Chapter 37
Huntyr
Ididn’t expect Derian to jump into action so quickly. I had barely told him Tyla’s name and explained our history before he stormed out of the room, barking at me to stay put as the door closed swiftly behind him.
That essentially ceased any further conversation about my potential Fae heritage.
Kaia still hasn’t come back after grumbling over the stupidity of our conversation and leaving.
So, I’m alone, in the Fae prince’s bedroom.
It's noticeably larger than the one I’ve been staying in.
His bed is easily twice the size of mine, and it sits before a tiny seating area in front of the fireplace, complete with matching sets of darkly upholstered chairs.
To my left is a balcony overlooking a small peninsula of water on the other side of the fortress, and to my right is the door to the bathroom.
A bathroom that very notably has a tub sized for two.
Not that he had tried to crawl in with me or anything.
He had been surprisingly… gentle as he’d cleaned and mended my wounds.
The bath, and the conversation with him afterwards, managed to dull some of the shock. At least enough for my rational mind to kick back in, and to remind me that, despite whatever kindness the prince has shown me, nothing has changed.
The plan is still in motion.
Win the Conclave. Heal Tyla. Kill the prince.
It doesn’t matter if we slept together, or if he was gentle, or if I somehow have some distant Fae relative. The plan is still in motion.
It will not change.
So, I need to continue playing my part.
Obviously, I can no longer hide the fact that I’m an assassin. The bastard already figured that out, so I just need to shift the story a bit. I need to convince him that, yes, I am an assassin who was sent to kill him… but now I’ve had a change of heart.
I’ll pretend to be interested in the marriage, interested in him.
I’ll pretend that this attraction between us has grown to mean something more.
I’ll get him to lower his guard around me.
He already has, to some extent. He took care of me.
He left me alone here in his private space, despite the fact that his closest friend, Caldren, clearly doesn’t trust me.
I suspect that Caldren also already knows my background given how close the two are.
The fact that Derian left me here, despite his friend’s warnings, suggests he might be starting to care for me.
I just have to nurture that trust a little more.
Get Tyla the tonic.
And kill the Fae prince.
Simple. Easy.
There’s a knock at the door and I jump, instinctively standing and scurrying for a weapon.
But there… isn’t one.
Unlike my room, which has blades, swords, and sharpened stakes of rock or metal hidden in every corner, there doesn’t even appear to be a dinner knife readily available.
How does he not have weapons scattered everywhere?
I laugh softly, shaking my head to myself.
He doesn’t have any weapons because he’s Derian.
He is the weapon.
My hands tremble softly at my sides, and I clench them tightly into fists as I barely manage to squeak out, “Who is it?”
The door looms ahead of me, seemingly growing larger with each desperate gasp for air that I struggle to breathe into my frozen lungs. Pinpricks of pain shoot into my hands as I dig my nails into the newly fresh skin of my palms.
Snap out of this! You are the Huntress. Feared assassin. Winner of the Conclave.
Right. Taking another needy, steadying breath as I nod reassuringly to myself, I trample forward and rip open the door—determined not to be afraid.
Then, I look down to the round-faced older lady with red cheeks, wrinkled eyes, and a dress folded in her arms. She has pointed ears, which obviously makes her as dangerous and untrustworthy as any other Fae, but she’s grinning up at me like she couldn’t hurt a fly.
“You must be the future princess,” she beams.
My blood runs cold. Princess. Right. Because Derian is a prince.
And we are, technically, to be married.
Which would make me the Fae princess.
Gods, if Kristona knew about this, he’d laugh so hard he’d start choking.
“I’m Marla,” she introduces herself, then holds the dress up between us.
“Prince Silverthorn asked me to inform you that he’s arranging for your sister’s travel now, but he’ll need you to get ready for this evening's dinner. He says it’s unavoidable, unfortunately.
