Chapter 23
Idon’t think I’ll ever get tired of kissing Ruskin, the way his lips respond to me, springing into action, devouring me up. It’s like he’s answering the question I’m asking without me needing to say a word: Yes, I will sate your hunger.
His hands drop to my hips, then my ass, half lifting me into his lap—an invitation for us to be closer, body against body. But it isn’t enough—I want to feel all of him, beneath me, on top of me. I want him to fill up my senses, so I stand, taking his hand and pulling him towards the tent.
He quirks an eyebrow, hesitation shining through the fierce desire in his eyes.
“Are you sure this is this what you want?” he asks. His voice is tight, like he’s holding himself on a leash he wants desperately to snap.
I could answer his question in a million different ways, but the time for words is past. Instead, I just smile. “Come.”
We stumble into the tent, hitting the soft bank of pillows with a muted thud. I laugh against Ruskin’s lips, high on the feeling of him, on the chance to claim back his body as mine. My heart thumps hard inside my chest, like a war drum, and I let the sound of it drown out my thoughts.
Desire burns me up like a flame as I pull his clothes off him, running my hands over his broad shoulders. I want to slow down, to enjoy every inch of his body and take my time with it, but I can’t. I’ve waited too long.
“That laughter won’t last for long,” he growls, playfully nipping at my jaw.
“No?” I gasp, air already strained from how much I want him.
“Soon you’ll be too busy making other noises,” he says, and my heart tightens inside my chest.
“Is that a promise?” I whisper back at him, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he sits up, shifting me back so I’m straddling his cock hardening through his pants. He pushes my dress up, exposing my thighs, running his hands up to my hips. His touch makes my skin burn, each cell coming alive at once.
”It’s a certainty,” he finally says, making my stomach tighten as he runs his palm across it, thumb dipping teasingly beneath my navel. “I expect panting…” He licks his lips. “Some moaning…” He guides me back on my heels a few inches by pressing gently at my hips, then slides a hand underneath me, tracing the soft folds of skin, stroking through the thin fabric of my undergarments. I don’t hold back my sounds of enjoyment.
“And of course I expect some screaming of my name,” he finishes casually, like we’re discussing the weather. He’s in control, playing me as if I were an instrument, and he knows it.
“Ruskin,” I moan, drawing it out as I lean into his touch, finding the wonderful balance of pressure. His palm cups me, curling a finger to caress the flesh swelling with desire. My eyes roll back in their orbits, and a pleasant tingling sensation spreads out from between my legs to the rest of my body.
“Not really a scream,” he teases, “but it’ll do for now.”
He sounds so aggravatingly pleased with himself that I have to return the favor, running my hands over the bulge in his pants, gently squeezing and feeling my own pulse of satisfaction at his answering gasp. Two can plays this game, after all. But the fabric just annoys me. I want to feel him, and I focus on pulling them open, freeing his cock, which immediately stands ready and waiting.
I pause for a moment, gently curling my fingers around his hard length, and I look into his eyes. His lips curl up into a dangerous smile and—somehow—his cock becomes even harder than before. Sweet mercy, could he be even more irresistible?
My memory hardly does justice to his hard member, and when I lean forward to place my mouth on it, it feels even bigger than it looks. I kiss the tip, then slide my tongue down across its length. This time, I’m patient with it, allowing my tongue to dance over his flesh at leisure.
Ruskin responds by growling with appreciation, and he seems to be barely holding himself back from thrusting upwards. I happily take more of him into my mouth, enjoying the noises of ecstasy I’m eliciting. The scent of him is different here, filling my nostrils with a masculine, almost animal musk that makes me slick with want.
As I suck, Ruskin somehow makes my underwear disappear—I suspect by ripping the poor things apart—and he swiftly slides a finger into me, followed by a second, and a third. I bear down on them with a hum of pleasure, the vibrations of my throat making Ruskin’s aborted thrusts take on a new urgency.
