Chapter Twenty-Four
Jarok
Jarok awoke to a pleasant surprise: Piris sleeping in his arms. He didn’t move. Barely breathed. Savored every moment he had with her there, not running from him or pushing him away.
He could’ve killed the sailor who pounded on his door with five hard raps, startling Piris out of sleep.
“Good morning,” he said, the smile still firm on his face.
Piris blinked a few times, tipped her neck in a quick stretch, and surprised him once again. Her arms stayed tied around him, and she brought him close, held him tight. She buried her face in his chest, and he heard her take a deep breath.
“Did you just sniff me?” He knew he stank. They’d been in battle, he was covered in the gods only knew what thanks to the healer, and he’d been unconscious for days. He did still have her scent all over his face, and his cock twitched whenever he caught the now-faint smell, the memories flooding him.
She muttered something against his chest before pulling back and, with a faint upturn of her lips he couldn’t quite call a smile, said, “Yes. And?”
He boomed out a laugh, happy and free and in love, taking her in his arms as he twisted to his back and placing her firmly on top of him. She pushed up with her strong hands planted to his muscles, her tousled hair and sleepy face stopping the laughter in his throat. Jarok reached up and twisted a piece of her loosened auburn hair in his hand. He’d opened his mouth, about to let all his feelings spill, when she dropped down. Piris covered his mouth with hers, tasting him long and deep.
When she pushed back up, she flicked her head toward the door. “That was our warning. We’re about to dock.”
Her timing was perfect, as the ship rocked gently after a hard stop. They’d reached the landing dock at Volesion Peak.
“I need to go,” she whispered but didn’t leave.
“I know. You have to grab your things.”
“And help Gem get off the boat.”
The thought of Gem, who’d suffered so many injuries on this mission, motivated him to get out of their warm, snug bed. “I’ll come with you.”
Piris didn’t protest, didn’t say she could do it on her own. She could. He knew it. Jarok wanted to help his cousin and stay closer to Piris. Wanted to cling to what they’d had that morning so it wouldn’t vanish with the currents of the river as soon as they stepped off the boat.
He wasn’t exactly right. He also wasn’t wrong. He’d dressed quickly, gotten his pack, and followed Piris to her shared space with Gem, who had just woken with the landing. She was grumpy, which was to be expected, so their focus went to taking care of her and smoothing her ruffled feathers as they removed her from the boat and escorted her to a richly appointed guest room in the manor house.
Cylian and Darin had joined them on the deck, fussing over Gem in their own ways: Cylian with soothing words and Darin with hard stares and barks for people to get out of the way. Gem laughed at them both, coming out of her temper because of their mother-hen behavior. The group paused in their progress when Piris saw her mother and father waiting at the end of the dock. She froze a second, taking in her family, then looked to Cylian to replace her at Gem’s side. When she was secure, Piris ran. Right into her mother’s arms, then after a heartbeat of hesitation, into her father’s waiting bear hug. The family reunion held its own sort of magic for Jarok, who liked seeing the way Piris was loved, and loved in return.
After Gem was settled in her rooms, the battlefield healer tut-tutting at her bedside, the remaining members of the party, along with the captains on Lord Volesion’s guard who’d traveled with them, met in the lord’s study to detail what had happened. He cursed when Piris recounted her experiences: kidnapping, thinking Jarok dead and buried, her swift dispatch of Engad Monti, and her rescue of the prince. Pride shone in his eyes as well. After her recitation, his gruff voice said, “Well done, daughter.”
Piris nodded, keeping her face trained on the carpet at their feet, maybe so the others couldn’t see the emotion there. Jarok, however, caught the glimmer of unshed tears, and his chest swelled with pride and love and awe at this fierce, loyal, and loving woman.
His thoughts wandered as the others talked. A disservice to them, true, but something he couldn’t help. Piris was loving. To her parents, to Strella, to Gem… even at times to Cylian and Darin. Jarok had seen it. To be honest, he’d felt it himself, in her actions toward him. But never in actual words. He’d said them. More than once now. He worried he’d never hear them returned.
