Chapter 38 #2
Delaynie rolled her eyes, taking another bite.
Quentin took that to be as much of an acquiescence as he would get.
He strode to the wagon, digging around beneath the canvas, pulling a flagon from under a bag of fruits.
He grinned, lifting it in the air and sauntered to Delaynie.
He dropped it at her feet, and she watched him with a raised brow as he settled against the stump, uncorking the flagon.
He lifted it, tipping it to her. “A game, little wolf?”
She wanted to say yes; he could see it there, right in the delicate bow of her mouth. The way amusement danced in her eyes.
It hardened and she turned away, brow furrowing. He tried not to let himself deflate as she pushed the last few bits of her dinner around in the bowl, quiet and contemplative.
Surprise raced through him when she pushed her shoulders back, set the bowl on the ground, and faced him. “Fine. One game. And only because I’m not sure I can sleep out in these woods without a little wine.”
Quentin fought against the urge to beam up at her like an idiot. Fought to keep his smile to only a smirking half-grin, the kind that made it seem like he always knew she would say yes.
“Excellent.” He took a swig of the wine, passing it up to her. She took it, a question on her face.
“You haven’t told me the game yet.”
“I know. This first sip is just because we can.”
Color stained her cheeks. She tipped the flagon back, taking a deep pull of the sweet red before handing it back to him.
“So, the game,” he said. “We each guess something about the other. If we’re right, the other person has to drink. If we’re wrong, we drink.”
“Who loses?”
His grin turned a little feral. “Whoever refuses to answer first.”
She took the bait of the challenge perfectly, just as he knew she would. Her chin lifted, holding that regal set to her posture as she folded her hands in her lap and nodded. He settled himself in, getting comfortable against the moss-covered stump.
And sure, maybe he moved a little closer to her in the process. What was a man to do?
He opened his mouth, about to speak, when he was interrupted. “I’m going first.”
Quentin blinked in surprise, then chuckled. “All right, little wolf. Whatever you want.” He spread an arm wide. “I’m an open book.”
Her blue eyes bored into him, as if trying to peel back layers he wasn’t even sure he had. She always had a way of doing that.
“You don’t talk about your mother because you’re ashamed about who she was.”
Something twisted, low and deep in his gut. He tried to laugh it off, but the sound was hollow. “Going for the killing blow first, I see.”
She didn’t answer. Only lifted a brow, waiting.
He wanted to deny it. Wanted to tip that flagon of wine up to her and tell her to drink. To laugh off her question and forget she ever asked it.
But that wasn’t the game. While he would cheat with anyone else, he couldn’t bring himself to cheat with her.
He raised the flagon to his lips, taking a deep pull. Let the wine wash away the burning sting of his shame.
When he lowered it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he found her watching him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. “I didn’t think you’d actually admit that.”
He gave her a tight, grim smile. “That’s the game, little wolf. Honesty. Even if it means being honest with yourself.”
She was silent for a beat. “Who she was ended up making you an orphan,” she murmured finally. “It’s only natural to feel resentment.”
“I don’t resent her.” Quentin pushed a hand through his hair.
“My memories of her are hazy, but they were good. She was a good mother to me and was only trying to survive. But…” He sighed.
“But I can’t fucking handle the pity. So, I don’t talk about her, because when I do, people get soft and weird, and there’s nothing that I hate more than being treated like I’m made of glass. ”
He declined to mention that Mariah hadn’t when he’d told her. And neither had Delaynie.
“That doesn’t mean you’re ashamed.”
He shook his head, red hair brushing across his forehead. “I don’t see the difference.” He forced a grin. “Enough of that. It’s my turn.”
Curiosity danced in her eyes, but she nodded and leaned back on her hands. He watched her, his gaze skimming across her pink-tinged cheeks and down the smooth, pale column of her throat.
To the rise and fall of her chest, the tightly drawn strings revealing the barest hint of her cleavage. His eyes snapped up.
“You think Mariah only appointed you to her court out of duty and are still trying to understand what value you offer her.”
