Chapter Fifteen
Piris
The cold blue of dawn hadn’t kissed the sky when Piris woke, not with a start but with a gentle ease, as if she had dived into sleep and allowed herself to float back to the top of consciousness. She took a moment to connect with her body, feel the scratch of her eyes as she blinked awake and the beautiful ache of her arms and core as she shifted, right into a hard, hot chest positioned snugly against her back. Her eyes flew open, memories of the night before crashing around her. The memories weren’t horrible. Quite the opposite. A thrill raced down her back recalling what Jarok had done to her, the expert bite of the ropes, the taste of his lips, and the hard thrust of his cock into her—luscious and hard and much needed after the day she’d had.
When she’d shown up at Jarok’s room, she had been unsure of her reception. Uncertain he’d wish to continue what they’d started at the inn and culminated in the forest. In the dull light of home, she did not know if he’d still want her as she wanted him, but she screwed in her courage and went to his guest room… because he’d stepped beside her during the argument with her father. He’d protected her but allowed her to battle when the Benders had attacked. Jarok had helped her at every turn but had not coddled.
And, maybe to her own surprise, she found she also needed to give up some of her control to him when they hit the bed. The twist of the rope and the gruff command in his voice made her melt as much as the touch and taste of him did. Even the memory as she lay in his bed made her insides itch and her thighs twist together.
He gave her what she needed, in and out of the bedroom—sometimes what she didn’t know she needed, though if she were honest with herself, she’d Is wished for something a little harder, a little more aggressive, in her sex. She’d thought it was an odd quirk with her and never asked for more than quick release from her partners. She couldn’t talk to anyone about the desires she’d buried until Jarok had unlocked them. She had two women she trusted in her life: her mother and Strella. Fae were open with their sexuality, but it didn’t mean she wanted to share details with her mother, who returned the sentiment. Until recently, Strella wasn’t experienced enough to give advice or guidance about desire. Piris thought now she’d count Gem among her trusted women, her friends and family, but again, there were issues. Jarok was her cousin, and Gem had come into Piris’s life too recently to have such discussions before they’d begun their tryst.
Tryst it was, surely, because there could not be more. While her magical secret was open to some now, she still needed to keep it under wraps from the wider Fae world. There was still prejudice, fear. She wouldn’t put the worry on her parents, who were already roiling at the handful of new people aware of her mimic powers.
Piris had willfully stepped out of her home, her hiding place, for Strella. She’d revealed who she was to save her best friend’s love and help her friends in battle. It was reckless but necessary and something she’d never take back. That didn’t mean she had to keep doing it, keep exposing who and what she was to more and more people. She wouldn’t risk it. Couldn’t. Not only for herself but for her family. It meant coming back here, to Volesion Peak, after their mission ended. She’d continue to pretend she was a null. Hide her training… spar only with her father. She’d occasionally visit Strella when she could, but she needed to stay grounded in her small, quiet life, while Jarok would go back to the palace, back to court politics and balls and battles great and small for the Winterlands. Back to his pick of ladies, none of whom he’d argue with or for constantly. None of whom would have secrets he’d have to constantly protect.
Cold had seeped out from her, pushing her away from Jarok’s heavy, gilded arms. Shaking them off as gently as possible so as not to wake the prince, she’d put her fighter training to good use, moving on silent feet from the bed and out the door without disturbing him. After she’d closed the door, she took a moment to bend her head to it, feel the cool wood on her forehead, and breathe deep, in and out, to calm the absurd pounding of her heart in her chest. The beat became more aggressive the farther she moved away from the sleeping prince. As she breathed, forced air in and out to calm the rush of blood in her veins, she told herself there was no reason for it. None at all.
She was lying in her bed trying not to think too much about the night before when her father sent word for her to meet him in their training room. She’d stripped off her clothes, noting how her muscles held a slight soreness but her arms showed no redness or bruising, and pulled on a fresh set of leathers out of the back of her vast closet. She and her mother had had a grand time picking her dresses, even if she was rarely out of their house. While her mother directed her daily dress choices, she and her father designed her leathers. She thought of the care he took to protect her in all ways as she slipped on the fur-lined, dark-maroon set of leather shirt, pants, and matching boots. The fur was for warmth and comfort, as a thin bronze layer lined the inside of the entire outfit, a design from a talented artificer her father had met somewhere in the Summerlands years ago. She’d not packed the two sets he’d had made for her because she’d not imagined what would happen at the palace. Now, as she slipped them on, she knew she’d get good use of them in the coming days.
