21. The Prince Deserves a Medal
Chapter 21
The Prince Deserves a Medal
CHARMING
C inder wheels around to face me in the hall outside our rooms, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with a mix of anger and lingering arousal. “Five times? At the table? Are you insane?” she hisses, her eyes narrowing to violet slits. Her chest heaves with each breath, straining against the confines of her gown in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch.
To say she walked funny out of dinner is an understatement.
When my mother commented on her strange gait, Cinder simply grumbled, “Back problems.”
“Hmm.” I’m somewhat disappointed by her number. “And here I thought I got you to come six times. Maybe I mistook one of those for aftershocks.”
“You sadistic asshole,” she hisses with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, baby, say it slow, and maybe step on my balls while you do.”
The thing is, I mean it.
She wasn’t the only one walking funny out of that dinner. Playing with her had been the most fun I’d had in I don’t know how long. And there was that time with four of us in a kiddy pool of Jell-O.
Sure, the gelatinous orgy had been fun, but compared to this, it was a surface-level kind of fun that depended on the novelty of the situation rather than the actual sexual play.
But when Cinder put on the vibrating panties, fearless and defiant in the face of my challenge, something pinched in my chest. It was like a wild animal allowed me to put reins over its head, though we both knew she was the one who was truly in control. She could have stopped it at any time.
As much as she wanted to blame me for turning her inside out again and again, I knew she enjoyed it. The thrill of being caught, the way she masterfully controlled her expressions and reactions so those around us wouldn’t suspect a thing. . . it washed over me in thrilling tingles again and again.
While everyone else had been oblivious, I was so horribly, completely in tune with each twitch, tiny gasp, and eyelid flutter. It was like sitting next to a bomb I was desperate to make go off.
I thought I was the reckless type before.
Now I know my previous antics were born of boredom and a hollowness I’d been trying to fill.
This is different. Interacting with my human bride sparks something inside of me, something truly alive. Cinder makes me want to raze everything to the ground just to break her eternally placid expression for a blink, a tiny curve of her perfect lips, or to earn a sharp inhale.
Cinder, usually so unflappable and in control, slowly coming undone by the buttons in my hand. The way she gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white with strain. . . the barely stifled gasps and shivers that rippled through her body. . . the accusatory glares she shot me, tinged with equal parts frustration and desire. . .
Even before our tryst at the table, I suspected Cinder of being a master of concealment. The way her face gives nothing away, constantly exuding an almost bored disinterest. I wanted to see if it was a natural expression or something she’d schooled in herself.
Now I know the truth. It’s a mask she wears, just like I have mine.
I got a glimpse beneath that tough exterior and caught the flicker of vulnerability, a hint of the passion she keeps so carefully guarded. Each time I increased the intensity of the vibrations I watched her fight to maintain composure, her breath hitching and her eyes fluttering closed as she battled the rising tide of sensation.
The true Cinder threatened to break out and she was so much more powerful, so much more. . . everything.
I didn’t realize how handy those panties would be until she got so wound up, I feared she might do something rash and explosive in trying to find out what happened to her father. There is a difference between needling and pushing for information and trying to get it out with ham-fisted brute power.
But getting her to back off had been easy when I had access to her most intimate parts.
Fuck, the self-control it took not to slither to my knees under the table and lick and play with the panties torturing her sex.
I deserve a medal of some kind.
But no, all I got is this massive hard on stealing all the blood from my head and making me dizzy.
As if reading my mind, Cinder’s eyes widen, pupils dilating with a fresh wave of desire. I’m not alone in this strange, exhilarating dance of wills and wants.
Taking advantage of her shift in mood, I lean against the doorframe to her bedroom, forcing her to look up at me. Cinder’s arousal and blood sing to me in delicious notes, and my fangs lengthen a little. Her mouth is perfectly poised for me to dip down and plunder.
“So are you going to let me in?” I ask in a low voice.
Her breathing turns shallow as her gaze slowly drops to my lips.
Oh yes, my little tattooed treat. Let me in and I’ll show you all I want to do to you with my tongue.
“Unless you get fang extraction, that would be a no.”
Her bedroom door slams in my face. My hips jerk back only in time to not get slammed in my vulnerable protruding state.
Witchtits.
“Can I at least get those panties back?” I call through the door with a hopeful lilt. “No need to wash them, I’ll take them as is.”
A whistle catches my attention. Down the hall, I’m heralded by a vampire who, by all rights, should not be here.
I stalk toward the skinny vamp in a red shirt and green cap. “What the fuck are you doing here, Jack?” I glance wildly about to see if anyone else is around. “I should have never shown you the secret passage in and out of here,” I grouse.
Jack’s serious face is rough with stubble and his hair is limp and dirty. The scent of sweat mixed with dirt clings to Jack's body, as if he hasn't had a chance to properly clean himself in days. He’s as out of place in this grand hallway as a child's fingerpainting over a masterpiece.
Not that I care about his fashion sense. Grabbing his arm, I haul him into my bedroom and shut the door behind us.
“If you get caught?—”
“I won’t,” he grits through his teeth. “I made sure.”
Walking to the window, I lift the edge of the curtain to see if the guards are scrambling on the grounds to catch an intruder. It all seems calm, but I’ve lost my cool.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again. “I sent a note.”
Jack shakes his head. “I had to come see you. There’s a lot of talk.”
I’ll bet there is.
“That’s what I was hoping for,” I say dryly. “Do they believe me now?”
Jack holds his hat in his hand and shifts his weight from one leg to the other.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say, scrubbing a hand through my hair. Realizing I still have the damn gloves on to cover up my tattoos, I peel them off with an almost violent fervor. “What do I have to do to prove to the Mice that I am serious? That I want the King off the throne as much as them?”