He saw his words slam into her. Like a punch or a slap across the cheek.
He hated doing it, but he’d seen it on her.
Not just during this trip; before, during court meetings.
When everyone had things to say and Delaynie contributed what she could but often chose to remain silent.
Mariah had Ciana as a best friend. But Delaynie?
She’d only ever had herself.
Slowly, her movements uncharacteristically jilted, Delaynie grabbed the flagon from Quentin and downed a deep gulp.
So much that a small bead of purple red slipped from the corner of her mouth, and when she dropped the flagon, her tongue had to dart out quickly to catch it before it dribbled down her chin.
Quentin swallowed. The wine was already starting to settle into his blood, heating him as much as the fire warmed their skin.
He worried he’d be thinking about that tongue for a long time.
Delaynie handed the flagon back to him. He raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? I don’t get any more confirmation?”
She shook her head, not meeting his stare.
“Hey,” he said, brushing his fingers over her knee. Her gaze yanked to his, eyes wide. “You are valued. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. Besides,” he said, grinning, “I think we both know that Mariah is the last person on the continent to do something out of duty.”
Delaynie held his stare, lips parted. Her gaze flashed down, rosy blush staining higher across her cheeks.
To where his hand still rested on her thigh. He hadn’t even realized it, like his fingers had moved entirely of their own accord.
He pulled his hand back, clearing his throat. “Your turn?”
Delaynie blinked, as if pulling herself from a daze. “Right.” She was silent for a moment, before turning to him with a half-grin.
The hair at the nape of his neck prickled at her smile.
“You like to joke about sex, but it’s only to hide your lack of experience.”
Quentin held her gaze for a moment.
Then doubled over, whooping with laughter. The sound echoed off the trees and the canopy. Creatures skittered in the night, startled by the sound.
He wiped his eyes, looking back up to find her scowling at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, still chuckling. “I’m ready for your actual guess now.”
Her scowl deepened. “That was my guess.”
Quentin’s laughter slowly died in his chest as he held her stare, scanning her face, his smile fading with it.
“Gods,” he breathed out. “You’re being serious.”
She lifted her chin imperiously.
Oh, now this was a treat.
Quentin slowly pushed himself up, one knee digging into the leafy footing, resting against her thigh.
Delaynie held herself perfectly still, eyes wide, her chest stilling as she held her breath.
He leaned into her, unable to stop himself from drawing in a lungful of her sweet coconut and vanilla scent.
He tipped a finger to her chin, and her nostrils flared as her gaze flashed down to his lips.
His mouth brushed the shell of her ear, hiding his smile.
“Drink,” he whispered.
Delaynie shivered, a deep, primal thrill shooting through him.
He sat back down, holding out the flagon.
Her blush was deep across her cheeks, spreading down her neck and over her chest. She gave her head a small shake, forcing that familiar scowl as she swiped the flagon from him and took a deep sip.
Quentin’s smile never faltered. But he was curious.
“Was that really what you thought?”
Delaynie dropped the flagon from her lips, swallowing and handing it back with a grimace and a shrug. “You talk a lot, but I’ve never actually seen you with anyone outside of court around the palace. I thought it was a good guess that it was all just an act.”
“You’re saying that because I never brought anyone back to my rooms in the palace—the rooms that neighbor my queen’s—that I must be lying about being good in bed?” He chuckled. “There are other places to fuck than in a bedroom, little wolf.”
She glanced away, the dying embers reflecting in her pale eyes, and didn’t answer.
Quentin sighed, tipping back his head. “But I will admit, it’s been different since Mariah.” She turned slightly, not fully, but enough to let him know she was watching him. He ran a hand through his hair again. “Priorities shifted a little when she came along.”
“So, you haven’t been with anyone since Mariah’s Choosing?”
“No.” He paused, the corner of his mouth ticking up. The long-healed scar over his chest itched with the ghost of a memory. “Except for the bonding—”
“I don’t want to know.” She held up her hand, shaking her head. But there was the hint of a giggle there, one that was just lingering on her lips and begging to be set free.
