Chapter Thirty-One
“Well, tonight certainly took a few turns,”
Mirquios said, rubbing at the back of his neck as he returned to the library. They’d spent hours untangling their latest set of complications and finally called it.
Lunelle set her tea on the shelf before her, stretching her legs as she paced in a small circle.
“Is Luxuros okay? He must be a wreck. My sister puts on a brave face, but I can feel her panic.”
Mirquios shrugged, sighing as he leaned against the shelf across from her.
“I left him with Astra. Your grandmother not only shocked us with her news, but exposed his lineage to half the courts. His Fate rests in the hands of three hundred courtiers.”
Lunelle shook her hands, attempting to dispel some of the anxiety boiling in her veins.
“I truly did not see it coming. I knew there would be something, but that was not it.”
Mirquios rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Your sister can do this, Lunelle. Luxuros can do this. You can do this.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, forcing an encouraging smile as she chewed on her lip.
“She’s already done too much,”
Lunelle whispered.
Mirquios’s shoulders stiffened.
“You speak about Astra as if you’ve never once fallen on your own sword for her.”
“It’s not the same. It’s my duty to protect her?—”
The king huffed a sigh as he cradled her jaw.
“Which of you was the subject of your mother’s constant nitpicking, correction, and ire for thirty-some years while the other ran wild?”
Lunelle laughed, but the memories of her sister’s constant correction under their mother’s watch flooded her mind.
“My mother was hard on her, too.”
“Astra has spent the last three years building her dream city away from the eyes of the entire court. Without you, she never would have found her place in this world. You fight for one another, every day, all the time. Her fighting is just a tad more theatrical.”
Lunelle leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped himself around her.
“I really do like this library,”
Mirquios murmured against her hair.
“When I’m Lunar king, perhaps I’ll make it my official study.”
Lunelle leaned back, glaring.
“You can have the throne, but you cannot have my library.”
Mirquios backed her slowly toward a shelf, glittering stars falling from her dress as he tangled her into a kiss.
“Perhaps we can share the library,”
she whispered between kisses, losing control of her breath as he poured over her, her shoulders coming into contact with the hardwood behind her. His tongue brushed against her lower lip as his hand ran over her thigh, pushing the starry lace of her skirts higher and higher.
Mirquios blazed a trail from her lips to her neck, finding the space beneath her ear that earned him a muffled moan, the sound undoing any lingering control he might have held onto.
“Are you sure?”
Mirquios froze against her, peeling his lips away from her neck.
“Do I not feel sure?”
he laughed, pushing his hips into hers, drawing another soft whine from her chest.
“I meant about taking the Lunar throne—about leaving your court.”
“Ah,”
he sighed, dropping his hand from her thigh and bringing it to her face.
“Of course I’m sure, Lunelle. Think of what we could do together.”
“But who will take the Mercurean throne?”
“No one, that’s the whole point, Lu.”
Mirquios placed a kiss on her cheek, returning to his endeavor to get his hands on as much of her bare skin as possible.
“We’ll disband it. Luxuros and Maeve can lead them while we work here to do the same.”
Lunelle pulled his mouth back to hers, savoring the taste of him as his teeth grazed her lips. He shoved his hands up her sides, gathering her skirts around her hips and dancing his fingertips along the planes of her thighs.
Gods, he blinded her. Everything in her begged to be claimed by him—to sink under his skin and melt into his veins. She wanted to be the blood circulating through his heart, pulsing with every breath he took against her.
His fingertips grazed the underside of her breasts, teasing as if they had all the time in the world.
His voice was so low she felt it rather than heard it as he mumbled against her.
“I want you out of this dress, but you look so divine, it feels like a sin to remove it.”
Lunelle pushed the straps of her dress down so the corset still hugged her breasts, cupping them together in a way he struggled to pry his eyes from.
“Perhaps you can have it both ways,”
she murmured, taking his lips between hers and shoving his hands under her dress. Mirquios buried his mouth into her neck, working his fingers inside of her, drawing a constant string of moans from her throat as she clung to his back.
Her eyes closed as he worked faster, encouraged by the way her breath caught when he leaned forward and ground himself into her thigh.
“Please,”
she whispered, her hand pulling at his jacket.
“Do not stop, my king.”
“Certainly don’t stop on my account.”
Lunelle gasped as her eyes flew open, Arcas’s scoff from across the library yanking her from the edge of release. Mirquios pulled away from her, grasping her hips as he pushed her skirt back toward the floor.
“May we help you, Arcas?”
Mirquios did not turn toward him, still pressed into Lunelle’s side.
He directed his response to Lunelle.
“I was only coming to check on you. I imagine tonight has been difficult,”
Arcas said. He cleared his throat.