Jack scowls. “It’s not that simple.”
Of course it’s not. The rebellion has been running so far underground, they are known as Mice. No matter how many times my father or the kingdom has tried to exterminate their presence there is always another creeping out from a crack in the wall.
Despite my ire, I know the only reason their network has stayed active is because they have been so careful about who they trust. The son of the fairy King they hate the most is definitely not at the top of that list.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I relax into the mode that can handle bone-crushing pressure. “I took a human for my bride. Doesn’t that count for something?” Despite my attempt to be at ease, I can hear the ice in my own words.
Jack’s brows drop over his eyes. “There are still questions.”
“Questions?” I draw out.
“She is the daughter of the King’s favorite familiar.”
“For cripes sake.” I throw my head back in frustration. “That’s the only way I could get away with such a move. Had I tried to propose to a human servant under thrall, do you think I could have gotten away with it? No. She’s the only human that could get in under the line and even just barely at that.”
Then I straighten and address the unasked question in Jack’s eye. “Do the Mice think I’m feeding on her?”
Jack averts his gaze.
The Mice aren’t just a rebellion network of vampires who demand the monarchy be dismantled. It’s not just that they resent being kept in the literal dark ages when the Common World is granted access to electricity and freedoms that we aren’t allowed on this side of the border. They are human sympathizers. They believe in the ethical treatment of humans, and they believe the King’s thrall over humans denies them their free will to donate their blood to vampire kind. That mortals need to be allowed to choose each time, not just the first before they sink into unknowing servitude.
And though it hasn’t been confirmed, I suspect a fair number of the Mice may even be humans themselves. I’ve heard of vampire/human relationships existing on the outskirts of society, but until my proposal it had been rare to happen amongst the fairy court. The last time was Cinder’s father who married a wealthy Midnight fairy who was seeking entrance to the court.
“I’m not feeding from her.” My tone is a dark warning. “I would never. She is not a blood bag.”
Jack winces at the reference before his upper lip curls in distaste.
It’s not my term. It’s a disgusting reference, and I keep a far distance from the fairies who use it.
“Listen, if the Mice want my father off the throne, I am their best bet.”
Jack’s eyes almost sink further into his skull as he warily regards me. “There is chatter that you want the throne for yourself.”
My laugh comes out as a dry bark. “Me? Rule the kingdom? They must all be high. Everyone knows I’m not suitable to run anything, much less Midnight. I'm just the pretty boy who can get in places no one should be able to.”
The only reason I’d take the throne is to give it away.
I’m no ruler.
The people don’t need a fuck up for their leader. No, it’s better I pass the ball to someone better. Really, anyone else is better.
I’ve been feeding the Mice information about my father and the castle for months, hoping to rally them into action. But they are hesitant to make such a strong move, especially behind someone they think may be leading them into a trap.
“So you are telling me, my publicity stunt did nothing?” I ask Jack, running a frustrated hand through my hair.
Okay, not nothing. I had that goth goddess shaking and coming in a room full of fairies, becoming the most enrapturing thing I’ve ever seen.
“The Mice are still listening,” Jack says, yanking me from my seductive thoughts. “And I do think Byung-He's daughter may be key. Keep showing up with your bride in tow, and I’ll work on them.”
“Cinder. Her name is Cinder.” The violent edge in my voice surprises even me. I can’t deny that I’m instantly irritated at hearing her reduced to the sum of her relations. She is her own person. Hell, she’s a force of nature.
Jack’s eyes widen in surprise before he nods. Something flashes over his face, like understanding.
He’s about to leave when I stop him. “I’ll put on a good show, but I need you to do something for me in the meantime.”
After I give him his assignment he sneaks out of my room, going back the secret way he came.
Just because I can’t leave the castle, doesn’t mean I can’t push my influence past it.
The idea of the Mice worrying I want to use them to take over my father’s rule is laughable. I’m not cut out to lead anyone. Pick up any tabloid and they can see how ruefully ridiculous I am when it comes to acting responsibly. My entire history revolves around avoiding it.
I wonder when I changed enough to seek out the Mice.
It was somewhere between one of the ruthless beatings my father gave me and having to stare at the empty-eyed servants, pretending they weren’t prisoners in their own bodies.
Even before I spent time in the Common World, I’d come to respect humans. Courtesy of my mother’s guidance to treat everyone equally and the presence of a certain violet-eyed little girl who was always on the fringe of my awareness.
The girl who ran around with smears of paint on her face and hands. Who spent so much time with a father who loved and cherished her. At times I wanted to despise her for having something I couldn’t, but in truth, I merely envied her.
Despite being cast out and separated, she seemed to form her own little world to live in between art and the dark countryside. I remember after a particularly brutal beating from my father for some weakness or another, I ran out to the cliffside and found Cinder. Her little legs dangled over the edge as she sat fearlessly, careless of the violent crashing waves below, absently humming to herself and alternating her attention between the stars and the ocean.
An invisible hand gripped the organ in my chest. I wanted to see the world through her eyes. To be so independent that I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone.
Instead of approaching her, I found my peace in watching hers.
But the idea of Cinder ever becoming thralled or fed upon like a piece of meat makes my stomach curl and wither with disgust.
I would never in a million years do that to her.
To the basest root of my being, I’ve always known it’s wrong to do that to humans.
Three years ago, it finally became too much. Maybe it was one too many beatings from my father, one too many familiars staring at me through sightless eyes, one too many days being crushed by cold, merciless oppression.
I decided I would be the one to help pave the way to a new monarchy. One without my father.
Where that left me in the end didn’t matter. Though I’m starting to fear where that will leave Cinder.