He didn’t push it. Instead, he chuckled again and took another sip from the flagon, his gaze finding the flames.
“It’s your turn,” Delaynie said quietly, pulling him back.
“You’re not done?”
She shook her head, leaning back on her hands. She still wore that hint of amusement, that barest trace of humor. The wine was now coursing through them both, the faint buzz winding into Quentin’s fingertips.
As he watched her, an idea crept into his head. One that made him smile slowly, taking another slow swig of the wine. He capped it then held it loosely, dangling between his fingertips.
A taunt. One she noted, brow lifting.
His heart hammered, blood humming. He shouldn’t say what rested on his tongue. It would cross a line—one he wasn’t sure he’d be able to return from. But something wild had seized him, something that wanted to sweep him away from sanity itself.
Whatever this was, whatever filled the air between their breaths, it was becoming more intoxicating than even the Vathan wine.
Finally, he spoke.
“You’ve never had sex. At all.”
She went rigid. The blood drained from her face, fingers tightening into the wood beneath her. Quentin held his breath.
She swiped the flagon from his fingers and drank deeply.
Gods, his blood was roaring, every instinct in him raging. He knew that was a bad idea. He hadn’t been able to help himself, and now his mind was filled with far, far too many ideas.
The things he could show her. The things he could teach her…
He shifted, grimacing slightly at the way his pants had become just a little too tight. Fuck, he needed to get a grip—
“I won’t have you judging me.” Delaynie glared down at him, a queen on her throne.
“What?”
“You won’t judge me for my choices. I know you want to. Don’t even try to do it.”
Quentin blinked in shock. “Del—” He swallowed. “Delaynie, I would never judge you for that.” He grinned, willing his blood to calm. “But I must admit, I’m a little curious.”
She sniffed, looking away. “Why? You guessed it. You can’t be that surprised.”
“Just because I had a suspicion doesn’t mean I can’t be surprised that it’s true.” She glanced back at him shyly, and he forged on. “Why? You never got…curious?”
Her blush was back, and she gave a small shrug. Some of the usual strength to her posture had deflated, like she was sinking in on herself.
He hated that.
“I guess it was just…never a priority before. I wasn’t a Lady of the Court, but I might as well have been. And my father made sure I stayed far away from the Marked.”
Quentin winced. “That was probably for the best. We weren’t a good group for a lady to be spending time with.” Especially not in those years before Mariah had arrived. Gods, they’d been a hot-headed band of horny idiots.
She smiled. “I guess with everything, it was just never something that happened for me. Or was even very interested in.”
They fell silent, the dying fire giving a few weak crackles and pops. The darkness was creeping in, their small oil lanterns fighting to fend it off.
“And now?” Quentin finally murmured, barely more than a whisper. The glowing light caught the reds in Delaynie’s hair.
“Now?” she squeaked weakly.
Fuck, he had no control tonight. There was no stopping him. He didn’t move closer; he only lifted his chin, catching her full stare. “Is it something you’re interested in now?”
She inhaled sharply. Opened her mouth, like she was about to answer. “I—”
A log in the fire fell and they both jumped. The tension of the moment snapped, like a cut cord, and Delaynie straightened. That familiar coldness slid back into place over her expression.
“It’s late. I should get to bed.”
Quentin exhaled heavily. “All right.” He nodded at the tent. “You sleep first. I’ll stay up until the fire goes out.”
It was what they’d agreed, upon realizing their wagon was also to be their tent. They would take turns in the shelter, unless it either grew incredibly cold or incredibly rainy.
What Delaynie didn’t know was that unless she invited him in, he would never sleep in that wagon. It was hers, for as long as they were on that road.
Like fuck he’d let her sleep out in the open like that.
Delaynie padded to the wagon, pulling back the canvas flap. She glanced over her shoulder, some of her ice melting a little in her eyes. “Goodnight, Quentin.”
Quentin’s chest warmed. “Goodnight, Delaynie.”
It was only when the flap closed that he realized how eternally fucked he was.