Chapter 28
Maidar claps his hands together to get my attention.
“No, travel deeper. You need to stop thinking of it as cup.”
“I’m trying,” I grunt, focusing on the brass goblet Maidar has hung from some eaves two streets away. We’re on his roof, in the shadow of the mountain, and I’m supposed to be changing the cup into a plate. This is where our training is focused today, after nearly a week of reading, researching, and testing my abilities. If the cup was in my hands, I could do this task in my sleep. But at this distance…
“You’re not really trying,” Maidar says, rapping me on the knuckles. “You’re still seeing it as a whole. Remember what I told you about cells? You need to look at it like that, a collection of tiny bubbles of matter.”
“And that helps me how?” I say. His complex analogies tend to do more harm than good, leaving me confused.
“It reduces the perception of distance. With power like yours, when you can change something at its core level, how far away it is shouldn’t matter so much. But your magic doesn’t realize that yet. Once you wrap your head around the part of the object that really matters—its makeup, not its location—then you’ll stop getting in your own way.”
“Right, so I’m the problem,” I say.
He shrugs, and I’m not sure if he’s missed my sarcasm or just chosen to ignore it.
“Keep working at it. It will build up your stamina, at least.”
I try again, attempting to bury my consciousness deep in the substance of the cup, finding the layers of matter that Maidar is talking about. But I just hit a wall—a hard, shiny, brass one.
“It’s not working,” I snap, my brain fried from trying to wrap itself around Maidar’s explanations; my magic strung out from pushing against that wall and getting nowhere.
“Fine, we’ll try something simpler,” Maidar grumbles. “Why don’t you tell me where I got it from? Read the metal, if you can’t change it.”
I nod, reaching out across the streets, feeling for the brass once more. This is easier, the memories dancing across the surface of the metal, vivid and accessible. There’s the sense of the same hand picking it up and putting it down, over and over—a warm fire and the must of old books.
“You’ve had it a long time,” I say.
“True enough, but that’s not what I asked,” Maidar says.
I huff, but see his point. I sink beneath the surface of those recollections, looking for older imprints on the metal.
The noises and bustle of a market, the cup being handed from a set of soft, pale hands to Maidar’s thick, leathery fingers.
“You traded with it, at the market,” I say.
“Still doesn’t tell me where it actually came from, does it?”
I wonder if he was this much of a know-it-all when he was teaching Ruskin.
I go a layer deeper, noticing how the texture of the brass changes, revealing ridges and bumps I couldn’t see before on the polished surface. With it comes a sense of the metal in younger days, when it was unshaped, just a sheet in a workshop, the sound of a hammer beating against an anvil, the smell of warm bread creeping from next door.
I know that place—the village where the blacksmith’s shop sits right next to the bakery.
“Deppenridge,” I say with excitement. “The cup came from there. That’s not even that far from my village.”
“Very good,” says Maidar.
I open my eyes and look at him, an old question resurfacing.
“How come you’re one of the few Unseelie I’ve seen at the market?”
Maidar shrugs his craggy shoulders again, turning towards the steps that lead back down into his house.
“The Seelie go there for their pretty things. You humans know that that’s what will sell, so that’s what you bring. And then Unseelie go and see nothing but frilly nonsense that doesn’t interest our kind, so they don’t return. There aren’t many who bother to look deeper—to ask if there’s something more that humans can provide, if asked.”
“Like what?” I say, following him down, pulling the attic hatch shut behind me.
“Knowledge, Eleanor. That’s the most valuable thing anyone can have, and like it or not, you humans have plenty that we ignore as fae.”
“Like magnets,” I say, remembering how Ruskin and his friends hadn’t known what they were when I first used them to draw the iron out of Destan.
“Aye, like magnets, and chemicals and even cells. Magic is all well and good, but the natural world has a magic of its own even outside this realm.”
