Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
WINDSONG
T he throne room doors groaned shut behind them.
They walked shoulder to shoulder, still dripping, across the thickly veined marble floor. Six guards lined the perimeter like statues, their eyes fixed on nothing. The light off the flickering torches illuminated the royal insignia–a falcon, open-mouthed and screeching–on their red capes.
There had been no audience when Sage, Bastian, Glenton, and the princess dragged their waterlogged bodies onto the beach. Just one stationed guard waiting to remove their cuffs and direct them to the king. Wordlessly, they followed the male inside, through hallways that were normally full; now empty.
Sage kept count of the few fae she did spot. All servants, they darted between rooms as the group passed. No one in their small traveling party said a thing. As if they all recognized it was in everyone’s best interest to remain silent, and watchful. Something was amiss.
Seriously amiss.
They stopped in front of the king, stoic on the throne. Venderson stood to his left .
They bowed in unison. When they straightened, Calian addressed them as one, “Congratulations.”
It was one word. But it conveyed a lot. There was no emotion in it. No relief his daughter had survived. No inkling of pride…
Nothing.
The others apparently felt it, too. Sage could tell by how bone-chillingly still her companions went at her side. Even the princess’s breathing went shallow, all previous defiance gone.
“Though I did expect five to return,” the king said. Then looked at each of them one by one. “Who killed the tourney host?”
“Ivar did,” the princess replied. “Right before I drove my blade through his skull.”
Both the king and Venderson stared at her.
“Ivar intended to break the rules, Your Majesty,” Glenton spoke up. “The host was killed when he tried to stop him.”
Venderson leaned in and said something to the king. Calian nodded.
The King’s Authority adjusted his posture and announced, “The queen is not feeling well. Because of this, the final tourney will commence the day after tomorrow.”
The princess opened her mouth to speak. The king cut her off. “Tomorrow a ball will be held in your honor.” He concluded, “You are dismissed.”
B astian reached over his shoulder, grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked it over his head.
He tossed it beside his boots and walked to the oversized standalone tub in the middle of his bathroom. Reaching for the chain positioned directly over the bath, he gave it a tug. Hot water poured from the ceiling.
He looked into the mirror as steam began filling the space. His hair was still damp from the ocean, creating loose curls across his forehead and around the nape of his neck. A few drops of dried blood had survived the swim back. It freckled his cheeks, like the natural ones that resided on the bridge of Sage’s nose.
His reflection became hazy, the fog defiling the glass with its breath, stealing his identity. Bastian tugged off his pants and stepped into the deep tub. The hot water kneaded and soothed his tight muscles as he relaxed back, resting his neck over the rim.
Eyes closing, Bastian reached blindly for the glass he’d set on edge when he first entered. His synthetic dinner. He brought the glass to his lips and forced down the liquid.
Despite the godawful taste, his body immediately reacted to the nourishment. His skin prickled with sensation, and the lull in his mind cleared. The weariness that clung to him lifted.
He needed to get cleaned up, locate Chogan, or any of the Warborn, and find out what was happening with the king. The ruler Bastian had met when he first arrived was not the same male sitting on that throne thirty minutes ago.
Something strange was going on. It had every fiber of his being on edge. If he hadn’t promised to look after the princess, he would be long gone from this place.
Bastian downed the last of the glass, set it back on the lip of the tub, and sighed. That wasn’t entirely true. Even without Eirik asking for his assistance, he might still remain here.
For her…
Just like that, every detail rushing to the forefront of his mind, she was all around him . Her smile, her smell, the husky tone of her voice, the sway of her walk, the light that shone like fire around those emerald-green eyes…
His body stirred awake, some deep and primal part of him pushing past all reason. Only need. His hand moved under the warm water, his fingers skimming over the plane of his stomach.
He inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed over the width of his head and he took hold of himself. He was surprised how eager his body was. Slowly, he stroked his hand down his length, jaw hinging open when he reached the base. He broke the surface of the water, his cock strong and flushed.
Bastian rolled his neck back over the rim of the tub as he repeated the movement, slowly at first, then faster. The water slapped against his flesh. His balls grew tight, his thighs strained, and his legs braced against the side of the porcelain. He was close. So close.
The sensation shifted, and a different type of heat surrounded him. He closed his eyes as his body’s desire shut down all thought. He needed this release, needed to lose himself for a few minutes. Up, down, over, around. The water licked and molded to him, the friction of skin on skin the perfect torture as he gripped tighter.
His muscles shook. His legs pushed wider, making room…
His eyes flew open. His hands were at his sides. He looked down.
