CHAPTER 17 #2
I let him explore my mouth with his tongue, savoring the minty taste that always lingers on his breath. Sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, my hand roams down his length, stroking until he lets out a low, visceral groan. My core throbs from the sound, and wetness slides down my thighs.
I track his movements, eyes never leaving his as he lowers himself to his knees.
A king, kneeling.
A captor, kneeling before his captive.
His shadows have swallowed the room, curling around us like a wall, leaving only the sconces glowing.
It’s just enough light for me to see what he’s doing to me.
And it. Is. Electrifying. My traitorous body is doing exactly what it wants, giving in to an attraction I’ve always felt around him, no matter how hard I’ve fought it.
“You hate me, Lyra?” he whispers the words as his mouth trails kisses up my thigh, closer to that spot…
divine goddess, I’m going to die right here.
His eyes never leave mine as he drags his tongue along my inner thighs, higher, tasting the evidence of what he’s doing to me.
My core pulses with every touch, every deliberate drag of his tongue.
“Thorin—” I plead, but he draws back, eyes searching mine.
His knuckles trail slowly up my thigh, and goosebumps rise in their wake.
“You’re glowing for me, muya mivanti.”
I look down and notice he’s right—my magic has surfaced in response to his shadows and my emotions, my skin radiating a golden hue that his shadows gently slide around. He stands in a quick motion, pressing me against the stone wall.
“You. Are. Mine.” He crashes his mouth against mine, kissing me so deeply I taste myself on his tongue before he finally pulls away. His hands remain on my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks as though he has every right to touch me. I hate that I don’t shove him away.
His silver eyes search mine with shameless greed, drinking me in like I’ve already surrendered. Thorin is right—I am a liar. Because I know, eventually, I will surrender.
“Meet me in the Sacred Gardens tomorrow morning.” He eases back, leaving the space between us aching with his absence. A smug smile curves one corner of his mouth.
His words still hang in the air as the shadows around him pull inward, curling back into his skin like darkness being reclaimed by the night.
For a moment, his eyes hold mine—that same searching look from before, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of my face.
I want to look away, but I physically can’t.
Then the darkness swallows him whole.
I press a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow, and the desire burning through me to disappear.
It doesn’t. I’m completely exposed in this nightgown, my cheeks burning, and I curse myself for every second I stood there and let him consume me.
Then I turn and race back toward my chambers before anyone can witness the one thing I refuse to admit.
Thorin has gotten under my skin.
* * *
The Sacred Gardens look no kinder beneath morning light than they do beneath the gray wash of evening.
If anything, the bleak stretch of day makes the ruin more obvious.
The dead vines twisted around the marble arches show every crack in their brittle stems. The blackened trees look sharper against the sky, their branches reaching upward as if they're still begging for mercy from gods who stopped listening centuries ago.
It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.
A dead garden is hardly the worst thing I’ve seen in my life.
I’ve walked past burned homes and abandoned villages, seen fields that split apart from drought and children whose cheeks hollowed long before they had any right to know hunger.
I’ve lived in Elvora, where everyone carries misery like a family heirloom.
By all accounts, I should be quite skilled at looking at broken things without letting them crawl beneath my skin.
Yet every time I step through the silver gates, this place reaches for something inside me.
Not with hands, or magic I can name. It is more like grief finding an old wound, pressing at the tender edges until I remember it is there.
The garden feels wrong in a way death alone does not explain.
Death has a stillness to it. A finality.
This place has an absence that feels like theft.
As if life did not fade here naturally but was taken by force, pulled from the roots and wrung dry until even the soil forgot what it was meant to hold.
And there, in the middle of all that ruin, stands the tree I brought back—partially.
It’s still small in its defiance. Only a few branches have softened from black to green, and the leaves clinging to them are tiny, vibrant green things that look too fragile for this place.
I slow when I pass it. I do that every time, because I’m shocked that I was able to revive this dead sanctuary that everyone in the palace is obsessed with.
I feel the familiar pull that I know is Thorin.
“Admiring your work, Lady Tarethyn?”
His voice comes from behind me, low and smooth, and I refuse to startle on principle alone.
At this point, the man appears from shadows often enough that jumping would only encourage him.
I turn slowly, giving myself enough time to arrange my face into something bored and neutral, which would be easier if I didn’t know how his lips felt on mine, or how his body felt pressed against mine.
I push the memories from last night away, but doubt they’ll stay there for long.
He stands beneath one of the arches with his hands in his pockets, dressed in black as always, looking exceptionally handsome.
I won’t tell him that, though. I won’t tell him that I’m still affected by what he did to me last night, and that I haven’t stopped thinking about him.
I know he feels it, though. I know because his shadows reach out to me, roaming my skin as if they remember, too.
“I made it grow a little,” I say, lifting my chin toward the tree as a small smile crosses my lips. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting much to come of this.”
His gaze moves briefly to the leaves, then back to me. “You sound proud.”
“What if I am? I feel like this is a major turning point for this garden.”
“You should be proud. You did this, all on your own.”
He pushes away from the arch and walks toward me, stopping beside the tree. His fingers brush mine where my hand rests against the bark. It’s barely a touch, but neither of us moves away. When I look up, he’s already watching me.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
His expression remains infuriatingly calm. “I am pleased that you have begun admitting what you can do.”
A small smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it. “You’re enjoying this far too much, Thorin.”
“Perhaps.”
I look back at the tree. “Why is it so important to you?”
His fingers go still against mine. There it is—silence. Exactly as I thought. Bringing dead earth back to life is easier than pulling answers from anyone in this palace. It’s infuriating.
“It is a… useful tree, same as the Sacred Gardens.”
I pull my hand away. “Useful to whom?” I ask, arching a brow.
He doesn’t answer or react, and I didn’t expect him to. Thorin doesn’t react like ordinary men. He doesn’t fidget or scramble to rearrange his face when I strike something true. He simply becomes quiet before he decides whether he will respond or not.
“It is important to Solaris,” he says at last.
The answer is simple enough. The sort of answer a king should give while standing in the Sacred Gardens. But it’s not enough—not when it’s my magic he wants to use to make it useful.
Before I can decide whether to press the matter, the sound of boots on stone draws my attention.
Mazelle waits near the training circle, eyebrow raised as she watches our interaction.
Beside her stands Onyx, arms folded over his chest, jaw already tight as if he’s arrived irritated and fully intends to remain that way.
The sight of Onyx sends a small, traitorous rush of relief through me but then it stops—and I remember that the kiss that Onyx and I shared could never compare to the primal pull I seem to have unwillingly formed with Thorin.
I care for Onyx, of course I do. But with Thorin—it’s different.
I dislike everything about him. But it's more complicated than that. It’s much more complicated than I care to think about, so I redirect my thoughts immediately. Not quickly enough, though.