He’s right; I’ve often thought the same myself. I see now why Maidar is considered eccentric by his own kind, but it’s an eccentricity I can admire. It allows him to look past a lot of their prejudices and assumptions too. After all, he was the only fae I considered something of a friend before I came to this place.
“Tell me, what did you notice when you pushed yourself, and went deeper into the cup’s memory?” Maidar asks, unhooking a long walking stick from the wall.
“I went deeper into the metal itself. Its texture changed and I saw details I hadn’t before.”
“Exactly,” he says, waving the stick at me until I take the hint and take it off him. “Keep going, and you’ll hit the cells eventually. Now, you’ll need to have a short rest after this. Your magic is probably drained from the intensity of the work and needs time to replenish.”
I look at the stick, bewildered. “And this is for…?”
“To reach high places,” he says. “I need my cup back.”
After retrieving Maidar’s cup, I head back to our chambers near the court. Ruskin is there, waiting for me by the door to my room.
“How did it go?” he asks.
“Fine. I’m learning something,I just hope it’s actually useful for what we’re trying to do.”
“If Maidar thinks it is, then I believe him,” Ruskin says.
We’ve been distant with each other since our argument about the naminai bond. I haven’t enjoyed it, but I also don’t know what to say to him. Ruskin’s stayed his closed off self, and I’ve been too busy training to consider trying to scale his walls. Even if he did open up, I’m not sure where we’d go from there. Nothing’s changed.
I enter my room, and he follows me inside. It makes me idly wonder if he’s confined himself to his own room all day. From what I can tell, he’s barely been out since I started training, except to visit Maidar with me. I know that Lisinder probably has people watching us, but that doesn’t stop us moving around the court. If I were Ruskin, I’d want to explore this place—this side of my heritage—and I wonder what’s stopping him from doing so.
“My uncle’s invited us to dinner,” he says.
I weigh this up. “Do you think he’s just being hospitable, or does he have an agenda?”
“Both, probably, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. I’d be the same.”
“All right,” I say, crossing to the dressing table and starting to brush my hair. I’m eager to get this conversation over with. I hate how stilted our interactions have become.
“Should I wear something in particular? I didn’t bring any fancy clothes.”
I’m focused on my own face, so I don’t see him come up behind me in the mirror until he’s close. He catches a lock of my golden hair, feeling it between his fingers.
“I know for a fact you’d look beautiful in whatever you wore,” he says, the warmth of his breath on my neck making me shiver. “But Lisinder took care of everything. Check the closet.”
I don’t immediately move, closing my eyes instead, trying to center myself. It’s hard, almost impossibly so, especially with him still standing so close to me.
“Ruskin, you can’t do that,” I say, my voice tight.
“Do what?” he asks in a low voice. He crouches behind me, and his fingers drop from my hair to my neck, massaging the tense muscles there, encircling them to brush a thumb against my throat. I offer no resistance. I crane my head back, wanting more in spite of myself.
When I open my eyes and meet his gaze in the mirror, I see the fire flickering within, a dangerous heat that’s not yet reached its full potential.
“You know what.”
He knows exactly what he’s doing when he talks to me—touches me—like this. He’s reminding me of what I’m missing. Perhaps even punishing me a bit for what I said in our argument. If we’re going to dine with the Unseelie, I need my wits about me, but Ruskin comes with his own dangers. There’s no defense against how much I want him, and he’s so aware of it.
“Fine,” he says, and I watch him lower his face to the crook of my neck, still stretched out and exposed for him, because stars help me, I can’t bring myself to move it, to push him away. “Let’s say I do know what you’re referring to.” His lips are so close to my skin they brush against it as he speaks. Then he lowers them to the sensitive flesh there, making it goose pimple as kisses it, tracing a line over my throat. His hand moves as he does, sliding the fabric of my dress aside, exposing my shoulder so he can keep trailing kisses along it. It makes me painfully aware of every nerve ending I have there, coaxed to life under his soft caresses. “Why would that be such a bad thing?” He finishes his exploration with a flash of teeth, nipping at the skin near my collarbone—a split-second of pain after the pleasure. I inhale sharply, unsure I’m a match for this game he’s playing.
