Chapter Three
The Crystal Palace is the seat of the Grand Duchess of Akeisa, and undoubtedly a destination that anyone who considers themselves well-traveled cannot afford to miss.
Before you arrive, I heartily recommend you prepare yourself by reading my multiple volume history of the island, as well as my recent works exploring the flora and fauna, historical figures of note, and its fascinating religious rituals.
Akeisa: A Contemporary Guide
by Guildmaster Klement
Einar often dreamt of the sea.
Sometimes they were peaceful dreams, full of the endless horizon and star-studded skies and gentle waves caressing his ship as the wind carried them to places unknown.
Sometimes the dreams were seductive fantasies, redolent with an irresistible song ready to lure him into depths from which he would never escape and didn’t want to.
And sometimes they were terrifying nightmares, of angry storms and vengeful tides, of everything he loved shattering under the force of a screeching gale.
The dreams that had curled around him last night had been of the sweeter variety, and he relinquished them with great reluctance.
Only the warm silk of Aleksi’s skin under his hand and the soft touch of Naia’s fingers on his arm could possibly tempt him to leave a world of still waters and Siren song.
But when he opened his eyes, that song still whispered over him, the brush of Naia’s power like a joyous melody that he felt instead of heard.
They were curled together in Aleksi’s bed, the Lover cradled between them.
Several layers of thick quilts and Einar’s own body heat kept them warm, even though the room had grown uncomfortably chilly.
A glance at the hearth and the angle of the sun slanting through the windows held the answer—they’d slept well past breakfast, and clearly no servant had dared to disturb their rest, not even to build up the fire.
Einar certainly would not complain. Aleksi was a solid, living warmth against him now, but Einar could still remember the terrifying stillness in the Lover’s body as he had lain dying only a scant few days ago.
Hard to believe that so much could happen in so little time. Aleksi’s near-death, a kidnapping, the destruction of the mercenaries’ ship. Einar’s desperate flight through the water, praying Naia could keep Aleksi warm and breathing until he could find solid land.
Einar propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at his lovers.
His lovers—that felt impossibly strange, too.
Lust had swirled between them in various ways since the start of their journey, but on that rocky island, huddling together for warmth in a run-down little shack, lust had become passion. And passion had become . . .
His heart gave a funny little leap in his chest as he swept Aleksi’s dark hair back from his elegant brow, then performed the same service for a long tendril of tousled brown hair that had slipped across Naia’s cheek.
He’d felt frozen for eons, his heart encased in the safety of icy distance.
He’d lost too much, too young, to give his heart easily.
It hadn’t been a choice this time. Aleksi and Naia had melted those icy walls and laid claim to every part of him—the man and the monster.
Now he had to keep them both safe in this strange, frozen palace surrounded by enemies, built on the ruins of his ancestral home.
The former Emperor—the Betrayer—had escaped from his confinement and could be anywhere, with access to an endless chaotic land full of those who had awoken abruptly after the last war with wild and uncontrollable magic.
There were people out there now with powers Einar had never imagined.
If one had been able to manipulate their bodies as if their limbs were tied with strings, what could others do?
Einar had been to war too many times to count, but it had always been against enemies he could predict, with weapons he understood.
How did he keep them all safe when any person in this palace could have unknown power and orders to see them all dead?
No, not all of them. The last one had been ordered to kill Einar and Naia. Aleksi, their unknown commander had wanted alive—for reasons Einar could all too easily imagine and did not remotely want to consider.
Part of him wanted to rise and storm into Gwynira’s court to find anyone who might do harm to those under his protection. Most of him wanted to keep Aleksi and Naia locked in this room and safe in this bed for the rest of the day.
Naia breathed out a soft noise of protest and pressed her fingernails into Einar’s chest. “Shh. Not so loud.”
Aleksi didn’t open his eyes, merely chuckled quietly. “He didn’t say anything, love.”
“No, but he was thinking it.” She lifted her head and peered at Einar. “Am I wrong?”
“Rarely,” Einar replied dryly, covering her hand with his own. “My duty and my desire are waging war with one another.”
