Chapter 29 | Sephania
Sephania
As I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, leaving my friend alone in Liolen’s throne room, I adjust my top at the shoulder and take in the faces staring back at me.
No one has gone far. I feel sticky, clammy, and spent. My hair is a maelstrom of curls around my head, and with the vampires’ powerful sense of smell, I’m sure I reek like a sex den.
All conversations between my mates and Liolen Sesk stop when I emerge from the room, feeling like a changed woman. I should feel a groundswell of regret, staring at the men who love me, yet I don’t. I dare them to question my reckless decision this time.
Skartovius has his arms crossed, standing near the back.
With his wild lion’s mane of red, he’s the first I see.
He looks pissed, face a scowl. That doesn’t mean much because he’s looked pissed ever since losing Manor Marquin.
The situation with Lukain clearly exacerbated the princely vampire’s sullen attitude.
Lukain, on the far side of the group opposite Skar, leans against a wall with his head tilted.
He eyes me curiously, not possessing the same jealous rage someone like Skar does.
He understands, surely, that as the most recent member of my coven, and as the previous master over me while enslaved to him and the Grimsons, he has the least say about how I wield my independence. He simply looks curious.
Vallan is a flat, stoic wall, practically unreadable at the best of times. Now is no different. The giant man stands in the middle, lowering his head to take me in.
Garroway, my jolly dhampir, is the only one showing any sign of favor toward me. He’s smirking, the wicked, devious bastard, slowly bobbing his eyebrows like he wants all the details.
Overliege Liolen is dressed in their golden robe, which is now thankfully—or sadly, depending who you ask—wrapped around their luscious frame.
They’ve all heard what I did.
“Tell us, little temptress,” Skartovius says, speaking for the group, “was it everything you hoped it would be?”
The question sizzles through me, instantly making me defensive. “Are you jealous, love?”
“Madly.”
My pinkie and forefinger spread as I lift my hand to point at him and Lukain on opposite sides of the hall.
“You two have been at each other’s throats, so you’ve forgotten what you have right in front of you.
” I spread my arms wide so they can get a good look at me.
“Let it be a lesson to you both: I’ll fuck who I please, and if you two keep this up like you did in the Firehold, it won’t be you. ”
They both go rigid. Skar sighs, shaking his head. “Let it be known: I’ve kept my word on never stealing your independence, temptress. Too much agency, you ask me.” He looks more defeated than angry.
“Then it’s a good thing no one asked you, Lord Ashfen.” I feel the lesson is planted sufficiently. I never meant to humiliate my mates, so I move on. “Anyone else want to lecture me on autonomy? Monogamy?”
Vallan grunts. “Same question as Skar”—Was it everything you hoped it would be?—“but for a different reason. I want to know if she is . . . one of us now.” The big brute looks around at himself, Garro, Lukain, and Skar.
“No,” I say. “Palacia will be staying here with Liolen Sesk.”
The overliege claps lightly. “Oh, joy.”
Vallan’s shoulders visibly loosen and he nods sternly, evidently grateful for my decision.
Which is actually Pala’s decision, because the last thing I want is to leave my friend with this untrustworthy nobleblood.
I don’t give a shit if the overliege is interfolk or both man and woman or neither.
I don’t trust them far as I can throw them.
I clench my jaw, trying to suck in another lungful of air, but the hall is stuffy.
Their unvoiced opinions are bearing down on me as deeply as their unwavering eyes, suffocating.
I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake doing what I just did—if they’ll never forgive me for giving my body to someone who isn’t part of our found family.
Why is it so hard to breathe right now, explaining myself to my men?
What the men don’t realize, Palacia is part of my found family.
She’s just different than them. I’ve known her longer than them, been through the trenches with her, and that’s that.
It’s not like I’ve committed adultery with a complete stranger.
That concept doesn’t exist in our fivesome, when it comes to me.
Is it unfair for my mates, who only wish to love me and no one else? Well, if it is, then perhaps they should stop fighting each other and start loving me again.
The honest truth, which gives me a vindicated feel, is that I am free to do what I want with body and my mind. That was part of the bargain when this all started. They aren’t free to chastise or judge me for my decisions.
