Chapter 9
I wake up to the chirping of birds residing in the gardens. Their conversations are as lively as Jestin’s warm body embracing mine. It’s a surprise that traps my breath in my chest, and I give myself one heartbeat to settle into the new reality.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not surprised he shattered my core with the powerful orgasms. I’m amazed he didn’t move me to another deck chair. He didn’t go to another female but stayed, finishing the night with me.
My heart burns like molten glass behind my ribs, a tingling fire crawling into my throat and strangling me with emotions I hadn’t invited.
That poor organ has lately endured attack after attack.
I vow to get myself in check, yesterday if possible, but one accidental inhale of him undoes me.
Fuck.
He smells like home. Like warmth I shouldn’t crave, like the life I thought I’d abandoned.
My throat tightens, my chest aches. And the growl tearing from my lips could shame at least ten generations of Beriganders.
I shake my head, straightening up to see if I’ve woken him. His eyes remain closed, sandy-brown hair tousled from sleep. I would die to see him like this more often.
Sighing, I brush my hair back. The sweat is drying on my skin, and the cold air caresses the oil, leaving me feeling both filthy and fresh at the same time.
The gardens are full of sleeping naked Fae, glasses, scattered clothes and wine spills. Even one of the servants, Therese, is lying only in an apron on another Fae’s stomach, or maybe two Fae are under?
Smirking, I muster the courage to look at the onyx tiger lying on the chair beside the deck chair. It feels like before I blinked, he’s become a stable presence in my life.
A stable, irritating presence.
“You are awake, good.” Jestin’s lazy purr pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn, ready to be a good girl again.
“What?” I ask, noting his solemn expression.
“I have a war meeting today,” he says.
“Since when Santorili concerns itself with the halflings’ war on the other continent?”
Jestin only stares at me, daring me to figure it out myself. Fuck you, I love a challenge.
Our continent is divided between Fae and ghouls.
All Fae belong to Beriganders, and thus to Gorok.
Ghouls belong to King Argos, and therefore to Chaos.
The peace treaty is settled between Gorok and Chaos themselves, and no one would dare to invalidate the Gods’ will.
There’s no way Aidon was telling the truth.
Since we still live, the Gods aren’t at war against each other.
It must be the Vikans’ war—our predecessors, whom the Beriganders generously allowed to remain in their homeland.
The First High Queen should have exiled them instead of letting them stay.
Their presence brings nothing but trouble.
As mortals, their magic is tied to nature and the manipulation of life, such as healing, divination, or mind intrusion.
Since they have no access to our Arken power, mixing our blood with theirs weakens Fae magic and diminishes the Beriganders’ hold over mongrels.
“Is Baba Yaga brewing trouble again?” Of the three Vikan clans on the continent, hags are the first and most likely to be behind it, especially since their loyalty vows to the crown have not been renewed.
Forest witches make up the second clan and care little for what happens beyond the Mystic Forest, while Dragthralls form the third, serving in the royal army but remaining just as unpredictable, their allegiance ultimately always tied to the dragons.
“Your brain got rusty.” Jestin chastises with his usual half smile.
“So who?!”
“You didn’t hear about the conscription yesterday?”
I heard it, yet I chose to ignore it. My body tenses. “What have you done?”
“Oh, darling, it should be me asking.”
“Do you want to march troops into the halflings’ land?” I press. He can’t do that.
“I thought you quit politics,” he says, caressing my arm with lazy strokes.
“I still need to know,” I reply, and against my better judgment, I happen to relax under his touch.
One eyebrow rises, a sideways smile tugging at his cheek, revealing a dimple.
He looks so boyish that way. How amazing that so much cunning, responsibilities and straight-out wisdom is lurking under his shell.
The contradictions make him even more attractive.
Why I pined over Dante, when I had him close all this time, is beneath me.
“You can sit on it,” he shrugs.
I blink.
Strategy meetings are usually strictly guarded from prying ears. Not for commoners, there’s no access without a high security clearance.
You aren’t exactly a commoner, Aidon says sleepily, a note of something sharp in his mental tone.
I turn to find him… scowling?
Your thoughts are too loud, he accuses, before elegantly jumping to the floor and leaving the gardens. Does he mean I woke him?
