16. Nahomie
Nahomie
A hard knock on my bedchamber doors startled me.
I choked on my fried plantain, coughing mid-bite.
Nadege—Saundeiah’s youngling attendant who’d finally trusted me enough to give me her name—had just delivered my dinner.
Bones had left off with Obsidian to stars knew where, and I didn’t get visitors.
Wheezing, I turned to the door to see who had disturbed me.
“Good twinight, mi Roièssa.”
The plantain lodged in my throat. Tassarion watched me with a gaze so intense my skin burned.
Something hungry, prowling, brushed against the veil in my mind.
Then the shadow of a soul skittered down the golden thread that bound us metaphysically.
The greedy sensation kept pressing against the veil between Tassarion and me, trying to break through.
I glared at Tassarion pointedly.
The Monster King glared back.
His eyes drank in my bare skin draped in silk and lace, and unbound braids sprawled over the bedcloud where I was cozily tucked in. Then the soul pressed against the veil of our bond again.
“Let me in,” Tassarion demanded under his breath from where he leaned between the doorframes.
“No.”
I siphoned blackfire from the wells of my ethèr and internally directed the flame to the veil. I strengthened the barrier with my fire. The soul jumped back, shaking its hands after being burned. I would not yield. This veil wouldn’t fall until I was ready to let it.
I took a good look at the King of Mortevain.
My body flushed with heat. A platter of plantains and griot sat in my lap.
The delicious aroma of fried banana and pork, drenched in the juices of piklìz—spicy mixed cabbage—couldn’t overshadow the imposing, intoxicating fragrance of cedarwood, cinnamon and smoke emanating from the entrance of the bedchamber.
Tassarion’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with need, as he stared at me while I ogled him.
“Let me in.” His voice was rich, guttural, raw. It strained to be contained. Like he was fighting a beast that was begging to be unleashed.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head.
The bedcloud swung, the billows under my body darkening.
The candles dimmed, drowning us in cozy light.
I could think of several things to do to the king in this ambience.
He was dressed in sable, fitted leathers.
Tall onyx boots. An elegant ebony cape that fell lavishly to the floor.
He wore his silver crown with steel-blue jewels that matched his eyes while his arms were crossed, an assortment of silver rings on his fingers beside our wingbinding band.
He was devilishly ravishing. A haunting abyss of sin I wanted to dive into and explore.
I bit my bottom lip, trying to exercise restraint.
The chamber was quiet, but the heated tension building in the chasm between the king and me was reaching a breaking point. Tassarion didn’t speak, his eyes shifting from blue to black, then back to blue.
“Were you looking for something, mi Roi?”
I pushed several braids out of my face, looking at him. At how he breathed. How he fought to maintain his self-control. How he was domineering and prepossessing, unraveling me from within without a word or a touch.
“You’ve been avoiding me for almost a week.” His eyes darkened. “Obsidian told me you were in the garden, then you asked to be brought back here and you weren’t to be bothered. Is everything to your liking? The food, the bedchamber, your view of Ouanaviel?”
I watched him, amused. Tilting my head, I took large bites of pork and piklìz, the spicy slaw flaming my nostrils. I remained quiet for a long time. When Tassarion fluffed his wings once, twice, I finally spoke.
“You didn’t fly across Everthorn Manor, which is arguably three times the size of all the castles I have ever seen in my life, just to come here and make small talk, mi Roi. Out with it. Why are you really here?”
I went back to eating my food. Tassarion answered with a level of impatience that immediately made me want to scratch his eyes out.
“It’s time for the Opèr.”
I snapped my gaze to him as I chewed the rest of my bite.
“The Opèr,” I repeated.
He tilted his head. Crossed his arms. Looked at me below long lashes, his brown skin glowing like earth, covered in all those midnight leathers.
“The Opèr.”
“Okay. What’s that got to do with me?”
His lips curved into a frown.
“Get dressed. You’re going with me.”
“I will go nowhere with no one. Now that that’s out of the way, was that all?”
I went back to my plate, finishing up my plantains and pork.
“Get. Dressed.”
Tassarion’s low voice curled over my shoulders, seeping into my skin. I shuddered at its touch, but didn’t move. It was a shame for him, even in the face of kings, I never backed down. Without looking up at him, I waved a dismissive hand.
“No,” I leaned over the edge of the bedcloud, reaching for my goblet filled to the brim with angelwine. “Enjoy yourself, mi Roi.”
“Everburning Hèls,” he rumbled. “Nahomie, I am trying very hard to do this the nice way.”
“That sounds like a personal problem. Do I want to go to the opera? Yes.” I took another bite. Chewed, swallowed. “With you?” I waved my fingers. “No. Now leave me be.”
I put the goblet to my lips. Before I could take a sip, a steel-blue shadow shot across the bedchamber, snatched the golden cup, and wrenched it from me without causing a spill.
Before I could respond, another tendril of steel blue snuck up on me from behind, between my wings, yanking me from the bedcloud.
I was tossed to the armoire, where a large, unnaturally powerful, obsidian wing yanked open the doors and snatched out my freshly pressed crimson gown with golden buttons, before shoving it into my chest with extreme force.
I whooshed, tumbling backwards, still held from behind by Tassarion’s tendrils. Souls the size of my palm giggled and danced, waiting to see what else would happen.
I faced Tassarion, trembling with fury.
“What in the stars was that?” I yelled.
“Get. Rotting. Dressed!”
“I’m not some slave you can boss around whenever you feel like it, Tassarion!”
“I swear by the flames of the Six Hèls, if you don’t get dressed, I won’t be responsible for whatever happens if I lose control with you.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat? Do you actually think I care?”
Tassarion’s face scrunched with rage. He was no longer leaning in the doorframes. Now he stood, feet planted, arms crossed, wings spread open, as if he were prepared to tackle me if he had to.
“Nahomie, for the love of the Infinite, the Opèr is going to start. You’re not hiding in these chambers any longer. Get. Rotting. Dressed.”
“No!”
“NOW.“
Tassarion’s roar quaked through the chamber, causing the walls, floors, and windows to rattle. The heat of arousal unfurled in my blood at his commanding presence. He was a challenge. A worthy opponent. One I would conquer. I grinned, batting my lashes at him sweetly.
“Fine, I’ll get dressed.” I turned around and headed for the vanity. “Get out,” I tossed over my shoulder without turning around.
To my surprise, without hesitation, in mere seconds, I heard a soft click.
Given my privacy, I paused before the armoire, a hand pressed to my chest. My hearts were beating wild.
Like I’d just experienced a rush. A thrill.
It felt like madness, and I relished it.
Craved more of it. Getting under Tassarion’s skin made me want to dance.
“Nadege,” I whispered.
Within seconds, the young Nanmiess was floating through my walls, heading towards me.
“Roièssa is?—”
“Yes, yes. Nevermind all that. Help me dress for the Opèr with our Roi.”
Nadege beamed, nodding her head happily.
The young soul made quick work of my braids, freshening them and leaving them down in newly added golden beads, while helping me into the skin-hugging crimson gown. Once my sandals were on, I told her to sneak off without letting Tassarion see her. She grinned. This youngling liked secrets.
As Nadege slipped away, I took one last deep breath, snuck several swigs of my angelwine, then flew into the hall where Tassarion waited.
“I’m ready.”
Tassarion’s eyes lingered on my hair. My waist. My lips. After a sharp breath, he spun away wordless, and began flying down the hall.
“It’s past time you experienced our Opèr, mi Phantimèssa.”