“Because…” I say, noticing how breathy my voice is. His hand glides over to my other shoulder, slowly sliding down my dress sleeve to expose that shoulder too. I try to focus, finding my words.
“Because it’s not fair,” I say. At least the words come out clearly enough. He stops, watching my face in the mirror.
“To whom?” he asks.
“To both of us,” I say, hating the truth of it as my body twitches for more of his attentions. “What about the naminai bond?”
I see the fire in his eyes flare for a moment, then die down, but he doesn’t look away from me.
“What about it? I thought you weren’t interested in that. You made that clear enough the other day.”
I grind my teeth in frustration, my blood already running hot for other reasons.
“That’s exactly my point. How can we keep doing this when we’re on such different pages? We can’t argue one moment about whether we should even be soulmates and then…”
“Then what?” he asks, leaning against me, letting me feel the weight of his body pressing against mine. I know he’s provoking me, and it’s working. When it comes to Ruskin, I’m helpless.
“And then fuck the next!” I snap. I’m annoyed I’m not keeping my cool, but it’s frankly impossible with him so near.
He turns his face back into my neck, burying his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply.
“But don’t you want to fuck, Ella?” he asks, his words vibrating in the shell of my ear. I squirm at his use of my nickname, the way it instantly recalls all the shared intimacy between us. “Why complicate things?”
His hands go to my arms, tugging my dress even further down, exposing the thin fabric of my chemise—which is barely any barrier at all between his hands and my breasts. I let out a sigh with too much of an edge to it—the beginnings of the moans I know he wants to pull from me.
“Why can’t we just enjoy each other? Forget everything else.” He circles his hands around my breasts, stroking my hardening nipples in time with his words. “No expectations, no promises.”
He squeezes my right breast harder, making my slowly mounting arousal shoot up several notches. It’s too much. How am I supposed to resist him when he’s like this? How am I supposed to keep my wits about me?
“Rus,” I gasp.
“You want this,” he whispers, “it’s okay to admit it.”
I bite my lip, uncertain. Is it really safe to give in? I want to, so badly. But I also don’t want to lead Ruskin on. I know he wants us to be more, to be the fully bonded naminai that everyone makes such a big deal about, but what if I can’t give him that? Would he really be okay with indulging in no-strings sex when that still hangs over us?
With every moment I feel my logical thinking slipping away. Ruskin’s hands tweak and tease through my chemise, sending jolts of anticipation down through my stomach, into my rapidly slickening core. It becomes harder and harder to think of anything other than the fact that he’s given me permission; he’s said he’s okay with no promises. Maybe he’s right. Why should I keep myself from this pleasure? Why shouldn’t I have some fun, after all the death and fear and uncertainty? I deserve to live a little.
“Ruskin,” I say, and he looks up, meeting my gaze in our reflections. The fire is burning more brightly than ever, but I know only I can make the choice whether to stoke it into a raging blaze.
“No expectations,” I repeat.
He hums with approval as he realizes I’m agreeing to his suggestion.
“None at all,” he assures me, his voice rough as a blunted blade.
I twist around to kiss him, the release carnal and desperate as I stop holding back, and our lips crash together. Our tongues fight for dominance as he pulls me into him, tugging me to the edge of my seat. I tilt back a little to balance myself, spreading my legs and he takes it as an invitation, pushing my skirts up and sliding his hands across my thighs.
“You don’t know how much I’ve missed this,” he says, the words coming out as a growl. I don’t think he’s just talking about the last few days. He seems to be thinking back to the days before I left, when our desire was uncomplicated, free—unspoiled by doubt.
“Me too,” I admit, the words cut off by a whimper as his hand finds my underwear. The pressure of his fingers on my aching flesh is already delicious, and I grind against him, silently begging for more.