A figment of his imagination…
Black hair rippled over creamy slim shoulders as the female between his legs bobbed her head. Up and down, she worked him, her slick mouth devouring every inch of him. Her cheeks hollowed out, eyes downcast, lips swollen, she lapped and sucked him.
He realized the cage too late. When he tried to push away. Tried to speak. Tried to yell.
He was paralyzed from stopping this, his body fully complicit in the betrayal of his mind. Long fingers spread over his stomach, crawled up his chest like a spider, as her other hand drifted lower beneath the water and cupped his balls.
“Stop!” he screamed. But no sound came out of his mouth.
She squeezed, digging her nails into his scrotum. Pleasure tinged with warning. Bastian stared, horrified, as his hips rocked up in time with her assault. She took him all the way down, the constriction of her throat a hot vise-like grip around his cock.
Stop…
His body jerked and his fists balled at his sides. He was going to come. He was helpless to stop this.
She looked up.
Dead, black, soulless eyes locked onto his.
The thing released him. Then it rose up, water cascading over her unnaturally white, skeletal body. She straddled his waist and forced his legs together, staring down at him. Then she slowly lowered and icy cold water dripped onto his chest.
She was going to fuck him with her body now. She was going to force his orgasm inside of her. “No!”
The crash of his bedroom door being ripped from it hinges shattered the silence. Then the bathroom door burst open. Bastian’s head jerked in its direction.
Sage stood under the archway.
The blast that came next sent a sonic wave washing over them. The screech from the demon on top of him was unlike anything he had ever heard before. Agonizing, as if it had been flayed alive.
Then it was gone.
As if it had never existed at all. Swept away by a hurricane force.
He looked to his savior. Only a few strands of hair drifted past her face on the trailing breeze, the last breath of the magic she had wielded– Storm Magic…
That’s when Bastian knew.
It had been her.
The day in the Arrows. The gust of wind that had swept the creature off him in the lake. Those green eyes with the fiery gold ring…
That had been Sage.
B astian stared into her eyes from across the room with a ferocity that stole the breath from Sage’s lungs.
“Are you…” Her words broke, crumbled on her lips, and fell away.
She wanted to run to him. Wanted to take away the hurt she felt in his pleas.
His silent pleas.. .
That had sent her racing for this room, willing to sacrifice everything, give all of it up if it meant…
If it meant saving him.
“It was you,” he said, his voice rough and quiet. “That day in the Arrows.”
Sage could only nod. Her throat had closed up.
Pounding footfall down the hall jolted her into action. She grabbed a towel and threw it at him. “Follow my lead.”
Sage ripped open her shirt at the top, buttons flying. Her heartrate wouldn’t be faked. She turned toward the door just as the guard rounded it into the bedroom.
She gasped and clutched the neckline of her disheveled shirt. “What are you doing in here?”
The guard’s eyes grew round and his cheeks grew red. “I heard a scream.”
Sage willed a blush to rise and cast down her eyes, feigning embarrassment. “I…we…well, you see…”
“She gets rather loud.” Bastian’s cool, matter-of-fact voice came from behind her. “Apologies for the alarm.”
Whatever look was on Bastian’s face sent the guard retreating a step. “My mistake,” the male said and took another healthy step toward the door.
Bastian stepped around her, a towel draped over his naked shoulder, pants unbuttoned. “I would appreciate your discretion.” He didn’t break his stalking stride.
The guard matched each of Bastian’s steps with one of his own in the opposite direction. Step by step. From his new position in the hall, the male said, “I saw nothing. I heard nothing.”
Bastian shut the door.
But he didn’t turn from it. Didn’t lower his hand on the aged wood. He just stood there, muscled back still wet from the bath.
Those muscles shifted under his tan skin as he slowly bent his head. “Thank you.”
The cracking inside her chest was so definitive, so complete, Sage wondered if he could hear it. She looked around, anywhere but to the beautiful man standing before her.
Action! They needed a plan. “You’re not safe here,” she blurted. “You need to get back to your realm.”
“And you are?” He turned from the door, the movement fluid, limned with restrained power. “Safe here.”
“Whatever this darkness is, it hasn’t been able to touch me,” she answered honestly. “It seems to want something more from you.”
His eyes met hers, probing, intent. “How did you know I needed help?”
Sage swallowed hard. “I heard you.”
“I couldn’t form words.”
“I heard them…” She held his intense gaze. “…the ones in your head.”
He didn’t speak. Didn’t look like he was even breathing, as he took a step toward her. Then another. Until he was standing right in front of her, so close they could share a breath. “Who are you, Sage Kerrington?”