I’ve brought a dress for you, and I can help you get ready if you’d like, but the prince also warned me you might be a bit skittish after your ordeal today, so that’s okay if you’d just like to get ready on your own. ”
I stare blankly at her, as if she’s speaking a foreign language. He sent her with a dress? He told her to let me know the dinner was unavoidable, because he knew I wouldn’t want to go? He instructed her to leave me be if I wasn’t comfortable?
Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the pale blue fabric in her hands and lift, gasping when I see the steel glinting in the torchlight underneath it.
“He also asked me to bring you this.” She grins, holding out the dagger and a sheath to clip it in. “He said that if you need more, there’s some assorted choices for you in the top left drawer of his desk.”
My mouth is locked tight. I try to make sense of the information coming in but I just don't, I can't.
Marla is just standing there, staring up at me with such warmth and acceptance in her eyes, I know if I turn her away she’ll be okay with that.
She’ll do that to make me comfortable.
He did all this to make me comfortable.
I stare down at the offerings for a long time before I step back, opening the door wider and muttering the only words that come to mind. “Thank you.”
The next knock on the door is more of a warning than it is a request, and Derian pushes in shortly after, already speaking before he’s fully over the threshold.
“I’ve sent some of my most trusted men on a ship to Velia to get your sister. The most renowned healer in our kingdom is the one who services my brother in Bridgemond. He doesn’t travel, but I’ve written to him requesting instructions for our healers here to create a sufficient tonic for her.”
I stare at him wide-eyed, my hand pressed to my stomach to ground myself. His words are rushed, erupting out of him at a pace he can barely seem to maintain. Those dark eyes, the same ones that are always so teasing and commanding, are wild, flashing across the room.
“I need—” He pauses, tongue darting over his lips. “I need you to tell me that’s good enough for now.”
“What?”
“There’s nothing else I can do, Huntyr. Until that boat arrives with her, there is nothing else I can do, so I need you to tell me that what I’ve done is enough. For now?”
He’s looking at me with such intensity, I hardly even recognize him. This desperate, frazzled version of him is not one I’ve ever seen before. Frankly, it’s not a version I necessarily like.
His eyes widen impatiently when I don’t answer, fingers flexing and releasing in a maddening, repetitive pace. He steps forward towards me, and I fight the overwhelmingly strong urge to take an equal step back.
“Huntyr! I need you to actually speak now.”
“Yes!” I cry, voice sharp. “Yes, Derian. Of course, that’s enough.”
He sags forward, gaze dropping to the floor as he takes a single shuddering breath and curses softly. Minutes pass by as I wait for him to regain some semblance of control.
“Thank you,” he finally says, dragging his head up so his gaze can trail over me. His eyes heat as they do. “You look nice.”
I’m dressed in the icy blue gown he had delivered to me.
It clasps high around my neck, leaving all of my back bare and exposed, and falls easily to the ground in silken sophistication.
A vertical opening at the front of the bodice offers a glimpse of my torso, while the slit leaves much of my leg on display.
He grins softly as he takes in the worn, but sensible, boots I insisted on wearing, and I suspect he knows that I hid some of those weapons from his desk inside of them. Not to mention the dagger strapped to my leg.
“Seriously?” I ask with a raised brow. “You trample in here like you’ve lost your damn mind and instead of offering any kind of explanation, all you have to say is that I look nice?”
Derian gives me a lopsided grin as he prowls past me, shedding his leather jacket as he does, and leaving it, and the shirt underneath, discarded on the bed.
I keep my gaze averted. I’ve seen enough of that man’s bare body to last me a lifetime. Looking now will only distract me from my plan.
Again.
“Would you prefer I insult you?” he asks over my shoulder. “It would be a lie, of course, because you do look very nice, Huntress.”
Instinct tells me to bark at him. To insist he stop his incessant flirting and just tell me whatever it is that got him so riled up.
But…
But the plan has shifted. I have a new role to play.
The role of a woman who may actually be falling for the Fae prince.
So, in that case, I suppose there isn’t anything wrong with looking.