“For both of you.”
He folded his arms, perched against the bookshelf, his eyes locked on hers and hers alone.
“I‘ll come back later,”
he said quietly, turning to leave.
Mirquios squeezed Lunelle’s hip, her eyes still stuck on the prince. She glanced toward her king, the man who gave her so much, but was always willing to give her more. He’d said he wanted her to have everything she wanted—and she saw it in his gaze, he meant it. Even if she wanted a certain sullen prince.
“Stay,”
she whispered, her heart thundering in her chest at the vulnerability.
Mirquios exhaled beside her, his lips ticking up on a devilish grin.
“What?”
The prince’s onyx brows tucked toward one another.
Lunelle slid from Mirquios’s hold on her, patting his shoulder as she looked to him once more for assurance.
“Anything you want, my love,”
he said quietly.
She crossed the library, her bare feet padding against the lush rugs, unsure how to communicate what she wanted without spooking Arcas. But, as she drew closer to him, she saw the widened blacks of his eyes—heard the breath catch in his chest.
Some things—most things, when it came to Arcas—did not need to be verbalized.
She stood before him, his chest rising and falling a little quicker than it had a moment ago, and slipped the top of her dress to her waist.
Her intentions were clear, and Arcas had never quite been able to deny her what she wanted any more than Mirquios had. She let her eyes linger on his for a moment longer, and then it was as if all the strings in the air between them snapped and collapsed in on one another.
Arcas crashed into her, his fingers hungry to wrap around her flesh once more—to pinch, pull, and feel the weight of her. She looped her arms around his neck, enjoying the intoxicating duality of his nature as it rained over her.
He tasted every bit as poisonous as he always had, but somehow that venom living in his blood was less bitter, nearly tolerable after this evening. After what he’d given up for her.
For them.
His hands greedily snatched up every bit of skin she offered, all too aware this may be the last time he’d ever touch her.
And then there was the king. Mirquios’s strong hands circled her hips, pushing away at what remained of her dress and tugging the closures of her corset violently, setting her skin on fire as he pressed into her backside, his desire for her—for all of her, no matter what that meant—impossible to deny. He placed searing kisses on her bare shoulders, nipping at her skin.
The sharp pain grounded her, made her intensely aware of her body, and kept her mind from floating into the ether as Arcas moaned into her mouth.
She reached a hand back, stroking Mirquios through his pants as her tongue tangled with Arcas.
She burned alive, heaven and hell, her angel and her devil, both willing to do anything to make her sing their praises. Tomorrow would be painful—even if it all went to plan. But tonight, tonight, Lunelle was a queen to her two most loyal subjects.
She released Mirquios, only to arch her spine and shove her ass into his hands, begging for more pressure, more friction, more anything from him. The prince leaned his hips forward, following hers, the pressure of his want just as mind-melting as the king’s.
Arcas dropped his lips to her peaked breasts, laying praise against her impossibly soft skin. She wove a hand through his hair—black as night—and pulled gently as he grazed her with his teeth.
“My gods,”
Lunelle gasped as fingers wound their way down her back and between her legs—she wasn’t even sure who they belonged to.
She wasn’t sure who she belonged to.
Perhaps that was just it. She didn’t belong to either of them.
She belonged to herself.
And perhaps Pluto had a point—if she wanted it, who in the universe would blame her for taking it?
Mirquios kissed her thigh, nipping at her backside as he squeezed against her, rising from the floor and taking her hand. He led her to the sofa, sitting in the corner and pulling her into his lap, her back pressed to his strong chest as she settled between his legs.
Arcas followed, dropping to his knees before her, taking those long fingers of his and crawling them up her thighs. Lunelle pushed against his touch, her cries escalating as her king’s hands tickled her ribs and stroked the underside of her breasts, teasing her again.
“Is this where you want your prince?”
Mirquios asked, whispering into her ear before biting at the lobe.
“It’s where she needs me,”
Arcas whispered, tracing a blazing path from her knee to her hip, the cool air of the library sending goose flesh over her wet skin.
Lunelle reached up with one hand to caress Mirquios’s neck, tense beneath her touch as he worshipped her with his tongue. She twisted the other into Arcas’s midnight hair, slipping through her fingers like fine silk.
She pushed him into her as Mirquios pulled back on her thigh with a tight grip—opening her wider to Arcas’s torturously slow kiss. The room spun around her. She had to fight to keep her eyes open as the pleasure built between her legs—she did not want to forget a single second of what he looked like.
She pulled harder at his hair, earning a whimper from his throat, a sound that sent lightning through her spine as Mirquios pinched at her breasts. The sharp sensation combined with the prince’s mercilessly slow movements against her created such a delicious harmony in her stomach that she thought she might come undone right then and there.