When she opened the wide double doors of the training room, familiar scents hit her nose: the odd combination of oil for cleaning weapons and wood, the icy scent of her father, and the faint tinge of sweat that she knew would become far more prominent the longer they trained.
Lord Brettly stood in the weapons corner, the black walls the same color as the outside of their home, making him almost glow in relief. He wore leathers the color of the clay and sand banks of the Great River, only yards away from where they stood. His brown head was bent over a thick staff as he said, “Let us spar.”
Piris eyed him, wondering why he was being so short and quiet, but she thought he had reason. Her father was warm with her mother and her, but he was also a warrior and merchant who could be cold, even ruthless, when necessary. Here and now, it felt like armor for him.
She grabbed a similar staff from the rack at his left and followed him to the massive white ring painted on the gleaming pine floor. She could remember the first time she passed the line, an eager young girl just coming into her powers. This was where her father had taught her everything she knew. It was where they not only sparred but talked, about so much. The ring had rules she knew by heart. All matches ended when one opponent was down or stepped out of the circle. No blood was to be intentionally drawn. No permanent damage done. No anger or hurts taken outside the ring. Maybe most importantly, anything said inside the ring remained there, between father and daughter. Each had used this rule often, for advice and confession.
Her father said nothing as he squared off with her, his knuckles white where he grasped the wrapped middle of the staff. The ring was there—was sacred—so she continued to return his silence, knowing he’d break it if and when he needed.
He stepped fast and hard, whacking out with a strike aimed at her head. Anyone watching might judge him for it because he held nothing back, but long ago he’d stopped holding back with his daughter. She appreciated the acknowledgment of her abilities. He missed anyway, her back bending sharply to pull her head out of the path of the whooshing staff.
She jabbed out, hard, fast, and low, aiming for his left knee with the tip of her own staff, but he sidestepped her, bringing his weapon diagonal to his chest. Piris righted herself, twirling her staff a few feet in front of her as she shuffled left, circling. She took the offensive, jabbing again with a swift strike to her father’s gut. It didn’t connect. He managed to back away in time and struck out himself, twisting Piris’s staff down and away with his.
Lord Volesion brought his back up, his jab landing, though Piris stepped out of the brunt of the blow. It connected at the edge of her left shoulder, a sting of flesh and jar of bone echoing in its wake. She grunted but kept the staff tight in her grip.
“You show too much,” her father said with a shake of his head.
“What?” The statement was distracting enough, her father almost got another hit in to her right hip, but she shuffled forward and blocked the blow with her staff.
“You. Show. Too. Much.” He enunciated every word as if she didn’t understand, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“The question was meant to get you to elaborate, Father,” she said, droll and flat, as she swept her staff forward and connected with his shin. He didn’t grunt, but the reverberation on her hand told her the impact must have hurt. Somewhat.
“You tell too much. When you fight and in life.” Another whack from him missed because she stopped her intended progress with his words.
Shaking herself free from the impact of them, she moved forward in a flash, lashing out so they hit together, one, two, three, four times, a balance of hit and block pushing her father back from the middle and toward the edge of the ring.
“Sometimes tells are necessary.”
“At times. Other times, perhaps not.” Her father’s breathing remained steady, even, as she blew out frustrated breaths at him.
“Say it,” she gritted out as he held his ground, and they hit, over and over, her blows deflected each time by his staff. “Say it. Whatever it is, just say it.”
Her father pivoted, pushing into her staff hard with his, and met her inches from her face. He deflated, lost his strong stance against her. The real pain in his bronze eyes as he looked deep into her matching pair made her stop cold, not press the advantage. “You are in danger.”
Her arms slacked as his did, yet they stood with staffs still up and heads still close. “You taught me how to deal with danger. Right here in this ring. I can handle danger, Father.”
He pulled away, hung his head, and whispered, “I do not know if I can. Deal with you in danger, that is.”
“But you know—” She began to explain, to rationalize, but he stopped her with a quick pull forward, not in attack but to hug her close. Their staffs clattered to the ground as he held her tight, fierce, in their ring.
“You may one day know what it is to fear for a child, but not now. There is no reasoning. I know what you’re capable of, Piris. Do not doubt this. Yet, I worry. Always will. I also know I will hurt you if I try to stop you from being who you should be. A hard truth I have to come to terms with on my own.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice soft and sweet, like she’d been with her father as a small child.
