Chapter 68 #2
There were fewer people in this room, but it was still full.
Alcoves ringed the open space in the middle, couches and daybeds filling in the gaps.
Quentin quickly swept his gaze over the room, trying not to look too closely at anything, but he did recognize a few members of Darius’s crew.
Perhaps this room was just for the officers, then.
Varyn shifted on his throne, the girl between his legs abandoning her task with a pout. Darkness glinted in the pirate lord’s eyes, long red hair falling over his shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “if it’s not the perfect little Onitans, venturing out to mingle with the rabble. Aren’t we just honored by your presence.”
Quentin ground his teeth. “You’re the one who invited us—”
“And we are honored by the invitation.” Delaynie’s interruption rang through the room, even over the din of the music. The murmurs quieted, eyes drawing to them, men and women alike eyeing the auburn-haired lady in her satiny dress.
Quentin wanted to pluck their eyes out.
Varyn chuckled. “Such perfect, practiced words.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Krilene tells me you want to prove that you’re more than just the rigidity of your kingdom. Is that true?”
“That depends,” Delaynie said. “What’s in it for us?”
Gods, that icy directness did something to him. He needed to get a grip. Quentin shifted on his feet, trying to control the heat swelling in his core.
Varyn smirked. “Well, your lives, to start. Anything past that is dependent on your…participation.”
Delaynie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sleeping with you, if that’s what you want.”
Quentin’s jaw dropped. Varyn barked a laugh.
“Gods, no,” the pirate lord said. He stroked the hair of the girl kneeling between his legs. “I have no need for that from you. Pleasure is the purpose of my soirees, not manipulation or coercion.”
“You just said you would judge us on our participation.” Delaynie crossed her arms. “How is that not coercion?”
Varyn’s grin only deepened. He glanced at Quentin. “She has fire, doesn’t she? I can see why you want her.”
Quentin nearly choked, heart exploding through his stomach and crawling up his chest. “I—she’s my friend. I don’t want—”
Varyn waved him off. “Your denial is boring. Don’t bother hiding it. If it matters, she wants you, too.”
Quentin knew he shouldn’t look at her. Knew that whatever would be on her face would be something he had no business seeing.
He couldn’t help himself.
She wasn’t looking at him, but that cool, beautiful blush had bloomed over her cheeks. Her eyelashes fluttered, the swell of her chest rising and falling with her breaths.
This was dangerous. He could feel Varyn leading them down a path from which there would be no return, regardless of the reason why.
Quentin should grab Delaynie’s hand and drag her out of there, take refuge in the wilderness of the island, and try to find some other way to get back to Onita.
Their mission would be a failure, but despite the reminder from his bond with his queen, he didn’t think what she sought was here, anyway.
Even as his mind raced with what he should do, he knew he wouldn’t.
He was in too deep, and if he was honest with himself, he had no desire to ever come up for air.
Delaynie finally looked at him, her blue eyes wide. The politician’s mask fell away, leaving her open and vulnerable and curious.
Quentin swallowed.
“Gods, all the staring. I tire of this.” Varyn snapped his fingers. A servant emerged from behind a curtain, carrying a tray laden with small silver glasses. They stopped before Quentin and Delaynie, offering them the contents.
Quentin lifted a brow. “What is this?”
“We call it eshwa.”
Quentin had never heard of it. “What does it do?”
Varyn grinned again. “Try it and find out.”
“It could be poison,” Delaynie said quietly.
“It could be. But you thinking that tells me how little you know of the Kizar people.” Varyn leaned forward, bracing a hand on his thigh. “We leave the drugs and poisons to the earth people in Idrix and Vatha. Our specialties lie elsewhere. Particularly”—his grin widened— “in the bedroom.”
Realization struck Quentin. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”
A hand laden with silver rings appeared, swiping a glass from the tray.
Darius tossed the contents down his throat, his dark shirt rumpled and unbuttoned.
“Finally, something smart from the little minnow that pretends to be an Armature.” Just as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone, vanishing back into his alcove with three more glasses of eshwa.
A feminine laugh tinkled from behind the sheer curtain.
Quentin turned back to the offered tray.
He was trying to figure out what to say. He wanted to take it; wanted to see what would happen if he took it. His baser instincts screamed at him to just do it, to make the first move like he always did. Like he’d never had any trouble doing before.