I turn on my heels, breath escaping me when I see him fully undressed, all tan skin and carved muscles. He stands tall, sorting through the clothing in his armoire, pulling things out and throwing them onto the bed casually, all the while cords of muscle ripple across his back.
He really is beautiful. It just doesn’t seem natural that a Fae with such destructive power caged inside him also looks so breathtaking without even trying.
“Thank you,” I whisper, mouth dry.
He glances at me over his shoulder, eyes suspicious as I slowly walk towards him. I keep my eyes on his face, even as I feel myself flushing, my eyes heating with lust that isn’t entirely fake when I step into his warmth.
Derian doesn’t say anything when I trail the tips of my fingers up his forearm and bicep. And though his eyes still spark with doubt, he doesn’t fight as I gently push, nudging his back against the armoire, so that I can press myself more fully against him.
Gods, he’s so tall.
And firm.
And naked.
When I run my hands up his bare chest, tangle my fingers in his hair, and pull his mouth to mine, he lets me. He molds around me, arms circling my waist and squeezing. He kisses me thoroughly, tongue invading my mouth in a wicked rhythm, until my stomach is clenching and my back is arching.
Then he bites me.
A gentle nip at my lower lip before he pulls his head back and looks down at me, apprehension abundantly obvious on his face.
“What game are you playing, Huntress?”
Fae bastard is too smart for his own good.
I know he wants me, the evidence of that is clearly visible, but he somehow has learned enough about me to know that he can’t trust this sudden change in demeanor.
Leave it to Derian to be the only male in all of the Ever Realm to still be able to think clearly when a woman throws herself at him.
I laugh softly, backing away and tossing my hair over my shoulder as I turn away from him. There’s no small sense of female satisfaction in the fact that I can feel his eyes trailing over my spine.
“Why would I want to play a game with you, Derian?” I ask, facing him as I sit on one of the chairs by the fireplace, crossing one leg over the other.
He watches me as he begins dressing, never taking his eyes off me even as his chest rises and falls heavily. He might have pulled away from me, but he was definitely affected by my little tease. “You seem to enjoy getting yourself into dangerous situations.”
“Oh, but I’m so good at getting myself out of them.”
“There are much more enjoyable ways to get an adrenaline rush, Huntress.”
Warmth runs through me, bringing flashes of memories along with it. The feel of his hands in my hair. The promise of all the ways he wanted to have me.
Like this.
On the bed.
In the tub.
On your knees.
Now, I’m the one struggling to maintain my breathing.
“For you, maybe,” I tease him, proud of my ability to keep my voice steady.
He pulls his shirt down over the line of defined abs slowly, smirking at me knowingly the entire time. “You weren’t complaining when you clenched around my cock and told me that you felt perfect afterwards.”
This room is too warm. The fire in the hearth is entirely unnecessary. It’s too much, in fact. There’s sweat forming on the back of my neck.
For what might be the first time in my life, a retort doesn’t immediately come to mind. I have to pause just to clench my legs together before my brain can start working again.
“Such a filthy mouth for a prince.”
Derian comes to me, moving with such predatory grace that it’s no wonder he has the reputation he does.
His eyes are impossibly dark when he comes to stand before me.
With a crooked smile, he rests his hands on the armrests of my chair, caging me in before he leans down.
He’s so close I feel his breath on my skin as he says, “I’d like to prove that to you after this dinner. ”
It’s over.
I’ve lost at my own game.
Gods, I have to stop myself from whimpering and begging him to prove that to me right the fuck now.
His eyes trace over my face, lingering over the curve of my lips and jawline just as his forefinger moves to run up the sliver of skin between my breasts that’s visible through the neckline of my gown.
“But alas,” he says, retreating back and reaching for my hands to pull me up out of the chair. “We have somewhere else to be right now.”
The bastard winks at me once I’m steady on my feet before he pulls me out of the room, and he wears that self-satisfied grin the entire walk to dinner.