Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alethea glanced at her cup, blinking as the taste washed over her.
It was sweet and tart, almost fruity—but heavy like honey.
It started as a subtle warmth; a gentle caress that spread from her stomach to her fingertips, easing the knots of tension that plagued her.
The cacophony of the Revel around her began to blur into a harmonious melody, the laughter and the music becoming a euphoric symphony.
The world took on an otherworldly hue, vibrant and enchanting.
Colors seemed to intensify, lights shimmered more brilliantly, and the air felt electrified with a tangible sense of joy.
Alethea’s senses sharpened, allowing her to perceive every nuance of the revelry with a newfound clarity.
“Are you all right?” Nakir asked again, and the waterfall behind her eardrums slowly faded away. She even managed a smile. Her worries dissolved into the ether, replaced by an unshakeable sense of contentment and a profound appreciation for the present moment.
She blinked up at Nakir: the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes upon. The way she saw him now echoed that unforgettable evening when their destinies had collided in the forest, altering the courses of both their lives forever.
As Alethea stared at him, the world around them seemed to fall away, leaving only Nakir and the ethereal atmosphere.
She studied the sharp angles of his face, his perfect dark pink lips, the single lock of raven hair that fell over his brow.
Everything about him was deliberate and graceful, as though he were a creature born of the moonlit night, with all the elegance of a shadow and the poise of a prince—no, a king.
Alethea found herself thinking whoever he chose as his queen would be the luckiest woman alive.
Then she remembered his question.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She stepped forward, her hand coming up to touch his face. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, and she shuddered. “Why did you do that?”
Nakir closed the distance between them, and a small thrill ran through her as she felt his touch on her lower back. “He had a weapon, so I disabled him.”
A simple answer for a simple question, yet she sensed the weight behind his words; the burden of responsibility he carried.
“You broke his arm.” Even now, the violence troubled her, stirring a deep discomfort in the pit of her stomach—heightened by the ambrosia.
How was she ever going to last in a war?
Nakir’s stare nearly paralyzed her. “He deserved it,” he said, so full of conviction it sent another shiver down her spine.
She allowed her hands to roam up his arms and his shoulders, and his grip on her lower back tightened. Her quest for dessert was now nothing but a distant memory.
“Did he?” she asked.
“For putting his hands on you?” Nakir growled.
Alethea wondered if she should be afraid, but she wasn’t.
“No... No. I would rather have cut his hands off so he could never offend you with them again.”
His words were uttered with a chilling certainty that sent a sharp shudder down her spine. Her skin raised into gooseflesh at the way his breath warmed her neck. She thought of last night, the way his body had pressed against hers, and her eyelids fluttered closed.
“How are you feeling?” Nakir asked, drawing circles and figure-eights up and down her spine in a way that made her melt. “Is this welcome?”
“It’s wonderful,” Alethea told him, eyes still closed as she leaned into his touch, losing herself.
“It will last for a few hours,” he explained, but the words felt faraway. “Stay close to me and Emi tonight. Do you hear me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Know that if anyone else touches you without your explicit consent, they will meet a worse fate than Reingard Delaney. Do you understand?”
His words thrilled her in a way she wondered if she’d be disgusted with herself for later. He was using her fear for others’ safety as a way to get her to look out for herself, and she had to admit, it was very clever.
“Tell me,” he demanded, and she beamed up at him, eyes wide and full of adoration.
“I understand.”
What he said next should have been criminal. “Come,” he commanded, sending heat to her core. “Let’s find our friends again.”
The sensations grew more intense with every passing second.
Alethea’s wide eyes took in everything around them, all at once.
The fire shows, the bonfires, the music, the incredible displays of magic—it all amazed her in an entirely new way.
The vibrant flames danced in her eyes, the rhythmic music pulsed in her veins, and the masterful magic left her breathless.
Every sight, sound, and touch seemed amplified, as if the world had finally come alive.
Nakir’s touch stayed on her back, never moving, always guiding. His steady presence became her anchor, grounding her amidst the overwhelming spectacle.