“You’re so wet.” He grins against my mouth, fingers pressed against the soaked fabric.
“Always,” I gasp as he slides the scrap of material down my legs and tosses it aside. “Always for you, Rus.”
I bite my lip as soon as the words are out, worried I’ve said too much. That sounds dangerously like something a soulmate would say, isn’t it? That I’ll be ready for him forever, rather than just for one night?
But Ruskin doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything before kneeling and lowering his head between my legs. Blood rushes to my core in readiness, my body feeling like it’s about to go up in flames, and I lean further back, angling my pelvis to give him better access.
The first swipe of his tongue feels like he’s leaving a trail of liquid fire across me, and I know I’ve made the right choice. How could I have said no to this—to the way his firm licks become wonderful friction as he buries his mouth against me, tasting and devouring me, worshipping my clit until I’m on the edge of climax in a matter of minutes? I bury my hands in his hair, urging him on, only for him to remind me who’s in charge when he grabs my leg and hooks it over his shoulder, tilting me back further and allowing him to access me more deeply. He’s ravenous, and I’m transfixed by the way he swallows me up, making lightning dance across my skin as my orgasm spreads from the apex of my thighs outwards, across my stomach and chest, sinking right down into my fingertips.
I cry out, shaking beneath him, every moment better than the next as the ecstasy crests over me. I don’t have time to even contemplate the come down, however, because Ruskin’s hands are back on my hips, urging me onto my feet.
“What are you?—”
“Stand up,” he demands, shoving the seat of the dressing table aside as I do. The inside of my thighs are still wet, my legs weak from the climax.
And yet I obey, letting him guide me backwards until my ass hits the edge of the dressing table. He strips off his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine, and begins unbuckling his pants.
My confusion melts away into renewed hunger—along with eagerness to get my hands all over him—and I start to help him.
“I need you, Ella,” he growls, and I’m taken aback by the edge of desperation in his voice. “So badly. Every hour, every night since that trial, I’ve been thinking about it. About you. How good you feel around me.”
His cock freed, I run my hands over it, trying to soothe the wild edge that’s suddenly come over him.
“And I couldn’t touch you,” he says, lifting me up onto the edge of the dressing table, pressing kisses against my neck, my jaw. “It was unbearable. I couldn’t stand it.”
I’d had no idea how he was suffering. It’s suddenly clear to me how difficult it must’ve been for him to have learned about the naminai match and then not be able to be close to me. I had time to process it, I was the one who initiated sex on our journey here, already suspecting what we shared. But he had no warning. And the yearning that I can sense from him…it’s overpowering. For a moment, it makes me worry that we’re skirting dangerously close to breaking our agreement—after all, this does mean something: the satiation of a deep, instinctive want he’s been nurturing ever since he found out I’m meant to be his.
But it’s too late to pull back.
While he’s standing there, hard and ready to take me, my body is already aching for more after the perfect pleasure he gave me moments ago. There’s no point resisting. No matter what rules it breaks.
I spread my legs, pulling him closer.
“You can touch me now,” I murmur, wanting to give him sweet release as much as I need my own. I guide his cock against my opening, pressing the head of him between the welcoming folds of me. “You can do whatever you want with me, Rus,” I continue, meaning every word of it. “Take what you need,” I thrust my hips forward, taking in more of him. His response is a noise of raw animal need, and he grabs my ass, sinking into me so deep I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. I gasp at the pressure of it, overwhelming my senses, as he builds up a rhythm, pumping into to me as I hook my ankles behind him. The musky scent of his sweat calls to me as it beads across his chest, and I lean forward, licking an experimental line across his pectoral, savoring the salty tang of his feverish skin.