He continued to hug her and whispered, “Love does this, sometimes. You fear for no reason other than because you love.”
She matched the hard hug of his arms. The love she knew he had for her, had always known he had for her, created a warm blanket that could, on occasion, feel too stifling.
They pulled back when a loud knock on the door sounded. Her father left the ring, and she felt bereft and freed at once, even wiping a stray tear from her eyes as Lord Volesion discussed some message his head secretary had received. Her spine straightened when she heard the distant voice of Prince Jarok in the hall, and she scurried to put away her staff and exit out a side door to a different hallway. She did not need to see him after the emotions she’d just expended on the conversation with her father.
After scurrying away, for reasons she did not wish to think on too long, she managed to avoid Jarok for the remainder of the day. Thankfully she could ignore the impulse to stay away from the prince for the sake of things like family and duty. Her mother wanted her own time with her daughter, so they had lunch alone in a private family sitting room. They chatted for a few hours and poured over designs for a few traveling dresses Lady Mimi wished to order soon. She tried to convince her mother she didn’t need anything new, especially not traveling dresses, but her mother’s soft smile and calm insistence defeated her arguments with ease.
In her room, she found a letter from Strella, so she took time reading and responding. She chatted with the butler, whom she’d not seen for months, when she sought him out to send her letter along to her friend.
She may have avoided dinner with everyone, claiming she needed rest and requesting a small plate be brought to her room. Otherwise, she thought, it was others who had kept her from the prince. Not her. Not really.
Long after full night fell, when she was preparing for sleep, she heard the quiet creak of her door opening and found Jarok slipping into her room, without a word. He closed the door and leaned back against it, watching her in silence as she sat staring back at him from her vanity, brush gripped tight in her hand.
“Piris,” he said with a nod, his insolent smile in place as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. He wore simple brown leather pants with a white wool shirt tucked in the front. He had left the button at the collar open, a small glimpse of dark-gold skin peeking out. Her eyes lingered there as she remembered how his skin felt against her own.
“Prince,” she finally said, though there wasn’t any harsh heat to it as there might have been before. She stayed somewhat distracted by the lines of his arms, the tilt of his head, and the casual flip of his black hair. She didn’t look into his eyes. She knew beyond doubt they’d somehow snare her then and there.
He lifted a hand, as if casually inspecting his nails, and said in the most off-handed manner possible, “I woke to an empty bed.”
Piris didn’t know how to respond. What did he expect from her? She gave a shrug and twisted back to her mirror. In a flash, Jarok was in the background, staring straight into her eyes as his warm, heavy hands landed on her shoulders. “Don’t,” he said.
“Don’t what?” she snapped back, giving him a sneer in the mirror. “What exactly did you expect, Jarok? We had sex. That’s all. I don’t need to sleep in your bed to let you fuck me.”
He slowly raised one of those dark eyebrows, the move questioning and flippant and infuriating all at once. “I see,” he drawled, moving his hands down a fraction so he gripped the upper flesh of her arms. “This is all we are to each other,” he said, sliding one hand down her chest to tweak an obviously hard nipple through her near-sheer nightgown. She gasped, closed her eyes in sweet sensation, and forced herself to nod in answer. Nod was all she could do. Her voice would betray her.
“Turn around, Piris,” he said, the deep command making her twist on her small stool before she could think better of it. He gripped her chin in a firm hold, not painful but decided, to tilt her head up, make her meet his eyes. His roved over her face, looking for something, and when he didn’t find it, his shoulders slumped a fraction, barely enough to notice. She noticed a great deal about the prince these days.
Her chest tightened at the sight but she squared her own shoulders and stayed firm.
“We can have this, only our bodies together, if you want,” he said, inching closer to her face as he said the words, “but I need to hear you say it. Every time.”
She’d agreed once, more than agreed. Possibly had agreed the first time they’d had sex, back in the forest. Piris didn’t know why he needed to hear it again, much less every time, but she could give that to him to get what she wanted. Only the sex, she reassured herself, steeled herself. She said with a clear, true voice, “I want you. I want this.”
His eyes closed and he breathed deep, like she did when she needed to ground her mind, before they popped back open, hard brown chips of stone trained right on her. “Up,” he said, tugging on her chin to emphasize his demand.