I swirl my tongue over the head of him, taking in the salty taste, enjoying how each part of me, every sense, is filled with him. I could happily stay right here forever, but I know what the pressure of his large fingers stretching inside me is preparing me for, and I don’t want to wait any longer.
I’ve waited long enough.
I pull up, delicately wiping my mouth in a move that seems to drive Ruskin wild, if the twitch of his cock is anything to go by. I tug off the rest of my dress, not wanting it to get in the way, and Ruskin takes the hint, removing the last of his clothes too. The sight of his naked body is enough to crush whatever thread of rational thought I still had in me. Wild lust dances inside me and, like a wheel of fire, consumes everything in its wake. I try not to look like I’m rushing, but the ache between my legs is almost unbearable, and once I’m fully naked, I don’t waste time before climbing back on top of him.
I hold his gaze as I position myself over him, and time comes to a halt. For a moment, nothing matters but the frantic beating of my own heart. Or the way his fingers dig into my hips. Like a sliver of moonlight, I hold onto the moment until it finally slips away.
And then I surrender fully.
I can’t keep from closing my eyes with the intensity of the sensation as I lower myself onto his cock, slowly impaling myself. I arch my back as my muscles tense for a moment, adjusting, then relax into the tightness of the fit.
He stays perfectly still, letting me get comfortable. When I meet his gaze, I feel almost drunk on the intensity of the moment. So much power lies beneath me, so much strength pulled taut and ready to spring, and yet he restrains himself—for me. This is what I’ve missed as much as the raw edge of his desire for me: the way he cherishes my pleasure and comfort. He treats those like they are treasures to be won even more than my body, more than any gratification I can give him. Stars, I love him, and even if I can’t say it with words right now, I can show him.
I start to move, undulating my hips to grind against him, and an unexpected jolt has me realizing that this position puts him so much deeper, so that even the slightest movement presses him against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside me. He tilts his hips up ever so slightly, burying himself deeper inside me, and a croak of pleasure escapes from between my lips. I lean forward, my hair caressing my naked shoulders, and I speed up, laying my hands on his chest for better purchase as I rise and fall. He runs a hand across my cheek, stroking back the hair that’s tumbled across my face so he can meet my gaze.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs and even naked, riding him, I feel a blush climb to my cheeks. The sight seems to please him, as he takes hold of my hips, guiding the way I move against him. I gasp in surprise when his hands grab me firmly enough to lift me, sliding me almost completely free of his cock, only to plunge me back down on top of it. The sensation of being suddenly emptied and filled hits me over and over, pulling a frantic cry from me.
I throw my head back and grit my teeth, pain and pleasure swirling inside me. Am I screaming? Moaning? All I know is that I’m burning from the inside out, flames of wicked pleasure lapping at every fiber of my being.
“Ruskin,” I finally say, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears, “I’m close…”
In a whirl of limbs, I’m suddenly on my back against the scattered floor cushions. Their soft fabric caresses my skin, silky and welcoming, and I turn my face into them, enjoying the way the satin touch makes my skin feel even more alive. Ruskin positions himself above me, presenting his index and middle finger. I look at him questioningly.
“Be a good girl and suck,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. He knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it… and I love him for it. I obey, taking his fingers in my mouth and running my tongue over them. It feels intimate, revealing a layer of vulnerability I didn’t know was there, and it just makes me want him more.
Once they’re fully wet, he runs his fingers down in a straight line—from my jaw to the valley between my breasts, and then further down—and only stops when they meets my aching wetness. With a lustful grin, he strokes the fingers over my clitoris, their slickness sparking waves of pleasure that make my toes curl with pleasure. He listens carefully to my signals, the tenor and volume of my whimpers as he increases pressure ever so slightly, tracing his fingers in confident circles, teasing until it feels as if bolts of lightning are radiating from that single sensitive point.
“I meant it…” I gasp warningly, as I jerk my hips up against his swirling fingers. “I’m close.”