She wasn’t sure how long it took them to find Emi and Dawes, but she caught sight of them near a large bonfire, the flames casting eerie shadows on their faces.
She immediately went to rush forward until she noticed their exchange was...
tense. Emi’s usually vibrant expression was clouded with distress, her hands clenched at her sides.
Dawes, normally so composed, appeared equally unsettled.
He brushed some hair out of Emi’s face—a gesture meant to be comforting, but it only seemed to upset her further.
Alethea hesitated, lingering in the shadows with Nakir, unable to intrude on their private moment.
Emi’s shoulders trembled, and Dawes, with a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face, tried to soothe her.
It was a stark contrast to their usual camaraderie, leaving Alethea with a sinking feeling in her chest.
“I think they need a moment,” Nakir whispered as they hovered just out of earshot.
Discomfort sent tingles into her fingers, and she tried to fight it by fussing with Nakir’s dark blazer until sounds of ecstasy began to permeate her psyche.
“Oh,” Alethea uttered, stepping to the side as she realized how close they were to one of the previously unoccupied tents. The entrance was still open, but from the sounds she could hear coming from within, it was now currently in use.
“If someone leaves the tent open, it means they’re open to others watching... or joining,” Nakir explained with a knowing smile, his voice low and intimate.
Alethea’s entire body heated, and she hid her face in Nakir’s jacket, earning her a chuckle. Every one of her nerve endings buzzed at his tone, the effects of the ambrosia taking a firm hold on her.
“Why don’t you join them then?” she shot back, brave considering her current position.
“I’m otherwise engaged,” was his soft reply.
The sounds in the tent came to a crescendo, and she felt her breath hitch, clinging tighter to Nakir. She didn’t miss the way a low growl vibrated his chest.
Alethea let her head fall back to look at the stars above, lips parting in awe at the way they danced around one another in perfect harmony with the music.
It was near dizzying to watch, though she hardly noticed the way her body swayed to the beat.
She held onto Nakir’s arms for support, but his face was just out of her celestial view.
He held her upright by her lower back, giving her enough room and support to lean up at the stars.
His body against hers, the sounds of lovemaking beside them, the intense drumbeat of the music, and the ambrosia coursing through her system had her forgetting who she was.
She wasn’t a princess, an Oracle, a runaway.
For the moment, she was simply free.
She became aware of Nakir’s gaze, solely focused on her in a way that was staggering. How could he look at her that way, as if she’d hung the stars in the heavens above them? And what did it mean?
“What is it?” she asked him, throat tight with unexpected emotion. “What are you thinking?” It wasn’t fair that she had to answer every question with the truth while everyone else could say whatever they wanted.
Nakir’s hands wandered up her back, holding her close to him as he spoke, each word careful and deliberate. “I’m thinking you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon. That I wish I could hold onto this moment forever.”
Her belly warmed, and she leaned in closer, their lips like magnets to one another.
She imagined if she kissed him now, she’d drag him into a nearby tent and beg him to put his mouth on her; to taste her and touch her; to strip her of her shimmering blue dress.
She would beg him to free himself from his trousers, to lay her down on the soft blankets and rugs and chase those euphoric sounds from her.
She wanted to beg him to show her the stars behind her eyes; to take pleasure in her body; to take them both to the edges of desire —
“Dance with me?” Alethea tugged on his hands to bring them closer to the music, the pounding drum beats, the heat of the bonfire. She needed more. More sound vibrating against her bones. More heat on her skin. More of Nakir against her.
He obliged.
Alethea had never danced the way she saw the revelers dancing—sensually, every move improvised, an interpretation of their body’s innermost desires.
She was ordinarily too self-conscious to even begin to attempt to dance, but the ambrosia had emboldened her.
Nakir was much more skilled. He somehow matched the partner dances she’d grown up with to the sensuality and improvisation the haunting music called for.
She followed his lead with closed eyes and trusting hands, her body finding its own rhythm.