He moans as his pace speeds up, pushing forward with deep, purposeful thrusts. I shift an inch, and he’s suddenly hitting that perfect angle inside me, ripping an unexpected scream from my throat. He covers my mouth with his, muffling the sounds I make as he repeatedly drives up against the sensitive spot right at my core.
I can’t think coherently—can’t worry about anything in this moment. My skin’s too busy being on fire, every nerve ablaze, and soon I’m quivering in his arms, gripped by the throes of sensation flooding through my body.
My muscles tighten around him, the walls of me closing around his cock, and he breaks his rhythm with a long, low groan, rocking his hips purposefully until he spills into me, shuddering against my own shaking body as our orgasms meet.
Moments later, we both slip to the floor, gasping and panting against each other, grinning with satisfaction. I feel exhausted, spent, but I also feel… alive. I don’t dwell on what was said before we both came. In this moment, I can’t bring myself to care. Not when I’m still intoxicated by the warm glow of us together.
I nudge his leg with mine, feeling playful after all our tension has been worked away.
“All right, that may have been one your better ideas,” I admit. He laughs and pulls me into a deep, satisfying kiss, our bodies entwining. My dress is caught beneath me, and I tug on it, suddenly remembering there’s somewhere we’re meant to be soon. Destan would be furious with us at wasting this precious time to primp.
“Did you say something about new clothes?” I ask.
We dress for dinner, and I see with relief that the gown the Unseelie have picked out is more modest than the average Seelie styles, but the neckline still plunges into a deep V. It’s like nothing I’ve ever worn before, the entire thing constructed from panels of soft black leather, with long sleeves, a high collar, and a full skirt that sweeps down to the floor. Ruskin raises an eyebrow at the sight of it when I meet him in the corridor, but I can tell from the brightening of his eyes that he likes what he sees.
“You look like an evil empress about to order an execution,” he says, his voice gently mocking.
“You better watch your step, then,” I shoot back, but accept the hand he offers to lead me to the banquet hall.
Lisinder nods when we enter, sitting at the head of a long table that looks like it’s made from an impossibly large lump of amethyst. Unseelie fae, many bearing a family resemblance to the king, line either side. They don’t pause when we enter, chatting among themselves, but I notice a few interested looks slide our way. At his insistence, I sit down next to Lisinder, with Ruskin taking the seat on his other side.
“Welcome,” Lisinder says, offering me a cup of wine. I try to subtly sniff it, but he smiles at me, the effect disconcerting, as it exposes some sharply pointed teeth.
“Don’t worry. We may not have many humans in these parts, but I know you cannot have our food. I had this specially sourced.”
The wine smells delicious but ordinary—without that heady, dangerously tempting scent that fae food holds for humans. I thank him and take a sip.
A hand extends in front of my face, clutching a goblet.
“What happens if you drink this, then?” I turn to see the woman with the viper’s eyes, the one who escorted us to the throne room, holding her cup out. Her tone sounds simply curious, but it’s hard not to attach a menacing note to it with a face as dangerous-looking as hers.
“This is my niece, Pyromey,” Lisinder says. “Daughter of my late wife’s brother.”
I nod, then turn to answer her. “It depends,” I say, meeting her gaze head on. “It might make me pass out, or maybe just lose my wits, like a drunk. I think it varies between people and the type of food.”
“Is that true?” she asks, her eyes flitting across my face.
“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, because your kind can lie.” She drops her head to one side, as if thinking. “Strange sort of skill to have.” I watch her withdraw her hand and take a sip from her goblet before continuing. “It must be quite inconvenient always having to check that your food’s imported before you can eat it.”
“About as inconvenient as not being able to lie, I’d imagine,” I counter.
She releases a hissing laugh and lifts her goblet to me in a toasting gesture.
“Fair point.”
I glance at Ruskin in time to see his approving expression, then duck my head and take a bite of my nice, human food.