He simply smirks, like I’ve played right into his hands. I feel him, still hard as a rock, positioning himself against my opening, and then he thrusts back inside. This is so familiar now, the heat of his body covering mine, the hardness of his muscles against my soft curves. It reminds me of that time after he’d told me his true name, when we made love for the first time like partners—exploring each other’s bodies instead of treating the other like land to be conquered. The joy I’d felt then, the blissful freedom and safety, comes flooding back to me now.
It”s almost too much.
I reach up for his face, bringing it down to mine and putting all that feeling into a kiss. I want him to know that this is more than just sex. I want him to know that I remember what it was like—us together, alive in each other’s hearts, before everything else got in the way. When we pull apart, his gaze is slightly glassy, like I’ve taken him somewhere far away.
“Finish me,” I breathe out, tracing his lips with my thumb. The order seems to bring him back to himself and he grins.
“With pleasure.”
The pace becomes punishing, but it’s exactly what I want, him pounding into me, forcing me closer to climax with every thrust. I dig my fingernails into his forearms, almost hard enough to draw blood, then the taut muscles of his behind, willing him to go harder, until I can see the stars, basking in the pure joy of this moment.
Just when I don’t think he can go any deeper, Ruskin pulls my leg up against his chest and claims an extra inch within me. A cry of pleasure claws its way up my throat, and I shut my eyes hard, struggling to process the way my body responds. A violent orgasm floods through me, pulling on my vocal cords. It makes every muscle in my body tighten and release.
It pushes Ruskin over the edge too, and he finishes with me, releasing my leg and falling forward, his palms on either side of me, as he thrusts one final time. He holds perfectly still for a moment and the torrent of sensation—piercing and perfect—grips me, dominating my mind and body for a few exquisite heartbeats, then gives way to a mellow glow of satisfaction, enveloping me in a warm embrace as my muscles grow slack.
But there’s something else, something beyond the power of our mingling climaxes—magic. Even as my orgasm crests, a second surge follows it—a force more mystical than physical, at once achingly familiar and yet separate from me, entering my body, filling me up from fingertips to toes and then spilling outwards.
The magic hums around me—around us—and I look up to see various bits of metal flying around the tent. Knives and forks from our supper, hair pins, my shoes, tugged along by their buckles. Ruskin looks up at the sound of his sword being dragged into the air and laughs, reaching up to tug it from orbit. As soon as he touches it, the wave of power dies and the metal falls to the ground with a series of harmless thuds.
He sets the blade down beside us and strokes my hair.
“Seems like someone got carried away,” he chuckles, both of us still panting from our efforts.
But though the magic was mine, I’m sure that the energy powering it was not. I felt it fill my body as if it was coming from somewhere else—a raw strength much more forceful than my own pouring into me from something—someone—else. In my heart, I know the source without needing any more evidence: Ruskin. The power that filled me was his, mingling with mine, and though it was just for a moment, it was enough to energize my magic so that it rushed from me and expressed itself in a random flight of metal.
As he kisses my forehead and extricates himself from me, I can see Ruskin has no idea what happened. He looks peaceful, happy, slumping down beside me and closing his eyes. He can rest easy, believing I simply lost control of my magic in the heat of the moment. But I know what really happened.
Destan’s words come back to me. Hadn’t they covered something like this? A theory about naminai being able to share each other’s power, channeling strength to each other. It wouldn’t be possible otherwise, would it?
But how is it possible at all? My bond with Ruskin is incomplete. Ruskin doesn’t know my true name—isn’t even aware I have one. But I know his, and maybe that’s enough, in a moment of intense closeness, when we are sharing so much else, for his power to slip into me.
His even breathing tells me he’s fallen asleep, and I want to be there too, in easy slumber. But I’m kept awake by this revelation, wondering why it fills me with such fear. Just an hour ago, I felt like we’d taken a step forward—that I was ready to trust him. But now I realize how far we still have to go, because I’m not ready to trust him with this. Not yet. Not when I don’t even know if I’m willing to accept the naminai bond.