Everyone else started out of the room, Piris in the lead, when Lord Volesion asked him to stay behind. Piris whirled on her father, ready to fight for him again, against her father, if need be. He waved her off.
“We have much to discuss,” the prince said.
She looked from her father to Jarok, her brows furrowed and her eyes squinted, before she gave them a stiff shrug and left. She cared but wanted to act as if she didn’t. He’d give her whatever she needed.
The two Fae men, lord and prince, now alone in the room, squared shoulders and stared at each other. Silence fell, and Jarok was unsure whether it was to make certain no one overheard or because Lord Volesion was hesitating. He waited until the lord finally spoke.
“I see the way you look at my daughter.”
Jarok didn’t respond. He didn’t attempt to hide how he felt about Piris, and he was sure everyone guessed. It did not surprise him her father had caught on as well. He just didn’t know how Lord Volesion might take the knowledge.
“My wife has lectured me, at length, about my missteps with you both during your arrival and subsequent stay here. For my assumptions and my treatment of you and my daughter, I apologize.”
“Piris should hear that from you,” Jarok said, defending his love’s right to her apology on her own terms.
“She has and will again, I assure you.” The lord stared out the window to their left, the first time he broke eye contact with the prince. “When she was born, she was the world held in my palms. Small and mighty. She grew to be even more mighty: in magic, strength, and spirit.”
He turned back toward the prince, a father’s love clear in his bronze gaze. The same look he’d always seen from his own father. “Sometimes she thinks she has to be the mighty one for everyone else, the one to take the burden. Part of that is her nature, who she is. Part is because her mother and I made mistakes when we discovered her affinity. We thought completely hiding from everyone the best course of action. It taught her to shut herself away from others. I’m coming to understand this particular trait in my daughter a good and bad thing.”
Jarok waited. Lord Volesion had a point, and he’d let him make it in his own way. There was no need for interjections yet, as long as Piris was discussed with respect and love.
“I’m afraid the bad side, the sacrificing side, might be at play now. Do you understand me, Prince?”
Jarok wanted no misunderstandings between he and Piris’s father. “Be clear.”
“She may not admit she loves you. If she already has, and I overstep, forgive me. But I suspect this is not the case.”
Jarok simply shook his head, unable to voice aloud the fear he himself held.
“She is a fighter, our Piris. To her very bones. Sometimes, she even fights herself.”
Jarok appreciated what the man said, who he was in his kingdom and to his love, but he tired of the roundabout way he was speaking. “Lord Volesion—”
“Do you love my daughter?”
Direct and to the point. Finally. “Yes,” he answered, clear and without hesitation.
“Have you told her?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t admit it to you if I had not.”
He eased his stiff posture a touch at the admission. “I believe she loves you as well but won’t let herself say it or act on it in a more permanent way.”
“Okay,” Jarok drawled. “I understand who Piris is, and I see your point. However, why tell me all this? She’s your daughter, and her needs should be your concern.”
“They are. Always. Even when she doesn’t want to admit what she feels or needs. And I tell you all this, Prince of the Winterlands, to ask a favor.”
“A favor?”
“Fight on,” he whispered, a trace of desperation in his words. “For her. Hold tight to your love and fight her for it. Maybe not too hard, because she’ll resist.”
Jarok laughed. “Stubborn to the core.”
“Fight for you and her both. I believe she will surrender if you hold out a little longer.”
Jarok understood he spoke truth, and all in service of his daughter, but their conversation made him uncomfortable, not because of the topic but because Piris wasn’t there to witness it. “A favor I will happily grant,” he said, then gave a quick nod. “I must leave now, Lord Volesion.”
Jarok didn’t let him say good-bye or add another word in, couldn’t feel right if he did. All he could do was take the words already spoken with him as reassurance and a new mission. Fight. Hold on. For himself and Piris. For love.
Darin stood in the high black doorway of Volesion Peak, a slight smile touching the corner of his mouth under his gray hood. A bag was slung over his shoulder, the one that hadn’t taken an arrow in battle, as he shook Lord Volesion’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Darin said, cool but true.