When she rose, he pulled away, leaving her face colder. Jarok looked around the room, searching for something until he found, hanging on a hook by her closet door, a dressing robe. He strolled to it, his hips rolling with each step, mesmerizing as she stared at his firm ass in those tight leather pants. The tie of the robe made a soft slashing sound as he pulled it free, twisting it in his hands a moment before he turned back to her.
Jarok said nothing, only flicked his head to his right, toward the crackling fire in her hearth with the lush woven rug in front of it. She moved to it, her toes digging into the thick fabric as she waited for him to join her.
He did not make her wait long, and as soon as he was in front of her, he tied the robe sash loosely around her wrists, testing the twist and pull of it. “Does this feel okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. A second later her arms were up and over, looped around the back of his neck. She was close to him in height, so the move brought them face-to-face, almost eye to eye, as he took her mouth in a hard, nipping kiss. She let him in, matching his fierce need with hers, stoking the fire between them as he eased them down to their knees on the carpet while maintaining their connection.
“To your back,” he demanded after pulling back from her mouth. He followed her to the carpet, his weight falling onto her, pinning her down as his hips grinded into her own. Her gasp was lost down his mouth as he took hers again, thrusting his tongue in time with his hips, his hands coming up to frame and hold her face.
After several hungry minutes, one of his hands moved down between them, pulling his cock free and managing to shove up her nightgown past her hips. It took seconds to find her dripping core. He wasted no time and pulled back just enough to thrust hard and deep into her.
By the gods, he filled her so good. She cried out. He pushed up on his elbows, his hands at her head again, and ground deep inside her, moving back and forth in small motions until she sucked in a harsh breath when he hit her in some delicious spot deep inside. Grinning down at her, he pulled full back and thrust deep and hard again, right over the spot he’d found. She could have sworn the roof blew away, because she saw stars.
Her eyes rolled back as he continued his thrusts, over and over again, until she was a dripping, babbling mess of need and want, unable to do anything but hold tight to the short hair at the back of his head and moan with each hit. When her eyes refocused, she blinked and saw Jarok staring with intensity down at her, his gaze roaming her face. She felt naked, exposed, even though she was still fully dressed. She turned her head away from him, into his hand, and he let her, though the grunt he gave at the move was less pleasure and more disappointment.
Her hips met his, demanding as he gave. He pumped harder, impossibly hard, into her, nailing her into the lush rug so it began to give a hard bite to her backside she knew she’d feel in the morning. Gods, she’d feel him in the morning, she was certain, but she couldn’t think of that yet. She could only reach high for the pleasure he offered… chase it as he pounded into her.
A frustrated sound came from his throat, and he buried his face in her exposed neck. One hand snaked down to move between them, to tweak her clit hard like he’d tweaked her nipple earlier. He ground deep, hitting her spot as he did so, and she exploded. Her vision faded at the bliss of it all, at the taste and smell and feel of everything, and she was rational enough for a second to be thankful she was turned away from him, sinking her teeth into the flesh of his warm hand.
Jarok dropped his head into the crook of her neck, pumping fast and hard without the same finesse or rhythm. Then he bit down on her neck, hard enough to leave a mark, as he stuttered in his thrusts, coming to a stop deep within her.
They stayed like that, connected but not looking at one another. Piris savored the warmth of him, the touch of his leathers on her bare legs, and the weight he left on her because he knew she could take it. Too quickly, he unlooped her arms from around his neck and sat back, stuffing himself back in his pants.
She tried to straighten her nightgown too, but it was difficult with her hands still tied. Jarok stopped her progress. Gentle hands moved the fabric down her legs to cover her before he removed the knot in her sash, freeing her.
Pushing herself up, her breath still hard and heavy, she glimpsed some dark thing flash in Jarok’s eyes before he shuttered them, moving to his feet in one swift, deft motion. He offered his hand to her, the prince giving a lady help up, and Piris felt a sting of longing then. But he only pulled her up, righting her with a grip on her shoulders when she stumbled on her feet.
“Well…” she said, unsure what to say or do as she wondered when she’d be alone so she could clean the wetness she felt sliding between her legs.
Jarok’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping there as it did. He gave a swift, hard nod to her, saying nothing before turning toward the door and stalking out. The prince didn’t look back as he left her there alone, as she’d said she wanted, as she’d thought she wanted, so he didn’t see the small step she took after him before she reined in the impulse.