Rude jackass.
“Do you want to?” Jestin shakes me away from my thoughts, and I glance at him, finding him… wary? What’s with the strange expressions?
What the fuck have I missed?
“Sure,” I shrug. What bad is going to happen if I listen to the news?
◆◆◆
Entering the war room, I am struck by how different it is from the rest of the palace. The walls are painted in whit, and an oval table dominates the centre, surrounded by eight massive armchairs.
“See you at the meeting?” I throw Nulok’s earliest spill-on right back at him as I take the seat opposite.
He shrugs, beaming at me. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I gave you a hint, didn’t I?”
I laugh. “Next time I just need to pay more attention to what you are saying.”
“Exactly.” He smiles, then shoots a warning look to the older male with silver beard braided with tiny bells, as if to tell him not to say something he will regret.
The door opens, and I straighten so fast it feels like I have a stick shoved up my spine.
The deity from the party. My would-be tutor.
He steps in and acknowledges me with a precise bow, every movement measured and flawless. His etiquette is as impeccable as I remembered, cold, distant, and devastatingly composed. Not a single word about last night passes his lips.
My pulse trips over itself. I clasp my hands in my lap to stop them from fidgeting and resist the urge to bite my cuticles. He would hardly find that attractive.
Did I imagine it? That spark between us, the way the world seemed to tilt when he looked at me? Gods, it would be humiliating if I were the only fool who felt it.
Bloody Fae wine, maybe I should consider some moderation.
“Do you truly want to know?” Aidon asks, leaning towards me, his mouth almost touching the exposed, sensitive skin under my ear. My hair is braided to the right side, giving him perfect access.
I shrug off the sensation, tugging the glove that hides the brand higher, refusing to let it sink in, still too outraged by his earlier behaviour.
The jerk threatened to expose our blood bond, more specifically, me being his vessel, and embarrass me in front of the entire court if I didn’t provide an invite for the meeting.
The only reason he can attend. I didn’t have much of a choice.
I needed to protect my reputation. What’s left of it, anyway.
Blood bond with a Simon? I disgraced the whole family line, and I am most certain they are fuming in the Eternal Gardens of Gorok.
At least they would be fuming if they weren’t doing that already, for a different reason. Uhhh, Grandma would send me to the mountains to the training camp as a punishment for getting in a situation like that. It would be a much better reason than the one I’ve got.
“Dirty little secret?” Aidon chips in, with so much disdain in his voice, I decide to ignore it altogether, and instead, answer his previous question.
Yes, do you know something? Can you read his thoughts? I ask in my head to prevent the deity from hearing it.
Of course I can. He smirks, and I roll my eyes.
I’ll let you take my moon blood without a fight, I suggest as a way of a bargain.
As if I want you to give it to me without a fight. What kind of Fae do you think
I am? He smiles with condescension. I want my female feral.
Right.
But… He pauses mid-sentence, surely for attention, before he continues, his striking scarlet depths finally getting a little of their usual spark. …for such a sweet willingness to open your thighs for me, I will take away your misery.
My cheeks flush, making it painfully obvious how his comment affected me. I feel completely off balance in our connection, no clever comeback forming in my mind.
She’s nothing like I imagined. A fucking vision. The deity’s words echo in my mind and I feel it; my toes curl, my chest tightens. My cheeks burn when I realise exactly what I’m hearing.
The deity likes me. I can’t help the small cheer that escapes before I force my composure back into place.
Self-conscious, I straighten in my chair, acutely aware of the eyes that flit towards me, quickly darting away. The room feels hotter, smaller, as if everyone is holding their breath around me.
Ignoring them, I eye the Simon with new-found appreciation. Can you project others’ thoughts? Impressive.
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised.
“Mystic Forest sent an orb. We won’t be waiting any longer.
Let’s begin without further delay.” Jestin instantly draws the room’s attention.
Another side of him appears—the Lord’s face.
He commands the space effortlessly, each movement carrying authority.
I wonder why he doesn’t count Aidon as a forest representative; shapeshifters usually speak for the forest’s mongrels.
“General Riven, please share what you know.”
The deity raises, and I finally notice his leather armour, carefully tailored to accommodate his folded wings, bears a general’s emblem.