Cylian stepped up next, giving his friend a slug on his good shoulder. The assassin stumbled slightly to the side before ramming back into the lord. “I will see you soon, friend. I plan to come to the Springlands Court after a quick trip back to the Winterlands Palace.”
“Safe travels, and see you soon. Friend.” The word friend sounded rusty in Darin’s voice, but it rang true.
“Friend,” Jarok reiterated as he stepped up and offered his hand to the assassin he’d once looked down on. “I am happy to now call you that as well. Hope you do the same.”
“Don’t hold out hope, Prince,” he replied, but the ghost of his smile was still there.
“If you need me, for anything, all you need do is send word. Do you understand?” He didn’t dare say more, remembering Darin’s mark, his warning. Still, it needed to be put forward, and he hoped Darin understood how much he meant it. How much he and the Winterlands were indebted to him for so much.
He nodded and hesitated, then said, “You are a true prince, one I’m honored to know.”
Something swelled in Jarok’s chest at the words, but before he could reply, Piris, tired of waiting, flung her arms around the man. Darin stiffened, his head slowly turning to Jarok as if in worry, and the prince smiled bright at him.
“Thank you, Lord Darin Marco. Darin. All your names. For everything.”
He patted Piris on her back and stepped back. “Any time, lady. Piris. Rebel Slayer.” The soldiers had started the name after she’d defeated Engad Monti. Jarok worried it would get to her, remind her of something dark and dangerous, but Piris took it on without complaint.
The assassin turned, went out the door, and disappeared within the shadows of twilight in a blink. Jarok hoped his travels went well, that his home court treated him as he deserved. Hoped one day he’d get the respect he deserved as a Fae man of true honor and valor.
It was full dark and the party had just finished dinner when a guard came rushing into the dining room. He whispered to Lord Volesion, who then directed him to the prince. The guard bowed deep as he offered a tightly wound scroll. “This just arrived, Your Highness. Tied to a red hawk.”
Jarok rose without thinking, tearing into the missive as he did so. Only word from his mother would arrive so late, from such a messenger. He scanned the text, head reeling as he read. Eyes wide and words rushed, he said to the table, “My father has taken a turn for the worse. He’s now confined to his rooms. My brother will take over kingly duties. I… I’m needed back. As soon as possible.” His gaze landed on Piris, across the table from him, at the last sentence. Gods, he’d wanted more time. More time to fight with and for her. But it appeared there was little to no time left, not for him and his family.
“Of course, Prince Jarok. Whatever you and the Winterlands Palace needs is at your disposal,” Lord Brettly said as he also stood. Lady Mimi nodded her agreement, a grave look etched on her beautiful face.
“Will you ride with me?” he asked Cylian, who stood at his right.
“Of course. Whenever and wherever,” he answered, as Jarok knew he would.
Nodding to himself, he then looked back at Lord Volesion. “We will need your fastest horses. We will compensate you, of course—”
Lord Volesion waved a dismissive hand. “No. Take whatever you need without worry. For my king and prince.”
“Gem, she—”
“We’ll care for her like she is our own, for as long as she needs or desires,” Lady Volesion said.
“I’ll be with her and will make sure she is protected,” Piris said as she also rose. He wanted to ask her not to, to instead ride with him. Return with him to the palace so she would be by his side as he weathered this storm. It would be selfish, possibly too soon or too much, to say such a thing, so he didn’t. Only thanked her and everyone else at the table before he excused himself. They’d have to wait until dawn to leave, which felt like an eternity, so he’d much rather worry in his room.
Piris knocked on his door this time. She’d barged in so often at this point he expected it from her, but she’d given him a choice then. He appreciated the gesture, but there never was a choice. Not with her.
“Come in, Piris,” he called. Seconds later, he heard the click of the door closing behind her. He’d seated himself at the fire after leaving the dining room. Stared into the flames, thinking and not thinking in turns, the room mostly dark around him.
