CHAPTER 17
Imanage to get out of Mazelle's training for a few days by claiming I’m too sore to move.
It wasn't entirely a lie—my body ached after she spent the better part of a day introducing me to the ground, but Onyx watched the cuts and bruises disappear before his eyes. He knew I could heal myself. He didn’t report that to her, though.
That night, after Talia and Grace scrubbed the sand from my hair, fussed over every bruise, and tucked me into bed like I was made of glass, I did exactly what Thorin had taught me weeks ago.
I closed my eyes, found the places that still hurt, and let my magic flow through them.
One by one, the aches disappeared until there was nothing left but exhaustion.
The next morning, I lied again. I told Mazelle I could barely walk. I think my performance was entirely believable. She didn’t look convinced, but she let me have a few days off.
I spent the following days hiding away in my chambers with scrolls and texts from the archives, parchment, and charcoal, enjoying the quiet for the first time since arriving at the palace. But tonight…
Tonight I’m going to do exactly what they don’t want me to do—I’m going to roam the palace.
I slip out of my chambers, silently thanking Illurine there aren’t guards waiting outside.
I have no destination in mind, only the overwhelming desire to be somewhere else.
I don’t even bother changing, still wearing one of the thin nightgowns from the armoire.
At this hour, I don’t expect to run into anyone.
I'm halfway down the corridor when a familiar chill snakes across my skin. My magic stirs instantly and I turn, looking into a familiar pair of stormy gray eyes.
Thorin.
“Hmm.” He studies me thoughtfully. “I was told you were too sore to walk, and yet... here you are, practically running. Trying to escape, muya mivanti?”
There it is again. Muya mivanti. Whatever it means.
He keeps saying it as though I’m supposed to understand.
Maybe he’s insulting me in Old Andari. Maybe it’s some ancient curse.
Either way, I’m not about to ask. That would require admitting that I’m curious, and I’d rather throw myself back into a training session with Mazelle than give him that satisfaction.
Besides, I have far more immediate concerns.
He caught me.
Which means there’s a very real chance I’m about to be dragged back to the Sacred Gardens and forced to play gardener again.
Gods, no.
My gaze is locked on his when his eyes travel over me, so slowly that I become painfully aware of my appearance.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I remember what I’m wearing.
The ivory nightgown is made of the softest material I've ever touched, its lace-trimmed bodice slipping low across my shoulders while the whisper-thin fabric falls almost weightlessly to the floor.
It was certainly not designed for modesty.
And I chose tonight of all nights to wander the palace in it.
“I haven’t seen you in days. I thought you died and I missed the royal funeral.” I break the silence with humor that isn’t as well thought out as my usual comebacks. It was actually pretty awful.
Gods, I’m in trouble.
“How very bleak of you. I’m alive and well, but thank you for your misplaced concern.”
His gaze settles on mine again. “Unless you’ve missed my presence?”
His lips tug at the corners, and there it is again. I can’t stop my eyes from roaming his face, sliding over the rest of him before returning to those smoky gray eyes.
“Thorin—”
“If you are about to bring up the past, don’t. It does not matter.”
“You said I was yours,” I challenge.
“Because you are.”
“You can’t simply claim people, Thorin. That’s not how life works.”
“That is how I work, Lyra.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course it is. You’re overly arrogant, do you know that?”
His expression softens. “I think you misunderstand me.”
That stops me. What is there to misunderstand?
Thorin steps closer, but there’s nothing commanding about the movement this time. His hand rises slowly, giving me every opportunity to move away, before his fingers catch a loose strand of hair near my cheek.
“I do not think you belong to me because I am your king.”
He tucks the strand behind my ear and my breath catches.
“I think you belong with me because every time you leave a room, I find myself waiting for you to return.”
For once, I have absolutely nothing to say.
His thumb brushes once across my cheek. “And considering how exhausting I find you, that has become particularly inconvenient.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I don’t want to laugh at things he says. I don’t want to feel warmth stir where his hands touch—but I do. I bite my lip searching for something, anything, to say.
There it is again—that smile. It’s small this time, but real. The bastard likes seeing me flustered. Goddess divine. What is he doing to me?
