Chapter 15 #2
Thea runs over to me and gives me a tight hug. “Night, Mama,” then takes the nurse maid’s hand and strides for the door, as if she owns the place.
Then her eyes land on Tassilo, and she smiles.
“Oh! It’s the King of Cheese,” she exclaims, “Mama, look! Where is your crown? And how is Greyson doing? Can I ride him again soon?”
I move before I think, stepping forward too fast, my breath sharp in my chest.
Tassilo bends down to Thea and pats her head.
“Actually, Greyson has been asking about you, princess. But for now, it is time to sleep. I am sure we’ll see each other again soon.”
My eyes look to where Charles sits. Has he heard the whole exchange?
His hand grips the arm of his chair, his knuckles going white. I can feel it—the flare, the sudden heat, the ring’s magic pulling tight like a snare.
“That will be all,” Charles says pleasantly, already rising. “Take her back.”
The servant obeys at once. My daughter looks back at me and smiles before she is gone.
Conversation stumbles back to life. The dukes pretend nothing happened. Charles speaks when required, calm and measured, but his gaze cuts to me again and again. Each time it does, my skin prickles.
I know he cannot hurt me, but anger is coming off Charles in waves. Someone is going to suffer for this, and I am the one to blame. My face is feeling hot, as if a sudden fever has set in. Why did I not think to tell Charles about our run-in with Tassilo?
Speaking of the infamous duke, he is closely watching me, as if he is sensing my restlessness. I see it in the way his eyes flick to mine, in the way his posture tightens. When the bishop he has been talking to finally excuses himself, Tassilo comes to me at once.
“You’re shaken,” he says quietly.
“I’m not,” I lie, smiling pleasantly. “It has been a long day, that is all.”
His eyes search my face. “Charles is furious.”
I huff. “Do not worry yourself, his anger comes and goes. I am used to it.”
It is the wrong thing to say.
“You did not tell him about our spontaneous outing,” Tassilo says.
“I did not; it didn’t seem important enough at the time. Now I see that I might have been wrong to keep this from him.” I stack my notes into a neat pile and get ready to depart.
“Is he causing you harm?” Tassilo asks, a hard edge to his voice.
“I’m safe,” I say. I need him to believe it. “Please. You have to trust me.”
He pauses, and I hate myself for asking this of him.
Footsteps echo behind us.
“Tassilo,” Charles says warmly. “Another time.”
A dismissal.
Tassilo bows, but his gaze lingers on me a moment longer than it should. When he turns away, Charles’s hand closes around his shoulder as he leads him to the door.
The door shuts behind Tassilo; he is the last to go.
The air changes.
Charles turns slowly, and the control drains from his face like water from cracked stone.
“You have met with him?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last week. We were out for a walk with the girls and happened to run into him.” It is not a lie. But it isn’t the whole truth either.
He paces once, twice, then stops in front of me so abruptly I flinch. His eyes are dark, unfocused, as though something inside him is pulling too hard in too many directions at once.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t know when it happened. I can’t think. I can’t sleep. Every thought bends back to you.”
The ring on my hand heats up. I feel its magic coil tighter, feeding on whatever he’s feeling, amplifying it until it has nowhere to go.
He takes my wrist, the one he broke many years ago. He pulls me close and holds me there, staring at me.
It’s not desire I see in his gray eyes, it’s…fixation.
I know what’s coming, I know the way the ring turns his anger into passion. A valve for his fury, for his violence, forced inward until it wears the shape of love. And I let him.
He presses his mouth to my skin, then pulls back just as suddenly, breath uneven, eyes bright with something that frightens me.
“You make me mad,” he whispers. “And I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”
He grabs me, his fingers digging painfully into my hips. I can feel his erection rubbing against me through my dress, and I hate, hate, hate that it ignites my desire.
He pushes into me and kisses me deeply, his tongue hot and demanding, and I can’t help but moan into his mouth.
“Yes, my Queen, never forget who makes you feel this way. You are all my desires, all my hurt, all my dreams wrapped in silk and satin,” he murmurs as he trails kisses along my throat.
He slowly sinks to his knees in front of me, one hand reaching up behind me to keep me steady. There is no table I can hold onto, no wall nearby that would allow me to keep my balance. I am at his mercy to not let me fall.
With his right hand, he lifts my dress over his head and disappears under it.
Without a warning, his mouth pulls away my undergarments, and his lips and tongue land on my already swollen clit.
I suck in a breath as he starts pushing his tongue into my pussy, fucking me hard and fast, while his fingers pinch my clit.
“Devil’s mercy, yes, please don’t stop,” I moan, already so close to orgasm.
He abruptly stops his ministrations and starts kissing my inner thigh.
I groan in frustration.
“Not yet, love. I need you to want me as much as I want you. I need you to feel how desperate I am for you, how you occupy every single one of my thoughts. How sometimes I want to…” He breaks off.
As if the ring prevents him from saying what he truly wants to say.
“I—I am sorry,” he struggles to say.
I lower my hands to his head, buried underneath several layers of my dress, and stroke his head through the fabric.
“It’s alright, Charles,” I say in a tone one would use for a wild animal.
He does not respond audibly, but I feel his hand moving up my leg, until his fingers are rubbing over my clit again, coating his index finger in a mixture of my wetness and his spit.
He wordlessly pushes his finger inside me, drawing a gasp out of me.
“More, Charles,” I breathe, and he complies, pumping two fingers into me, while rubbing my clit with his thumb.
“How much more can you take?” he rasps.
“I-I don’t know…I’m so close, please….” I feel unsteady on my legs, but his strong arm holds me in place.
His movements slow down. He is still teasing me with his fingers, but the strokes have become less intense, less hurried. He presses a kiss to my pussy, murmuring how beautiful I am, and I want to believe him.
“Charles…please, can I come?” I whisper.
He chuckles. But it is not a humorous chuckle; it sounds almost…cruel?
As if he wants to punish me, but the ring won’t let him, and this…this is the only way he has some semblance of control over me.
He sighs. “Since you asked so nicely, my Queen…” And he starts again, inserting a finger, two, then three.
Pumping them in a quick rhythm, licking and sucking on my clit.
His hand on my ass pulls me into him harder, and I switch off my brain.
Just for one moment, I want to pretend that this is real.
I want to melt into him, want him to make me forget who we are and all the reasons this is wrong.
Want to feel wholly loved and wanted, if even just for a second.
I shatter, the game of pretend in my head takes me over the edge.
When he finally releases me and leads me back to our chamber, I make a silent promise I don’t know how to keep yet.
The ring will have to come off before it costs us everything.
A strange sound echoes in my head, one I haven’t heard in years.
Click.