Arcas clearly suspected the same, slowing his pace even more so he’d have an excuse to stay knelt before her, to earn whatever favor he could from such a divine woman.
“You’re holding back,”
the king whispered to her.
“Your silence is always a weapon, but its blade cuts deepest here. Let us hear you.”
The way his deep voice vibrated against her neck as he kneaded her body, sending wave after wave of pleasure, drew a high whine from her throat.
“Ah,”
Mirquios said, a low chuckle thrumming against her.
“The goddess speaks.”
Arcas increased his pace, adding a finger or two—she could hardly track the movements in and around her at this point—joining in his offering of praise. She unraveled quickly, swirling her hips against his mouth, drawing a low moan from her king as her hips created friction against his lap. She dug her hands deeper into Arcas’s scalp, whispering blessings over him as she tightened into a fraying knot, the threads of her shredding into glittering mist.
“Give him what he’s earned,”
Mirquios hummed, reaching his hand gently around her throat, squeezing just enough to send her body into orbit.
Lunelle thrashed against him, against both of them, the library’s shelves and walls falling away to dust as the world imploded, and she cried out.
She could feel everything and nothing. It was quiet in her mind for the first time in years. The prince’s lips widened into a grin against her thigh, snapping her from her bliss as her eyes found his.
“Is that a smile, Prince?”
Arcas leaned back on his heels, covering his smile as he wiped at his lips.
“Do not get used to it,”
he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
“I believe that is a challenge,”
Mirquios murmured against her, twitching against her lower back.
She sat up straighter, reaching for Arcas’s sapphire collar, pulling him to her, and weaved her tongue with his. She could taste herself on him, taste the desperation hidden behind that smirk of his, the need buried deep in his chest to be seen as more than second best.
Lunelle pulled at his buttons, his heart slamming behind them as she plucked each one away. He shoved his pants down to the ground as he climbed beside her onto the sofa and leaned back at her insistence.
As Lunelle crawled over him, he lifted his head toward Mirquios with an uncertain wobble to his lips.
“And you’re content to wait your turn?”
Mirquios tossed his head back in a laugh.
“Please, Arcas, I know what it is to be inside Lunelle. I won’t have to wait long.”
She shot him an appreciative smile as she rolled her hips over the hard length of the prince, a feeling she had not dared to allow herself to miss. But here, she could not only admit it to herself, she could revel in it.
She sank slowly, and they both knew that would not do. Arcas’s hands roamed her stomach, her hips, anywhere he could grasp as she set a brutal pace. When it had been just them, in the dark of night, where she swore him to silence, she’d wished desperately to be able to tell him how much she saw within him. How much bigger she thought he could be if he just gave up his hold on what he thought he wanted.
He leaned forward, pulling her body flush to his, the shift in their alignment changing the tenor of the sounds between their mouths into something deeper, something less restrained.
“Tell me,”
he whispered into her ear. It was thrilling—knowing Mirquios heard him. The king’s hand drifted over his lap, stroking himself as Lunelle lost control of her rhythm, bucking wildly against Arcas’s hold.
“What pleases you more, goddess, knowing that you are feared by two of the most powerful men in the courts, or that you are loved by them?”
Lunelle gasped against him, driving her hands into his hair, pulling his lips to hers to stop him from finishing her with words alone.
The weight behind her shifted on the sofa, a third set of clothes hitting the floor. Lunelle was vaguely aware of the sound of her king’s breath quickening behind her as he slid between Arcas’s legs and pulled her back toward him.
“I did not hear your answer,”
he said softly into her neck, weaving his fingers into her hair and adding another layer of pleasure to the overwhelm in her spine. He pressed into her back, reminding her that she was still his, too, as he wrapped a hand around her hip and found her center, slipping his fingers between them.
Lunelle’s answer only came in the form of a guttural groan as she shook in his arms, the prince’s lips pulling tight as he moved to push her off, rolling to the side to finish himself. She reached for him, hardly able to see, but wanted to be the one to bring him over the edge.
As he convulsed in her hand, she found his eyes, holding them for much longer than she’d allowed herself to before.
“Loved,”
Lunelle finally said.
“If I must choose.”
Arcas leaned forward, pulling her into a soft kiss, a tenderness she did not expect him capable of.
“I suppose it is good that you don’t have to, then.”
He lay back, breathing hard against the sofa, the pale blue skin of his ribs rippling like the sea.
She backed up a breath and was greeted by her king, patiently waiting, eager for her to bestow some grace his way. He rocked forward on his knees, pushing against her from behind slowly, agonizingly slowly, peppering her sweat-slicked shoulders with languid kisses.
