Chapter 43
Whatever the eyes wouldn’t do for him, I conjured in the privacy of my chambers.
Vervain, damiana, and jasmine went into the chalk circles. I sat in the center of it and held a candle, closing my eyes as I thought up my incantation. The Lord of Night sat before me, intrigued and silent, and as I blew out the candle, I felt his shadows caress the whole of me.
Bless me with seduction, Lord of Night. Until sunrise, let me be irresistible to man’s desires.
Then I put on a robe and went out, Marcy following close behind. I swear the woman never slept, or perhaps she did so standing up; there was never a time I did not find her stationed outside of my chambers, as vigilant in the dead of night as she would be in the middle of the day.
Sieur Eldridge double-took when he saw me, then made an uneasy assessment of my Queensguard. He cleared his throat and began to announce me, but Marcy shushed him and opened the door.
“Let us go for a walk, Sieur,” she ordered, and I slipped though that entrance as he joined her.
Nicolas was buried in a book, candlelight illuminating the pages.
He didn’t notice my entry until the shadows lashed out and extinguished the flames, a little assistance from the Lord of Night.
Then he flinched with alarm, his attention snapping up.
There was just enough light in the bedside lamp that he could see who I was, but he was too startled by my little trick to respond to anything else.
“How did you…?” he asked, turning his eyes to the candle while he shut his book.
I let the robe slip from my shoulders, revealing the thin silk nightgown beneath. Nicolas’ eyes widened, the book thudding to the floor as I approached with deliberate slowness.
“Alana, what’re y—”
“Shh.” I pressed my finger to his lips, then traced from his chin down to his chest. My eyes never left his—Sahra’s first lesson. His pupils dilated in the lamplight as his breathing hitched.
I kissed him, only once; I pressed deep, parting with just the faintest hint of tongue, and lowered myself to my knees before his chair, hands resting on his thighs. Through the thin fabric of his nightclothes, his muscles tensed.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered, but his voice was rough. Agonized. His pupils swallowed the color of his eyes.
“No?” I slid my hands higher, remembering Sahra’s instruction on slow, soft massages. I found him through the fabric, pleased by the way he gasped. “Are you certain, my king?”
I kept my eyes locked on his as my fingers worked, watching his resolve crumble with every little stroke. He gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles whitening, and when I leaned to kiss the inside of his thigh, he sounded like I’d strangled him.
“Alana, the baby—”
“Is safe,” I murmured against his leg, fingers moving to the ties of his pants. He was straining against them now. “Trust me.”
I took hold of the laces and pulled them through the eyelets. His length sprang free, pulsing with his heartbeat.
My breath caught. I’d never done this before, and only now was I really comprehending the action. Glancing up through my lashes, I found Nicolas watching me with raw need that far overshadowed his curiosity.
I leaned closer, letting my breath fan over him. He shuddered, reaching as if he wanted to touch me and wasn’t sure how. Emboldened, I pressed the softest kiss to his bare inner thigh, then another slightly higher. My fingers wrapped around his shaft, angling him just right.
When I finally took him into my mouth, he bucked involuntarily and tangled a hand in my hair, as if he needed to tether himself.
Nicolas arched his back, his legs shifting slightly apart, and he let out a deep, guttural groan that sent shivers down my spine.
The door crashed open.
“Your Majesty! I heard—” Guardsman Russel stood in the doorway, sword half-drawn, before his brain caught up with what he was seeing. His face went from alarm to mortification in an instant. “I-I-I thought—”
I was still on my knees. Nicolas’ hands moved to cover himself. The guardsman was frozen, unable to look away yet clearly, desperately wanting to.
“Guardsman,” Nicolas began, taking a deep breath. “Out.” Russel stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.
“Yes! Of course! My apologies! I’ll just—”
“Wait.”
The poor guardsman stopped again, stiff as a board. His eyes went to me and lingered, spellbound.
“Escort my wife back to her chambers,” Nicolas ordered.
My heart sank.
I could have killed Russel for this. Maybe I’d poison him, or compel dark forces to take him in the night.
Russel’s lips parted. Nicolas saw that, then flicked his gaze to me with an accusatory look. “Wait.”
“Y-Your Majesty?”
Nicolas leaned forward and whispered, “Alana, did you…use magic on yourself?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, tearing my eyes away. Nicolas made a disappointed sound and crossed his arms.
“Guardsman, find Quinn.”
“Yes, right away, Your Majesty!” Russel shouted, and then he was gone in a flash, leaving us to conduct the most painful staredown of my life.
Nicolas quirked a brow. “I believe I told you no.”
