CHAPTER NINETEEN
EMMERY
“You’re regressing,” the King said. On the opposite end of the pond he stood with his feet bare, trousers rolled to his knees, and arms crossed over his broad chest. And like he had somewhere to be, Destonne impatiently tapped a finger on his arm.
Emmery glared across the water at him, specifically the irritating rhythm of that digit.
Her chest deflated with a sigh and she tilted her head back to glance at the slivered sky between the woven trees.
It was beautifully sunny, the air crisp but warmed by golden sunlight on a late winter day.
The teasings of spring hung in the air, but she wished the weather was cloudy and stormy and as downright miserable as she was.
Nestled above on a tree branch, Aera watched with her fangs hanging playfully over her lips. At the fox’s small yip, Emmery replied, “If you want to come down and show me how it’s done, by all means. Otherwise, be quiet.”
Aera growled and flapped her onyx wings with sass.
“It’s been a week,” Destonne pressed. “You haven’t gone beyond your waist. We’re no closer to completing this pactum. You want your memories, don’t you? To find your Shade?”
“Y-you’re rushing me,” she stuttered, not sure what else to say.
She knew he was right. Maybe it was because she’d almost drowned last time she’d swam but every fibre of her being screamed to stop when all she wanted was to complete the pactum.
She wanted it so damn badly her soul stretched from her body each time she entered the pond, but she just …
couldn’t get in the water. And she loathed herself for this unending weakness.
Or maybe the unending nightmares kept her too exhausted to care.
Destonne had dragged her out of bed that day well past noon. The wine had helped her find sleep, but also weighed her down so heavily she nearly slept the entire day. When she’d hauled the covers over her head and ordered him to leap out the window, he’d grabbed her ankles and yanked her out.
Between her pounding head and the acidic taste on her tongue, she didn’t need this. His resentment for her slow progress and impatience to get his magic back showed through his every drawn out word and slanted glance.
Hands behind his back, he paced the edge of the pond. When he sank to the ground and slung his legs over the side, the corners of his mouth twitched. And that damn twinkle in his eyes spiked uneasiness through her.
He was up to something. He was always up to something.
“I think you only need the right motivation,” he drawled.
Emmery narrowed her eyes. “Look, I already know…”
Her words died as he produced a book from behind his back. But not just any book. It was the one she’d tucked under her pillow. Her secret shame. The one she’d dogeared as she stumbled on certain passages.
Good gods. This could not be happening.
“I found this fascinating book in your room.” He flipped through the pages and snickered to himself. “Where did you get this? It’s quite improper.”
She nonchalantly crossed her arms, though her blazing cheeks betrayed her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen that in my life.”
He licked his finger and flicked to the next page. The glimmer in his eyes grew as he peered at her over the novel. “You’re a terrible liar. I know I’ve told you as much, but it never ceases to amaze me.”
“It’s from your library,” she spat. “It’s your book.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of enjoying it. Clearly, I’ve missed out.” He clucked his tongue and continued, “Ah, this page you marked is particularly”—he savoured the word—“suggestive. I wonder why you might have noted it.”
His bottomless gaze dared her to admit something she refused to voice, but he could taunt and tease all he liked, she wouldn’t break.
Their game was on. It was always on.
Destonne waded far enough from the shore he could reach the bottom, but she’d have to tread water. His saturated shirt clung to his chest.
“Give it back.” The words spewed from her in one hot breath.
Pure unadulterated rage fueled her steps as Emmery trudged from the water back to the shore. When she got hold of that book, she’d bludgeon him with it. She’d break his damn pretty face with the spine.
He shook his head. “Ah, ah, not so fast. If you step on land, it may slip from my hand into the pond. You’ll need to swim over here to retrieve it.
Or perhaps I should copy and distribute it to the staff as one of your reading suggestions.
” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Maybe I’ve already made such copies.
So, if you burn it or me, the pages will still go out.
But I would hurry if I were you. I’m not a patient man. ”
Her throat tightened with both shame and mortification. “Drop it in the water. Go ahead. I—I don’t care.” Though she may die of embarrassment if the entire staff thought of her reading it.
“Liar,” he accused. “That look in your eyes tells me something different. Tells me that you love this book, and all the filthy words in it.”