A million lies and half-truths landed on her tongue, awaiting her command. It would be as easy as a smile to select one. Her life had been constructed upon them. Her existence depended on them.
Still, looking up at this male here and now, she wasn’t sure her training would hold up. She wasn’t sure she wanted it to. Her lips parted. To say what, she didn’t know.
She didn’t get the chance. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. Not quite a kiss.
A request.
She kissed him gently, carefully, even as every nerve in her body sparked to life–a lightning strike preparing to spear for earth. He deepened the kiss and Sage opened to him, offering everything. Secrets and promises, who she was, who she might be… to him…
The universe fell away, only to be born again in the divinity of his kiss.
Bastian broke the spell, pulling back, his taste lingering on her lips. “Don’t reply,” he whispered, his eyes bright with wonder. “I have my answer.”
D etecting movement down the hall, Bastian reluctantly stepped back, feeling the absence of her proximity like a physical void. “We’re about to have company.”
Sage’s brow arched in question. Then she too heard it, a second later. The sounds of merriment careening their way.
Bastian wordlessly held up two fingers. Though, by the sounds, it could have been a circus. Sage canted her lovely head when something connected with the wall.
A satisfied “Huzzah!” followed.
Bastian stifled a laugh.
Sage looked quizzically at him and a grin spread as she mouthed, “She’s sloshed!”
“And clearly taken with all Earth’s regional phrases,” he said. “We have my brother to thank for that I’m afraid.”
“Who’s with her?”
Bastian listened as the princess chastised, “Oh, stop scowling.” She chortled, “Or your face will stick like that.”
It was hard to tell by the stealth with which the princess’s companion moved beside her, though that narrowed down the possibilities. The exasperated, near silent huff, revealed his identity.
“Glenton.” Bastian moved toward the door. “Are you okay with being found in here?”
“Alliances are often made in the days leading up to a final group tournament.” She nodded. “That’s our excuse if we get pressed.”
Bastian opened the door before the princess’s fist could pound on it.
Caught off guard, she stumbled into his chamber. Her face brightened and she squealed, “Sage’e’wage’e!”
Glenton stood unamused in the threshold. “Apparently we’re celebrating.” He stepped around Bastian. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, and neither do you.”
Bastian did a quick glance down the hall, then closed the door. The princess was already by the sidebar when he turned to the others. “Red or white?” She held up both.
Sage grinned and said, “Red.”
The princess beamed and poured. Apparently, everyone was getting red. Bastian leaned into the wall. Glenton took a seat in a chair. Sage chose the bed.
Her Royal Highness handed them each a glass and thrust out hers for toasting. “To us!”
They all raised a glass and repeated after her. Satisfied, the princess looked around Bastian’s chamber and declared, “I’ve always hated this wing.”
“Oh?” Bastian swirled the cabernet. “Any particular reason?” He took a sip.
“It’s where my father puts everyone he wants dead.”
Bastian nearly choked.
“Fear not, though,” she proclaimed loudly. Too loudly. “He knows better than to kill one of the Chosen Ones. You’re safe. He just fears you.” The princess shrugged and rocked a hip into the bar top. “Though the atmosphere is quite dire.” She made a face, even as her gaze cut to the right corner of his room. When he followed the look, he noticed it. Just above an oil painting. Observed. “Let’s go somewhere more uplifting. More befitting our mood.”
She didn’t wait for agreement. Just snagged the bottle of white and headed for the door. They had no choice but to follow.
Once in the hall, Sage inquired, “Where is the prince tonight?”
Even though Bastian knew it was a leading question, an obvious one, it still raked daggers across his nerves. He pushed down the unwanted emotion and focused on the princess leading the way beside Glenton.
The princess replied, “Father left him in charge for the night.”
“The king is preoccupied?” Sage ventured .
“He took Venderson and left for some important meeting on the northern border. Of course, he never trusts me to hold down the fort.” The princess flipped an annoyed hand through the air. “Patriarchy, and other such bullshit.”
Sage cut her gaze to Bastian. He asked, “Did the Warborn accompany them?”
The princess uncorked the bottle of white with her teeth. “He sent them to the southern border during our swim to Chelseea Rock, apparently.” She took a swig and handed the bottle to Glenton. “Some trouble with the rebels.”
The princess spun in place and continued backward down the hall, spreading her arms wide. “The castle is ours tonight!” The clarity of her chocolate eyes bore into them as she winked and added, “Let’s not squander the opportunity.”