If I am the queen in this ragtag rebellion, then they are my subjects. Yes, even the great Skartovius Ashfen. And sometimes, a queen finds new subjects that pique her interest. Such was the case with Palacia, who has always held an interesting, confusing place in my heart.
The confusion is no longer there. It had to happen for us both to realize it. Maybe if she was still human, without that eerie, flat affect, things would be different, and she’d be tagging along as the newest member of my court.
My thoughts on the matter are a weaving journey through my mind, finally empowering me and building my confidence once I’ve worked it all out. It only takes a matter of seconds for the feelings to transpire, but it feels like eons that my mates are staring at me in silence.
Then Garroway, always the icebreaker in these tense moments, throws up his hands. “I can’t say I blame you, little honey badger. Shit. I can’t judge.”
While Vallan grunts, almost in a laugh but not quite, Skar scolds his bloodthrall. “Quiet, graybird.”
“No, no, it’s true, Master.” Garro steps away from the group, rubbing the back of his bald head.
He comes up to me, faces them on my side, and pats me on the shoulder.
“We all know my submissive ass would probably enjoy that hung little gnome just as much as Seph just did.” He winks and elbows me.
“Judging by the despicably taxing sounds coming through this wall.”
I snort, trying to stay serious but unable to keep from a quick laugh. My cheeks heat up. “Little, Garro? You and I have different definitions of that descriptor, clearly.”
“Cheeky bitch. I said hung first!” His voice lifts an octave as he finishes his complaint, tossing his hands even higher over his head.
My laugh is louder this time. I shield my lips with the back of my hand.
My heated face is fully flushed now. There’s something infectious about my chuckling, because when I look over, Lukain is trying to hide a smile, Vallan has his cheeks puffed out, and even Skar is rolling his eyes.
Which is much better than staring daggers at me.
I’ll take an eye-roll any day, because it shows progress in understanding my side of things.
It’s all thanks to Garroway, smoothing things over.
As everyone starts to talk all at once, I lean over to Garro and plant a kiss on his cheek. In his ear, I murmur, “For what it’s worth, love . . . yes, you would have enjoyed it immensely.”
He visibly shivers. “Don’t tell me such things! My ass can’t clench in anticipation any harder than it already is.”
Liolen’s airy voice rises above the rest, and they put their smooth hands out to stop the raucous conversation that’s just resumed.
“Now that your fun with my little fae queen has concluded, shall we complete our business?” They look at me with startling silver-red orbs, a small, roguish smile playing on their rouge-covered red lips.
“Or was fucking my newest pet the climax of your reason for coming here?”
Even after their silly wordplay, I have to fight back a sharp retort. Calling Palacia their pet? Their little fae queen? I want to defend her and tell Liolen Sesk that even though she decided to stay, Palacia is no one’s pet.
It takes me a moment to realize I don’t have the authority to do that.
Not anymore. I’ve released any sort of misguided ownership I felt I had over Palacia’s love and attention.
The truth has just been nailed in stone—nailed in me, repeatedly, hard and deep and with utter ecstasy—and I was the one holding the hammer.
The truth? She’s not mine. Not like these men are.
Skar wanders past Liolen toward the throne room. “Call her what you will, Overliege, though let’s not lie to ourselves. There was only one pet I saw when we first walked into that room . . . and it wasn’t Palacia.”
I snicker, following the company into the throne room to conduct our business. At least that’s something me and my moody nobleblood can agree on.
We watch my blood trickle into the empty glass vial, the red essence drip-drip-dripping.
It’s interesting my blood looks like everyone else’s, so ordinary, though it holds such amazing qualities. I don’t know where the Loreblood comes from other than a mix of ancient vampire blood and tainted commonblood. Who, I wonder, specifically causes my blood to be so unique?
Whatever the case, the five of us watch my blood drip until the vial is half full. Palacia left out a side door before we entered, likely to go clean herself up after our torrid session.
“That’s enough,” Skartovius growls, pulling my arm back like it’s his possession and not part of my damned body.
I’ve had my arm held over the wide table on which Palacia had me sprawled on my back just twenty minutes ago.
Skar swiftly stems the bleeding from the small cut on my forearm and wraps a torn cloth tight around the wound.
Garroway sheathes the small dagger he used to meticulously and carefully open my flesh—not before licking the blade clean of my blood in a show that makes me wrinkle my nostrils in disgust. He only smiled back.