17. Killian
Outside her room, I point at Briar’s door and order the two guards to ensure she doesn’t come out until I return.
Belterre Castle is so gods-damned big that it takes a full fifteen minutes to reach my own room. I could have made it in half the time if I’d run, but that would be nigh impossible in my present state.
I throw the latch and pound my gloved fist against the door, dropping my head against the rough wood. I need to do this standing up.
My hands shake so badly I can barely get my belt open. The gloves don’t help matters, but I’m too desperate to take the time pull them off. The buckle loosens at last, and I rip one glove off with my teeth, sending the white leather flying over my shoulder so I can fist my aching shaft with my bare hand. I touch the gloved finger she bit to my lips and close my eyes against the memory of her blue eyes alight with mischief and desire.
I stroke my cock frantically as dirty visions of Briar naked, her mouth an O of pleasure, breasts bouncing as she rides me, coming with my name on her ripe lips. I’d like to draw out the fantasy but I’m too far gone to hold back. I come hard and fast, a desperate release that barely takes the edge off.
Evening light pinkens the sky outside my cell of a room. A monk’s room, although this isn’t the first time I’ve indulged in less than monkish behavior here.
I won’t miss it.
I won’t miss anything about this damned castle, except her.
Maybe Alister. A little. Not the monster he’s been turning into since meeting Briar, but the irreverent, sardonic friend from childhood…yeah. Him, I’ll miss.
Slowly I strip off the uniform, draping parts of it over the chair and the trunk, kicking off the boots and letting them lie where they land. I stick the despised hat on the helmet of my armor, where it looks even more ridiculous than it does on my own head.
One evening. One full day. One morning. Then I never have to see Briar Rose ever again.
I close my eyes against the lie. Once I’m safe in my castle full of monsters, I’ll see her ghost wherever I look. If I descend from my mountaintop cloister, Princess Aurora’s name will be on the lips of every commoner. There will be no peace, for there will be no avoiding her.
She was right. I cannot bear the thought of standing outside their door while Alistair humps his way to completion. It’s enough to curl my hands into fists.
I have to do something to slake this need.
The problem is, I don’t want to betray Alistair. As fucked up as our friendship is, I don’t have anything better. I’ve been a loner, suspicious of the world and ready to take it on in a fight to the death, ever since I was a boy. I’m too broken to be anything different than a dark knight. A useful tool to a prince—unless I stab him in the back by fucking his fiancée.
The only one who’s ever seen a glimmer of worth in me. Until Briar.
She’s using me, too.
She doesn’t know what kind of fire she’s playing with. But I do, and I can give her a taste of what she wants even if I can’t give her everything.
As easily as that, I take my first step down a descent into damnation.
Briar
With shaking hands, I tear out the laces Killian sliced open and toss them into the fire.
My body isn’t built to handle this many conflicting emotions all at once. I want to throttle the prince, which is the strongest thing I’ve felt for him since we met.
But even more than the helpless rage that consumes me, I’m desperate to finish what we started in the library. I want to take out my fear and anger on him. Batter him, knock him down, and take him inside me with a degree of desperation that is, frankly, alarming. I never thought violence was in my nature until I met that surly knight.
Killian could handle anything I threw at him. He makes it safe for me to feel these things—or would, if he hadn’t locked me inside my room and run off.
I need an outlet.
Keeping one eye on the door lest my maids return at an inopportune moment, I throw myself onto the bed, slip one hand between my thighs and rub the nub at the apex of my sex frantically, imagining it’s his rough fingers touching me there. A little lower, I brush the stupid barrier of my maidenhood.
I picture him breaking it. Shoving that huge appendage of his inside me without a hint of gentleness. A gasp bursts past my lips, my spine stiffens, and I come. Tiny aftershocks quake up my abdomen and down my legs, but I am nowhere close to satisfied. This pallid imitation of Killian’s rough touch isn’t what I need.