His smile fades as his eyes drop to my mouth, and the air between us shifts. I know I should step away, but I don’t. His shadows curl around us then, blocking the corridor from view.
His hand comes up behind my neck, fingers splaying as they slide into my hair.
He massages my scalp slowly and my neck arches on its own, a moan slipping past my lips before I can stop it.
His eyes darken as he steps closer to me.
We’re so close I can feel his breath on mine as he runs his fingers through my hair.
His gaze never breaks from mine, burning into me with an intensity that sends a shiver through my body.
His shadows caress me now, sliding up and down my body, and a tremor moves through me as I lean into them.
They’re like air until I move—then they have form, as if they could hold me in place.
He presses his nose to the nape of my neck, firm but gentle, inhaling my scent.
The feel of his strong hands pinching my hardening nipples sends heat racing to my core as warmth pools in my lace undergarment.
His hands move to the slit in my nightgown as he trails his fingers up my thigh, grabbing my waist with one hand as he keeps the other placed firmly around my neck.
Lower. I want his hands to go lower so badly that the ache from my core is nearly killing me.
“You are always lying to yourself, Lyra. You say you are not mine, but I can feel how badly you want me.”
Gods, I hate him. Or I don’t. I honestly don’t know anymore—my mind, body, and magic are all in open disagreement tonight.
“There, please,” I beg, panting from the intensity of his touch. My body is practically vibrating with anticipation. His hand skims my center and I let out a sharp exhale. My eyes roll back as he cups my face, his mouth hovering over mine.
“Look. At. Me.”
I do and every sensible thought slips quietly from my mind.
I want him so badly, and he seems to read the desire on my face because he dips his hand into my lace undergarment, cupping my sex.
I almost cry out but his shadows cover my mouth as they continue their gentle caress against my skin.
Thorin stares into my eyes, asking a question that I answer with a nod.
His finger glides through my slick-coated folds and I clench around him as he finds that spot, gasping at the sensation. He hooks his finger and I see stars—real stars, bursting behind my irises. His fingers work slowly, expertly, until the pressure mounting in my belly becomes almost unbearable.
He slips his hand out of my lace and holds his glistening finger between our faces. The scent of my arousal fills the air. He sniffs and lets out a low, primal growl, a sound that almost drives me to complete madness.
“As I said, you are a liar,” he whispers, and I track every movement as he places the slick finger into his mouth, groaning with satisfaction. His eyes flash pure silver, and a helpless moan escapes me as the space between us hums with magic.
Goddess divine, I won’t survive the night.
My eyes close as he brings the finger to my mouth. I don’t know what the fuck my body is doing but I open my mouth, letting him in as I suck my arousal off of his finger. A satisfied rumble sounds low in his throat as his hands drop to my waist, holding me in place.
“Lyra.” My name leaves his lips like a warning, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s warning himself more than me.
I clench my thighs tight, feeling his length hardening as he presses into me, sending shockwaves throughout my entire body. I let my head roll to the side, baring my neck as he kisses it, tender bites trailing in his wake.
“I hate you, Thorin,” I breathe, lying to myself and my body.
“Then act like it,” he growls, fisting my curls as he cups my sex again. The moan that escapes me is so feral and explosive I almost come undone.
I want him so badly that I’m probably going to let him fuck me right here, in the middle of the corridor. I’ve lost all common sense, and I. Don’t. Care.
“Say it again,” he breathes against my neck. It sends a shiver through me, straight to my core.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but the emotion behind it isn’t there. It’s lost its usual intensity tonight.
“I want you to hear yourself. That’s what you sound like when you’re lying.”
I look at him, mouth parted slightly, and damn it, I can't help but stare into those eyes—silently urging him to do more than tease.
“You kissed my Captain, muya quenati.” A simple statement.
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly.
“Never do that again.” His shadows coil tighter around my waist, and the gesture is so possessive and primal that I gasp.
Before I can respond, he seals my mouth with his, and color explodes behind my eyes. Gods, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him. It’s as if his body already knows me, knows exactly what I need—and gods, I hate how much I don’t hate that.