“You are in the Lover’s bed.” Naia slipped one leg across Aleksi’s body and nudged Einar’s hip with her toes. “Is desire not your duty?”
“Don’t be a bad influence, little nymph.” Despite the admonition, Aleksi hauled Naia on top of him and bit her bare shoulder. “Our pirate lord speaks of our duty to our host.”
Naia’s smile was slow—and a little predatory. “I do not give a damn about Gwynira right now.”
Neither did Einar. The only duty he cared about was the one he owed the two people in this bed: to uncover any who might wish to harm them, and to eliminate those enemies swiftly and completely.
Something ancient and ravenous stirred within Einar, a craving that so eclipsed the word desire that it was laughable, entwined with a protectiveness that made his human skin feel too tight.
The wicked curve of Naia’s lush lips and the mischief sparking in her eyes were challenges the monster could not ignore.
He skimmed his fingers up her bare arm to the slope of her shoulder.
Loose curls of silky brown cascaded wildly down her back, and he took his time savoring the feel of her hair as he wrapped it slowly around his hand.
Not tightly enough to pull, just enough to force a soft inhalation as he tilted her head back.
The pulse fluttering at her throat was impossible to resist. He licked her skin, reveling in the taste almost as much as in her shaky gasp.
She tugged against his grip on her hair then, seeking his mouth with hers.
A pleased chuckle rumbled up as he kissed his way up her neck and along her jaw, a victory in each indrawn breath he elicited.
By the time he claimed her lips, he didn’t care about enemies or Gwynira or leaving this bed ever again.
Judging by the eagerness with which her mouth welcomed his, neither did Naia.
The song of the sea thrummed in his blood, sweet and playful in one moment, sharp and dangerous in the next.
Her teeth found his lower lip, a warning not to underestimate her any more than he would underestimate the ocean itself.
Their kiss broke with a jolt as Aleksi sat up, hauling Naia along with him.
“I cannot believe you two are making the god of lust be the responsible party here.” He brushed Naia’s disheveled hair back from her face with gentle care.
“We’ve already missed breakfast. It would be unconscionably rude to miss luncheon, as well. ”
She relented with a groan. “Fine.”
Einar sat up as well, but he couldn’t resist the bare expanse of Aleksi’s broad back. Dark hair curled at the base of his neck, tickling Einar’s cheek as he brushed a kiss to the spot where neck curved into shoulder—a promise he sealed with a teasing bite.
Politics might come first today . . . but not always.
Cool air nipped at Einar’s skin as soon as he was out from under the covers. It had been centuries since the cold had bothered him in any form, but Naia and Aleksi still felt it, so Einar started for the hearth to build the fire back up.
As if to lend credence to his thoughts, Naia grumbled through a shiver. “It’s too cold to get up.”
The air seemed to shiver around him. Some ancient instinct prompted him to jerk his hand back from the piece of wood he’d just placed in the fireplace—and just in time.
Teal flames leapt from the cold embers, burning so fierce and bright that they swallowed the wood entirely.
Then they faded, leaving a cheerful fire burning in the usual golds and oranges.
Einar glanced back at the bed, but Aleksi was oblivious, his gaze following Naia as she wandered toward the wardrobe, clad only in the unbound waves of her hair. “Aleksi.”
“Mmm?”
He couldn’t fault the Lover for his distraction, but neither could he ignore odd displays of power, no matter how benevolent they seemed. He returned to the bed and touched Aleksi’s chin, tilting his face up. “Did you feel that?”
Aleksi smiled and ran his fingertips up the inside of Einar’s forearm. “Feel what?”
Einar tilted his head toward the fire. “I didn’t light that.”
“No?” Aleksi arched an eyebrow, then frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“That Naia said she was cold, and the fire simply . . . lit.”
Aleksi gazed up at him, that searching little light glinting in his eyes, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re starting to believe.”
Einar wanted to deny the words, and he didn’t even know what they meant.
Liar.
The voice echoed up from the same place as that instinctive warning had, a place that recognized that shiver of power—and the distinctive color of those flames.
Long before he had manifested as the Kraken, Einar had been the goddess-touched Crown-Prince of Rahvekya. This island’s magic was his birthright.