I’m the one keeping secrets now, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. But telling him everything doesn’t feel like a solution either. I don’t know if I can get past my doubts about us, and it’s not fair to him to get his hopes up for a bond I’m not sure we’ll ever fully share.
I don’t sleep well for the rest of the night, too unsettled by the fresh deception that festers between us.
Daylight filters through the fabric of the tent, and Ruskin wakes to find me already dressed and packed. I don’t want to linger here, in this place where we were so intimate. It’s too unsettling when I know that for now I have to keep a certain distance. At least until I’ve decided what to do about our naminai bond.
It doesn’t stop him coming up behind me as I check on the horses, trailing a hand along my hip.
“Good morning,” he breathes into my hair. I close my eyes, summoning the strength not to turn around and kiss him. I arrange my features into a neutral expression before facing him, casually ducking away from his touch.
“Good morning,” I say. “I’ve already eaten, so I’m ready to get going whenever you are.”
He studies me, instantly picking up on the careful distance of my tone, the gentle rejection of his intimacy. His expression drops into blankness, which is enough to show that I’ve hurt him—badly enough that he’s trying to hide it. I feel like a cold bitch, but I can’t let this go further until I’m sure how far I want it to go.
“Very well,” he says, and for once I feel a swell of relief that Ruskin isn’t one for communicating much. He could just ask me what’s going on, why I’m pulling away after we held each other so close last night, but instead his jaw hardens, and when he blinks, his eyes shift into their Unseelie shape. He’s closing himself off right in front of me, and I made it happen.
“I’ll skip breakfast. You’re right, we shouldn’t waste time,” he says, his voice matching mine—remote, unbreachable.
We set out and the tension of yesterday settles back down upon us, though for entirely different reasons this time. We don’t really speak again until the trees begin to thin out, and the land opens up into rolling green hills with banks of violet flowers.
“Amethyn Valley,” I breathe, my blood running cold from the memory. It’s beautiful now, the blooms carpeting it, not revealing a trace of the terrible bloodshed their ancestors witnessed all those years ago.
“Yes, we’re close to the border now. We’ll cross over near the mountains, past Irnua Lake.”
We ride for another hour more, and the peaks slowly take up more of the skyline. I can see an expanse of dark water to our left, over the ridge of the road, and I notice the ground growing less springy beneath the horse’s stride, the lush green grass thinning out and giving way to a carpet of khaki moss.
Eventually Ruskin stops, closing his eyes as if listening to something.
“We’re by the border now.”
“You can feel it?” I ask.
“Most fae can, but me especially. I’m leaving the Seelie Kingdom behind, and some of my power as High King with it. I won’t be able to draw from the land the way I can in my court. We should be careful from now on.”
Across the border the landscape changes far more quickly than should be possible—the atmosphere too. The balmy air of the Seelie Kingdom leeches away, to be replaced by a stiff breeze that burrows into my clothes. Ruskin doesn’t seem to notice, but I pull a cloak from one of my horse’s packs to ward off the chill. The mountains dominate the land here, and we pick our way along rocky trails, always ascending, it seems, as we leave any view of the Emerald Forest behind.
Eventually, we start passing fellow travelers on the road. Ruskin nods confidently to them as we pass, bedecked in his Unseelie features, while I keep my hood up and my head down like he’s instructed. It’s not out of the question for an Unseelie to travel with a human servant, but Ruskin tells me that humans are less common in this kingdom, and so I’m likely to draw more attention. Still, I risk peeking out at them from under my hood as they pass.
The Low Fae passing us now look far from human, but where their Seelie cousins sport skin like moss and hair like flowers, these people look much fiercer. There’s not a pretty bloom in sight, instead their skin is either white and hard as bleached bone, or dark and craggy like rock. Tusks protrude from some of their mouths and others have thick tufts of fur poking out from under their clothes.