Piris’s hand landed on his head, light yet strong and sure. He looked up at her, letting the worry and pain remain settled on his face instead of putting on his old mask. Her expression mirrored his as she reflected worry back at him. “Jarok, I… I can’t express how sorry I am. For everything. For everyone in your family.”
He nodded and turned back toward the fire. She played gently with his hair, her fingers comforting as they pulled through his dark strands. He felt little else at the moment but her, and he thanked the gods for the relief.
She stood with him like that for long minutes before she gave his head a reassuring pat and tried to move back. Jarok caught her in a flash, gripping her retreating arm tight. I should—“
He couldn’t take it. Not then. Couldn’t take whatever she might say to take herself away from him.
“Stay. Please,” he whispered, raw need in his words. He stood to face her, to be close to her body, and without thought, Jarok leaned over to kiss her. Like his words, the kiss was all raw need—a hungry, desperate thing, tinged with worry and love and sadness all at once.
Piris yielded to him, her back arching as he wrapped her tight in his arms and deepened their kiss. She melted, giving herself over as she so often did, and Jarok took it. Not in a greedy, demanding way. He took it for himself, for her, to feel some love in a troubling time.
He edged her back toward the large bed, step by step, until she hit the footboard. Only then did he pull back, taking in her kiss-swollen lips and heavy-lidded bronze gaze. Jarok brushed a hand down her broad cheek, feeling the flush there. “I want you, Piris. Always, but especially tonight.”
She swallowed around the word but managed to say, “Same,” before she reached back up, her mouth finding his. It wasn’t what he most wished to hear, but he’d take it. For then. For the little time they had before he would be gone.
Gods, it still nearly wrenched his chest open, thinking of what he wanted and hoped for, and what he needed to do. Not that he didn’t want to be with his family. He wanted both but couldn’t have both, and his eyes pricked with unshed tears at the push and pull inside him. He’d return to the palace, do what he could for his family as long as they needed him, but he’d leave a large part of his heart here, in Volesion Peak, with the fighter in his arms.
Somehow he managed to get them around and on the bed. Get his clothes off as Piris shimmied from her demure nightdress. When she lay beneath him on the bed, naked, he took a moment to soak her in, all of her. He skimmed a hand down her side, watching her breasts rise and fall with each hard breath and the goose bumps spread across her torso. He inhaled, savoring the thick ice and steel scent of her. Her breath hitched at his touch and he shoved the sound into the depths of him, tucking it away to remember later.
“I love you,” he said as he gazed into her eyes. “I have to say it while I can. I expect nothing from you in return, but I have to say it one more time. Before… before I must leave. I love you.”
Her tears welled, tempering the molten bronze in her eyes. She pulled him down, melded their bodies close together, giving herself in the way she was comfortable giving. He’d take it. Take all she offered. If there was more time, he might fight as he’d promised. Now all he could do was hold onto hope, do what he could to come back to her, to fight another day. She’d have to fight with herself for a time, he thought. He hoped, with all his will, they’d win the fight. As they’d won so many.
His cock, throbbing and probing for her, slipped against her slick center, and Jarok groaned. No more thoughts. Only sensations. He slid into her pussy with ease, fitting perfect. Feeling perfect. He knew he wouldn’t last long, but it didn’t matter. The connection, physical and emotional, they shared was all he cared about as he sank into her warmth.
The prince adjusted one of her legs, hitching it up and around his hip, before driving deeper. So deep he felt her end. Or maybe it was his beginning, because he became new somehow as he pumped in and out of her. She moaned in pleasure, and his growl followed. No words, only sounds of pleasure and need, as they joined, again and again.
When his spine tingled, he also noticed her inner muscles tightening more firmly around him. He wove a hand between them, circling her clit with a thumb as he continued pumping. She cried out, hoarse and long, her pussy fluttering around him, pulling his own orgasm from him. He groaned to match her cry, laying himself across her as he spasmed his release. In the moment, they were one. Sadness tinged his pleasure when he remembered it would not last long.
He had to leave. She was determined to stay.
At least they’d have this, the memory of what they could be together, in good times and bad.