“Based on old wives’ tales and your mother’s meddling. I thought you were a skeptic, but you’re as superstitious as a milkmaid.” My frown deepened. “But of course. Summon Quinn to send me to my room like I’m an unruly child who needs handling.”
“I’m summoning Quinn because he’s the only man I trust not to do anything to you while you’re…gods, what did you do to yourself, anyways?”
“Then send for Marcy.” I owed him no specifics. If he was struggling with arousal, good!
“Marcy likely brought you to me. She’s no more on my side than you are.” A knock at the door, and Quinn entered, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up. Then he straightened with an exaggerated yawn, folding his arms.
I’d never seen him in nightclothes, but this was a sight. Maybe it was the broken hand that had given him no choice, but he arrived in nothing but a pair of loose linen pants, low-slung and tied off with a drawstring. I peeled my eyes away.
“You summoned me?” he asked, and bless him, he managed to stare right through me like I didn’t exist. I almost believed the magic had no effect on him, but that wouldn’t make sense.
“Quinn, please escort Alana back to her chambers. And see to it that her Queensguard does not let her back out tonight.”
Quinn blinked. “All right, then. Come along, Your Majesty.”
I could have hissed, but I didn’t. I gave up, sulking my way from the room, and when I gave my husband one last pleading pout, he was making his bed and paying me no mind.
We shut the door and proceeded back to my chambers. Guardsman Russel lurked near Nicolas’ room, eyeing me like I’d come out naked. Quinn moved to block Russel’s line-of-sight, his guard maintained all the way down the corridor.
Marcy seemed surprised by my return. I opened the door and took a step into my room.
“Alana,” Quinn said. I turned toward him. “Did Nicolas touch you?”
At first I thought he was asking if I was okay, if my husband had been indecent. But I saw the meaning in his eyes—he was in utter disbelief. My wounds were freshly salted, and I gave him a glare that could curdle milk.
Marcy looked between us, then cleared her throat. “I’m going to find myself conveniently elsewhere for a few minutes.”
Quinn nodded, and off she marched. Then he put a hand on his bare hip, and I had to fight myself not to stare anywhere below his chin.
“He expects you to wait out a pregnancy—chaste—because his mother’s filled his head with nonsense. Meanwhile, you’re…”
I raised a brow and signed. “I’m what?”
Quinn tensed and went no further. My anger morphed as I became increasingly aware of how Quinn was staring at me. There was disbelief, fascination, outrage, and…want.
“What would you do?” I started, wondering why I kept going as my hands refused to stop. “If you were him?”
Quinn braced himself on the threshold of my door. “You mean if you were in my chambers, on your knees, using every trick at your disposal to seduce me?”
His grip on the frame tightened, like he was physically holding himself back from entering after me.
His eyes were dark, traveling over me. I realized with horror that I’d left the robe back in Nicolas’ room, that he’d been too distracted to remind me to put it back on.
Only a white silk chemise separated my body from the world. No wonder the guards had stared.
“I’d have locked the door.” The words were almost a purr, like the thought delighted him. “I’d let you do whatever it was you’d planned on doing while I took fistfuls of your hair and forgot how to say my own name.”
My throat was dry, yet my mouth watered. I tried to swallow.
“And after, I’d have carried you to bed and shown you exactly how little I cared about the Queen Mother’s warnings. That’s what I would have done, Nightingale. What any man with blood in his veins would’ve done.”
I took a step back to the bed, almost fearing that Quinn would lunge. But he just stood there like some supernatural being that required invitation. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly.
“It’s like trying to hold my ground in an undertow, keeping myself from you. And I’m here telling you exactly how I’d have my best friend’s wife, because when it comes to you, apparently I have no sense of self-preservation left. Gods help me.”
Shameful heat forced my gaze to falter, but not for long. The moment he spoke again, my attention was his.
“Your husband is either a saint or a fool, and I think we both know which,” Quinn said. “Now lock your door before I prove I’m neither saint nor fool, and for the love of the gods, don’t use whatever magic you used tonight ever again.”
“Magic?” I shakily replied.
Quinn scoffed at my attempted denial. “I’ve known for a while. Heed my warning: don’t enchant yourself thusly around me, because next time, I might not remember that you’re not mine to want.
Marcy’s footsteps sounded her return. Quinn leered at me for one last hungry moment, then backed away casually, the muscles in his arm relaxing.
He departed with a good-night to her, warning her to keep the door well-guarded. Marcy gave me an uncertain frown before shutting me in, and at last my back met the mattress.
Thank the gods for Quinn’s restraint.
Because if he ever looked at me that way again, I’d gladly forget I wasn’t his.