She widened her knees over his lap, straddling him and pitching forward, into the prince’s arms as he rose to mirror her. Mirquios ran his hand down her spine, tracing the delicate rivers and valleys between vertebrae, giving her a second to adjust to someone else, to catch her breath before he took it away once more.
He stopped his hand at her tailbone, gently squeezing her hip as he watched her take him in, watched how they fit so keenly together, in a way no one else ever would.
Lunelle inhaled slowly as he claimed his space, relishing the feeling of the Tether between them sparkling and pulsing.
“Tell me how you want it, love,”
he whispered, Arcas watching her face as her eyes glazed over.
“Slow,”
she breathed, rocking her hips forward just slightly, just to get her head around where she ended and he began.
“Torture me.”
Mirquios took his time moving within her, making sure she felt every piece of him, body and soul, as they swirled into one being, one entity.
Arcas watched as her breasts swayed back and forth, her eyes closed against her cheeks, still flush with the red of the release he’d given her. She felt his eyes on her as she told herself to wait, to take her time with Mirquios, before bringing him back into her space.
“Do you want more?”
Mirquios whispered behind her.
Lunelle whined, her throat taut with a plea she could not verbalize.
“What do you want, Lunelle?”
he whispered into her ear, moving torturously slowly within her.
“Do you want me to stay soft and slow? Or do you want me to rouse death herself within you?”
Lunelle shook her head, her eyes opening and falling over Arcas, who stared at her with his lips parted as if about to answer for her.
“Say it, Princess. I can’t give you what you won’t ask for.”
He gripped her shoulder in his strong hands, his fingers stroking her neck as he hovered, waiting for her answer. She wiggled her hips against him, begging him to enter her again, but he resisted.
“Not until you tell me what you want.”
Lunelle groaned, unwilling to wait a second longer for him to unleash within her.
“I want you to take me. I want to be the only thing you pray to in this lifetime and all the rest.”
Lunelle leaned back, capturing his lips with hers as he tightened his grip on her, giving her everything she asked for and more. He pushed her forward, unable to hold his pace and hers at the same time.
All of the moments they never got, all of the moments they might not get, collapsed between them right there, right then. She landed on her hands, her face a breath away from Arcas, who stared with those deeply troubled eyes with a clarity she knew reflected back in her own.
This was enough for her.
This was more than enough for her.
“Touch me,”
Lunelle pleaded, reaching her fingertips forward and grabbing the prince by his chin.
“I need to feel you, too.”
Arcas scrambled forward at her plea, his hands capturing her breasts and pushing her back toward the king, claiming her lips as she cried out into his mouth. Mirquios groaned behind her, his grip turning her pale skin red. He looked over her shoulder at the prince.
“Your mouth is better than your hands,”
he ground out, nearly at his own release. Arcas dropped his lips to her breasts without hesitation, pulling at her flesh with his teeth. One hand came up to his neck, squeezing as she fought for breath against his lips.
Lunelle shattered against them, the king responding to her choked cry with his own string of Mercurian curses, hissing against her shoulder. He panted as he leaned over her, Arcas stroking her hair as she spiraled out of her body and back in, something new buried within her Soul—something made of dark and light.
Arcas fell back onto the sofa as Mirquios cradled her, her breath coming in short bursts. The prince sighed. His grin returned.
“If I am consumed by some hellish beast in the Nether tomorrow, that will have been worth it.”
Lunelle laughed, clutching at the king’s thighs, attempting to bring herself back to their plane of existence. Arcas rose, pulling his clothes from the floor.
“Well, tomorrow just got a little more complicated,”
Mirquios sighed.
“Perhaps it just got much simpler,”
Arcas said, pulling on his trousers.
Lunelle straightened, searching his gaze as it fell somewhere far off.
“How do you mean?”
The prince worked on the buttons on his shirt.
“I never wanted your throne, starling. I only ever wanted you.”
Lunelle’s heart lurched, that small space in her chest that she’d reserved only for him suddenly taking up a much larger parcel of her lungs.
“Perhaps there is a world where we can all get what we want.”
Mirquios held the prince’s eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.
Lunelle giggled.
“I fear you’ll feel differently once you’ve faced your Shadow.”
His lips curled into a sly smile.
“I suppose only time will tell.”
He leaned forward, pressing one final kiss to Lunelle’s lips.
“You should get some rest. You both should.”
Lunelle nodded, feeling so very different from how she had just an hour ago—almost hopeful.
Arcas left the library, leaving only her king, still buried inside her, as they lay on the sofa together, unable to give up on what they thought could be their final evening together.
Mirquios smiled against her neck, enjoying their shared weight as his breath slowed and his heart returned to its typical racing rhythm when she was near.
“We will have many more moments,”
he whispered.
“I promise you.”