepared to take every bit of what I’d give you.”
“Empty threats unless you back them up.”
She watched, fascinated, as he searched her face for something. Her hardness cracked some then, her outward ice melting, so she could give him a piece of herself, the honest truth that she wanted him as well, even for a split second.
“Positive?” he said, reaching between them to grab both her wrists in one hand.
He gave a sure squeeze, enough to hint at what he might wish to do, and Piris turned to goo inside, wanting to scream yes at the top of her lungs. The lust riding her hard meant all she could do was nod.
“I need the words, lady,” he said, taking his other hand to sweep a finger down her face, from ear to chin, gripping her there once again so she was forced to look deep into his earthy eyes.
She licked her lips in anticipation. “Do your worst, Jarok.”
He wasted no time, pushing her down so she sat on the bed, then shoving her restrained hands into her own chest, forcing her back until she lay across the fairly comfortable blue sea of the bed. He climbed on top, straddling her thighs as he’d done the first night they met, and a different driving need coursed deep in her core at the sight of him hovering above her, at the firm grip of his hands, at the illusion she was not in control in the moment. By the gods, her mind reeled at the idea she might be able to give up control of something, anything, for once in her life.
Jarok said nothing as he leaned down, devastating the square neckline of her traveling dress with kisses. She had a moment to think about how she’d only managed one change and a few quick rag baths in the days she’d been on the road, but the idea fled when he used his free hand to plump her breast as he continued his kisses. The prince obviously didn’t mind.
His mouth moved up, not the direction she wished it to truly go but still nice as he nibbled, giving quick nips at her neck, causing her body to buck under him. A dark chuckle escaped his lips, puffing against her ear as he leaned up and said, “Hands above your head.”
He’d let go of her wrists and she hadn’t even noticed, but she did as she was told, without question. This time, she turned her head to the side as his tongue oh so slowly edged the outside shell of her ear.
“The number of times I wanted to shut your mouth with mine,” he muttered before he turned her face to him and ravished her lips again, plunging deep so all she could taste, feel, sense was this luscious man on top of her.
Piris felt his knees pop hers open and ease in between, and she met his hips when they sank down into hers. He was hard, and very large, digging into her through his own leathers and her traveling dress. She moaned into his mouth at the contact, which made his lower body jerk as he leaned harder into the kiss. Jarok pushed her further into the mattress as he swallowed the sounds she made against him.
Gods, the friction felt delicious and maddening, enough to give her a thrill but not nearly enough to get her where she needed to go. Not like this. She wanted Jarok skin on skin. She wanted to feel his hard cock inside her, invading her like his tongue, taking what he needed and giving her pleasure in return. She’d ripped her head away to the side, partially to breathe and partially to demand he do what she wished, when they heard it. Heavy, loud boots on stairs. Yells from below. The echo of a word yelled in the distance.
“Fire.”
Jarok growled out a string of curses seconds before the door to the room burst open and Gem entered. She didn’t even blink at her cousin splayed on top of Piris but repeated what they’d both apparently vaguely heard.
“Fire!” she yelled, her arms waving them on, urging them to get up and out of there.
Jarok rolled off Piris and took a second to adjust himself in his leathers. She sat up quickly, unconcerned about her appearance, and she was facing Gem the moment she saw an arrow sail from the smoky hallway and embed itself right into her back.