“You don’t know anything,” she seethed. Her hands formed claws at her sides and her nails bit into her palms. “I’ll kill you if you don’t give me the damn book!”
Destonne turned to another marked page.
Oh no. She knew which one he’d selected.
He peeked at her over the book cover, enjoying her torment far too much. “Do you think about your Shade while you read this, or do you let your imagination run wild?”
Her fingers sparked. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, you thought of me? How flattering. Did you imagine my”—his finger skimmed over a line—“hands digging into your hips while you rode my—”
“Shut. Up. You’re repulsive!” Her self-control dwindled, trickling like sand through an hourglass, and her face impossibly hot, her fury a steaming, screeching teapot.
Destonne’s lips twitched as he caught the searing poker of her rage like he could harness it and stash it in his pocket for later.
This was what he wanted. He wanted her anger. Her fire.
“Better yet, shall I read it aloud?” he taunted.
Oh, fuck. Now that she hadn’t expected.
Emmery glowered at him. “I fucking dare you.”
“You should know by now, I don’t back down from a dare.”
And he started reading.
“That pulse between her legs quickened as his breath cast over the back of her neck. Her nipples peaked at his touch and a small, helpless moan escaped her.” He sucked in a breath and winked before he continued.
If that’s what he wanted, he would face the full force of her wrath. Rage overtook Emmery and she trudged through the water. When she reached him, she would strangle him.
“You like this? I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s always the ones you don’t expect.” Destonne cleared his throat dramatically before he flipped the page. “When he bent her over the dark wooden table and toed her legs apart, that throbbing ache grew. His cock—”
She didn’t think beyond the boiling fury inside her. She threw herself into the water, only able to catch words here. Liquid flooding her mouth, her nose, and she didn’t consider the mechanics, or anything as she splashed, sloshed, and floundered through it.
When she reached Destonne, she clutched his shirt, hauled herself above the surface, and stretched for the book, but couldn’t reach it. She spat a heinous word, chased by a few others.
He laughed—fucking laughed—as he held the book out of reach. “One moment. I’m nearly done with this page.” He angled the book toward the sky. “Each thrust wound her tighter. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and—”
“You said if I—” Her head bobbed underwater, and she inhaled a burning lungful, before she surfaced, choking.
Destonne caught her around the waist and drew her against his chest. Emmery took the opportunity to climb his body until her fingers grazed the book.
It slipped from his hand. The moment it hit the water, she bit back the disappointment that soaked her heart like it did the pages.
The book was ruined, but she fished it from the water anyway.
Emmery released her grip on his shirt and shoved away from him, but dipped under again.
Her damn legs were out of practice and fatigued already.
And no matter how badly she wanted to get to the ledge, she knew deep down she couldn’t do it herself.
So despite every stubborn bone in her body, she demanded, “Take me to the shore!”
Hesitantly, he drew her to him and shuffled toward the ledge. She hated his hands on her. Hated that he’d found amusement in this. Hated that she needed his help at all.
After Destonne wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the shore, she shot to her feet and stalked away. The cold air slammed into her and she wrapped her arms around herself, only her molten rage keeping her teeth from chattering as fury baked in her core.
“Asshole,” she growled. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever met!”
Still submerged, Destonne merely shrugged, unbothered by her insult. “I brought other reading material but this book piqued my interest the most, as I’m sure it piqued you in different ways."
Her stomach dipped as she glanced at the boulder with his boots and cloak.
No. He had—oh gods, that was her binding, the book she’d written, the one she’d poured her entire soul into like a wax mould. Her version of The Nameless Book. That was the last straw. The last intrusion she’d allow.
Emmery stumbled over, her drenched clothes heavy as water streamed off her. “Did you dig through my things? Did you … did you read this?”
“The book was on your night table,” he said simply. As he waded to the ledge, his shirt clung to his chest, his hair damp and a stretched curl fell in his eye. “I’m only teasing you, angel.”
Emmery turned to him as hurt stabbed through her. For him to read something so private, without her permission, and he went into her room. Went through her things. “H-how could you—?” Her voice broke.
And for the first time, the King’s eyes rounded in shock as he analyzed the fracture in her voice. And how vastly he’d overstepped.
Before Destonne could respond, she gathered her things and stormed off, while she clutched the books to her chest as if they could hold her together.