But was that what she wanted? What would happen if he took it and she refused? He couldn’t leave her alone in this place. And he expected that Varyn wouldn’t let them leave freely if one of them said no.
His choice, though, was made for him.
Delaynie’s small, pale hand snatched up one of the small silver glasses. She raised it to her lips without a trace of hesitation, swallowing its contents in a single gulp.
Quentin couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Delaynie blinked, then licked her lips. The set of her shoulders softened.
“Well?”
She tilted her face up to his. Her pupils were wide, but that same icy fierceness was still there. Nothing hazy clouded her expression, nor any trace of poison.
“I feel…” She swallowed, licking her lips again, and Quentin couldn’t stop himself from tracking the movement. Her hand grasped his again, her breath hitching as their skin met.
“Just take it,” she finally said, voice nearly a whine.
She didn’t need to ask him twice.
He downed the small glass quickly. It bubbled and fizzed on his tongue, the flavor sweet like vanilla and strawberries. The warmth it ignited was almost immediate, a feeling that burst through his chest and radiated through his body.
Within seconds, it became clear why the lights in these rooms were so dim.
His world burst with color. The blues became richer, the flickering of the candles mesmerizing in their beauty. No longer did the room smell heady; it was now spicy, like the sweetness had masked something richer and more earthy that was only apparent through the eshwa.
And the place where Delaynie’s skin touched his, where her soft palm was pressed against his callouses—
He couldn’t stop the groan that slipped past his parted lips.
Somewhere, Varyn chuckled. “Enjoy my soiree. I hope you can prove me wrong.” One of the girls draped around him giggled. The music resumed, the beat pulsing through the room.
Delaynie still watched him, eyes wide. They stood in silence for a moment, adjusting to the kaleidoscope of colors around them.
The feel of her hand on his was driving him insane.
“This is a bad idea,” Delaynie finally murmured, hardly loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the music.
“A terrible one.” Quentin swallowed, his voice hoarse.
Delaynie glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe we should move?” She swept her gaze through the room. The people lounging on daybeds had moved on from the excitement of their arrival, bodies now moving and writhing.
Delaynie flushed furiously again. He tightened his grip on her hand, a rush of protectiveness swelling through him.
“Okay.” He spotted an empty alcove at the back of the room.
Gauzy curtains offered more privacy than standing here awkwardly in the open.
As good a place as any to try surviving this night.
Quentin tugged Delaynie toward the alcove. She came willingly, following closely, eyes fixed ahead. Not straying to any of the lewd raucousness around them.
He held the curtain back as she sat primly on a wide, plush bench. The sweet scent was stronger here, but it wasn’t overpowering. It instead settled over his skin like a fine mist, as if he could feel every bead and drop of moisture.
Quentin sat next to Delaynie, careful not to let their skin touch. Everything was so vibrant, so bright, so sensitive. The hand holding was enough to almost make him unravel.
He couldn’t let himself take anything more.
Not unless she wanted him to.
He shut down the thought. A bad, terrible idea. All of this.
Quentin rested his hands on his thighs, gripping his skin through the light linen of his pants. The bite of his nails was soothing, a nice distraction from the scent of coconut and vanilla and the way her shoulder kept brushing his with each rise and fall of her breath—
A shadow loomed over their alcove. A man dressed in dark clothes and wearing a darker expression peered through the gauzy curtains. A hungry, predatory smile spread over his face as his empty eyes landed on Delaynie, drinking in all her perfect, milky skin.
“What a lovely pearl,” the man said, pushing aside their curtain. “Such a shame to keep you hidden. Why don’t you just come with me—”
“She won’t be going anywhere.”
The man’s gaze slid to Quentin, lip curling into a snarl. “Says the coward who refuses to touch her. Come, sweet pearl, let me show you a better time than this piece of kelp ever could.”
That was enough. Quentin slid one arm around Delaynie’s back, the other hooking under the back of her thighs.
In a smooth movement, he pulled her off the bench and into his lap, her breath catching as her legs landed gracefully over his.
Her arm draped over his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing for her to do.
“I said,” Quentin growled, meeting the man’s glare, “that she won’t be going anywhere. Now get lost.”
The man paused, and for a moment Quentin worried he wouldn’t leave. Would it be a pass or a fail to Varyn if he started a brawl at his stupid little sex party?