It turns out that most of the people at the table are cousins of some sort—relations of Lisinder, close ones as well as more distant kin. The king takes some time to relate the family tree, but I quickly lose track, distracted by the sight of Climent, the one who accused me of cheating in my trial, at the end of the table. Lisinder describes him as a cousin a few times removed, and I can’t help but think I’d wish he was removed from this gathering. He leans towards the fae at his side, a silver-haired man who seems to spend most of the evening watching Ruskin and whispering to Climent.
“It’s a shame your father didn’t get a chance to have more children,” Lisinder says, after he’s finished listing the patriarchs in a particular bloodline. He searches Ruskin’s face, as if looking for his brother in it. “Lucan was elated when you came along.”
Ruskin inclines his head in tactful acknowledgment.
“He would have had more time if the Seelie hadn’t offed him,” says a cousin who Lisinder introduced as Jasand. He emphasizes the comment with a stab of his fork into some meat.
The volume of conversation at the table dips, with several pairs of Unseelie eyes now fixed on Ruskin, looking for his reaction.
“I’d be careful about making claims you have no evidence for,” Ruskin says, his voice low but steady.
“Come on,” says Jasand with a wide, hard smile, as if they were sharing a particularly mean inside joke. “A wolf attack? From what I’ve heard of Prince Lucan, that’s the last way he would’ve gone. You must’ve at least suspected your stepfather.”
I try not to gape, but as I glance around, I realize I’m the only one who looks surprised by this turn in the conversation. It seems talking freely about delicate subjects is normal in Unseelie.
Ruskin blinks, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same disconnect.
“I had no love of Ilberon, as I think you’d know, considering that I killed him for endangering the queen.” A murmur of approval goes up around the table. I feel like I’ve slipped into an alternate universe, where murder is discussed so casually. “However, I do not have a good reason to think he was behind my father’s death,” Ruskin adds. “Yes, he disapproved of the match—but he was far from the only one. It would take me ten lifetimes to investigate everyone who said something against it.”
“Of course,” says Pyromey. “And such an investigation would not be confined to the Seelie Court. If we were to demand that the prince put his own people under scrutiny, we would have to permit him to go digging into our private affairs here too, wouldn’t we? There were plenty of Unseelie who were against the marriage. Isn’t that right, Uncle?”
Lisinder nods. “It is. There were many who said—loudly and many times over—that my agreeing to marry an Unseelie heir to the Seelie High Queen was madness. Isn’t that so, Lord Turis?”
The silver-haired fae beside Climent throws us all a calculating look. “Very true, Your Majesty.”
I get the sense that Lisinder called out Turis because he spoke out in that way, but other than sharing a long look, both men seem unfazed by the confrontation and the conversation moves on without incident. We’re served another course, and I can’t help but notice that even with all this talk of murder and politics, the meal is generally less tense than any I’ve had with the Seelie Court. When I watch Ruskin speak with his cousins, he seems more at ease too, relaxing the mask. When the dinner is done and we leave, Ruskin has an inscrutable smile on his face.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. The chill between us has thawed, and I don’t think we have just our activities before dinner to thank for it. The meal united us, putting us on the same side for the first time in days.
“It’s not funny, so much as curious,” he says. “Being here is...confusing for me. I’m starting to think that sometimes I understand these people better than the ones I rule over.”
“I can see that,” I say.
“You can?” He sounds surprised.
“The Seelie are refined and polite—for the most part. But they’ll turn around and stab you in the back just as soon as say hello. No offense,” I add.
“I can hardly argue when that very thing has almost happened to you in my court,” he says wryly.
“On the other hand, it seems like the Unseelie could challenge you to a brutal fight at any moment, but at least they’ll be straight with you about it.”
“And you think that behavior defines me better?” he asks quietly.
“I think you’ve suppressed one side for a long time, and finding it again might be bringing you some balance.”
Ruskin doesn’t speak much during our walk back to our rooms, but for a change the silence doesn’t seem tense or strained. Instead, when we part ways, I think he’s thinking very hard about what I’ve said.