What I need is a release so forceful that it blots out my seething fury and sense of loss. I need someone powerful enough to root me in time.
Alistair isn’t that man.
I hate what Killian said, though it’s true. I am a woman, and therefore, I am property. Nothing is my own. Not even my life.
Somehow, I manage to doze off. I’m awakened from a restless nap by my maids, who bring in a tray laden with food.
“It’s good you rested, my lady. Tonight’s ball will be tiring and it will run late.”
“I’m not hungry right now.” I wave away the food. “Besides, tonight is a banquet.”
“For everyone except you, Princess. You will be on display. Now eat.”
I pick at the food while they fuss over my hair. I’m washed and perfumed—rose scented, naturally—then trussed into a fabric column of stiff boning. I can’t bend at the waist, only tip forward from the hips up. It’s awkward, but I see why they chose this torture device when they drape the gown over me.
Layers and layers of pink tulle and red satin give the effect of a rose in full bloom. The bodice is an innocent creamy white with petal decorations. The ensemble is both gorgeous and completely the opposite of my preference.
In my heart, I’m still a farmer’s daughter, despite the tiara pinned to my hair proclaiming me a princess.
Sighing inwardly, I exit my chamber and am struck with an electric jolt by the sight of Killian waiting for me. My lips curve upward.
His curve downward. His eyes turn to slate, though he doesn’t break eye contact.
Our game is back on. No rules. Winner takes all.
I hold his gaze for a moment and lift my chin. Were it possible to straighten further in this corset, I would, but my posture is already as perfect as can be.
“You look very handsome, Sir Ironheart.”
He offers no compliment in return. The fire in his gaze and the stiffness in his gait are tribute enough.
“Your family is anxious to meet you. They regret missing your presentation ceremony this morning.”
“Did they say why?”
“Delayed by a monster attack. All members of the duke’s family survived, fortunately. I am to bring you to them for a private meeting. Prince Alistair is with them now.”
He falls into step beside me.
“I’m sorry about earlier. In the library.”
I’m not, but I’m not above lying if it gets him to let down his guard. Killian sees right through me, and scoffs.
“No, you aren’t.”
“I am. Won’t happen again. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear on the subject.” Lowering my voice and leaning in slightly, I whisper, “You don’t want me. I understand. I confess I am unaccustomed to such a reaction in men?—”
He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. I suppress a giggle and go for the jugular.
“I may be innocent, but I am aware that certain men prefer the company of other men to that of women?—”
He seizes me by the arm and steers me into an antechamber, pushing my back against the wall and looming over me.
“I. Don’t. Prefer. Men,” he grits out. “And you know it, Princess.”
I tilt my chin and cross my hands behind my back, pinning them to the cold stone wall with my hips. “Are you sure? Have you tried?”
His cap plops to the floor as he rakes both hands through his dark hair. I like it messy and falling around his face. It suits him better.
“Yes, and no, respectively.”
“How do you know if you haven’t tried?” I widen my eyes innocently. “Maybe we can find one for you to try kissing…I’ll check the hall.”
Killian makes a choking sound and drags me by the elbow deeper into the alcove.
I advance on him. Fear flashes through his eyes, chased by a flare of desire when his gaze locks onto my breasts. The corset pushes them high and plump, immodestly so, a visual counterpoint to the elegant innocence of the gown itself. A thin gold chain dangles around my neck with a ruby rose pendant. Matching gems dangle from my earlobes. I look very expensive and completely untouchable.
I don’t bother trying to kiss him this time. I simply back him into the far corner, bunch layers of silk into both hands, and drop to my knees.
“Princess,” he groans.
I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing, but I want to try, and he isn’t stopping me. If I can do this, I’ll win this round in our unspoken contest.
I’m trying to provoke him into rescuing me. He’s clinging to misguided loyalty to a man who doesn’t deserve it. I want to steal his allegiance. I want him to swear fealty to me and me alone.