I try not to stare. I had some context for the Seelie fae when I first came to Faerie, but the Unseelie rarely come to the market in Styrland. The ones who do, like my friend Maidar, don’t typically strike the kind of bargains you hear about in cautionary tales—the dangerous ones that end badly for us humans. Maidar, with his goat-horns and gravelly voice, would only sell me augium in return for fae gold and human books.
“Magna Lunis, friend,” comes a voice from up ahead. I peek out under my cloak to see four fae riding up to us. They wear none of the silks and chiffon of the Seelie, but I can see their leather tunics and boots are exquisitely made. They look mostly human, but each of them sports a set of animalistic eyes, putting me in mind of snakes and wolves, and when they smile, they expose delicate fangs. These must be the High Fae of the Unseelie.
I tense, knowing that while the Low Fae probably wouldn’t think to question Ruskin, these people are a different matter. But Ruskin just inclines his head and offers what I assume is the expected response from the fae’s greeting.
“And may its light bless you.”
They nod back and, to my relief, ride on past him. I tilt my head away when the last of them—a long-haired male—glances my way, then urge my horse to catch up to Ruskin as they carry on.
“Maybe we should find a quieter road,” I murmur to Ruskin. “I don’t want?—”
“Wait!” The same commanding voice rings out behind us and I freeze. Ruskin grabs my reins and turns our horses, so we can face the group of High Fae now trotting back after us.
“Yes?” Ruskin asks, his tone relaxed.
The long-haired fae bares his teeth.
“Did you think we wouldn’t notice? That you could sneak a Seelie into our kingdom right under our noses?” he barks.
“Seelie?” Ruskin cocks his head, pulling my hood back so my ears can be seen. “She’s human.”
“Not her, you.”
Ruskin looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Is it my horns that are confusing you, or these?” He holds up his hand so that his claws flash menacingly in the weak sunlight.
The long-haired fae just narrows his eyes.
“You’re Seelie. You can’t pretend. I could smell it when I rode by,” he hisses.
The jig is clearly up, and I glare at Ruskin, turning my head to mutter at him.
“Shouldn’t you have thought of that?” So much for his Unseelie features working as a disguise.
He shrugs. “I forgot,” he says, loud enough for the others to hear. He obviously thinks there’s no use maintaining the lie now. “I’m usually the only one whose nose is that good.”
“Kasgill is a master hunter,” one of the others, a female with antlers and blond hair tied back in lots of small braids, says proudly.
“Good for him,” Ruskin replies archly. “Unfortunately, there’s no prey for him here.”
“I beg to differ,” growls Kasgill. “A Seelie and his human pet in our kingdom? Fair game, I’d say.”
“Half-Seelie,” Ruskin corrects with a roll of his eyes. “And she’s not a pet. I assure you, Eleanor is far from tame.” He throws me a wink over his shoulder, and I want to hurl my sword at him. He might not be worried about taking these guys on, but I can’t stop focusing on those fangs and pointy horns.
“And here I thought all you Seelie collected humans like dogs. I still don’t see why we should care about some mongrel’s tainted parentage.”
“That’s no way to talk about your king’s bloodline.”
“You? Royalty?” Kasgill laughs, the sound bouncing off the rocks around us.
But the antlered woman leans in to him and I hear “Dawnsong” whispered between them.
Kasgill looks at Ruskin with an edge of doubt, then shakes his head.
“Lisinder’s line is many. You’re probably the embarrassing mistake of some distant cousin shipped off to the Seelie to hide their shame. That doesn’t give you the right to roam our land.” Kasgill draws his blade, and the others follow suit.
I look to Ruskin. He could settle this in a moment by telling them exactly who they’re dealing with, but while he may have hoped claiming some relation to Lisinder would allow us to pass, he won’t go so far as to announce to the world that the prince of Seelie is here. He’d rather solve this with his sword.
I draw my blade, summoning my magic at the same time.
Then the Unseelie charge.