Yet that’s what makes loyalty so precious: by definition, it can’t be taken, only given. He promised me protection from the monsters I fear but I want more than a begrudging vow premised upon my association with a prince I can’t stand.
It’s a simple task to unbuckle Killian’s belt. The buttons on his trousers present more of a challenge, considering the hard ridge tenting the fabric. Hardly insurmountable, even with the tremor in my fingertips.
Once I have his trousers unfastened, I discover that he isn’t as easy to extract as I’d imagined. I have to maneuver him past two layers of fabric while batting the jacket out of my way. It’s not an elegant process, but then, nothing about this is in any way sophisticated. This is pure, base, coarse need.
My mouth waters at the sight of him. I run my hand along his shaft wonderingly.
Glancing up, I find him watching me with a torn expression, a mix of frustration and longing. Heat explodes in my core.
“Hold this.” I shove the low-hanging hem of his jacket into his hand and press it to his stomach. With the final obstacle out of my way, I stare down the monumental task I’ve set for myself.
Experimentally, I lick a stripe up the underside. A strained sound from above me might be pain or pleasure. I can’t tell. His hips rock forward, seeking, so I decide it’s pleasure and do the same thing again, this time daring to peer up at him through my lashes.
“Briar,” he grinds out, but he doesn’t stop me. “Anyone could see us.”
“Hmm. That would be a pity.”
Then the ruddy head slides past my lips and neither of us can speak. He grunts and tents his fingers on the top of my head in the center of that stupid tiara.
I want him to rip it off. I want to hear it clang from the stone and for Killian to yank my hair as he comes.
My knees ache. He wrests control and sets a rhythm that makes my eyes water. I have no finesse with this, but I’m learning what he likes by the way he reacts when I strain to take him as deep as I can. I feel his body tense in response and wish I could see him without his clothes. Wish I’d looked my fill when we were back in the castle nave. His fingertips tighten on my scalp. A fraction of what I want, but enough to make hot, slippery need pool in my core.
Shifting, I try to assuage the need but it’s fruitless. I can’t get enough pressure and friction. Being suspended in this place of unmet, aching need is pleasurable in a way, though it would be more so if I had faith that Killian’s will would eventually break.
Stubborn man. What will it take to get him to give me what I need?
I apply my free hand to the part of his shaft that won’t fit inside my mouth no matter how I try to force it, and grip his hip for balance with the other. Wet sucking sounds fill my ears, accompanied by the helpless noises of a man coming undone.
He swells impossibly hard inside my mouth. His hold on my hair tightens. The tug brings tears to my eyes and a liquid pulse between my thighs.
“You want to do this, Princess, then finish it the right way,” he grinds out, holding me in place. “Swallow every drop.”
Tears leak down my cheeks as he thrusts in a short, shallow rhythm, until salt explodes into my mouth.
Another pulse of hot liquid. Easier this time. When he’s done, I brace myself and push back, gagging as he extracts his cock.
Triumph surges through me as I survey his wrecked state. Killian’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his cheeks flushed, and his hair wild as he slumps against the stone wall. The gold braid on his uniform is twisted every which way. There’s a crease in the hem where he fisted the fabric while holding it.
I press my wrist to my lips, feeling as unsteady as a newborn foal as I try and fail to get to my feet. Killian slaps his belt closed and hauls me up by the elbows, drawing me close to murmur, “You did very well, Princess.”
His mouth meets mine tenderly. The kiss is softer than I expect. Firm and possessive, but with an aching sweetness, too. I pour all of my yearning into that kiss. His arms lock around my waist. He takes his fill of me.
When he finally breaks away, I sway on my feet, too hazed with desperation to stand properly. To breathe. Killian strokes his thumb down the curve of my cheek and says pityingly, “Now you’ll have to wait for my revenge.”
A shiver works down my spine.
He leads me out of the antechamber as if nothing untoward happened, settling his cap and smoothing his unruly dark hair beneath the brim.
Something deep inside me throbs with anticipation.