32. Thirty-Two
thirty-two
"You used me." She'd had a few hours to process what she had seen – and done. "Why did you make me do that?"
Erqis shrugged, as if it had been a whim instead of calculated cruelty. His hair shone almost copper in the light of the sunset streaming in through the open window.
"I wanted them to see what you could do."
"You also threatened to, what? Bring me along if you invade them?"
"Have you been to Woodhaven before?"
It was asked so conversationally that Neira didn't even bristle, even though Erqis knew perfectly well she had never left Brightmere before this.
"No."
"So think of it as a pleasant outing. Do you not want to see Malvea? I can't bring my queen to see her empire?"
"You are king. You can do what you want." Neira lowered her fork to her plate, frowning. Dinner had been tasteless, ash on her tongue. "But that is not what I mean and you know it. Why would you threaten them with me? What's so intimidating about me when you're the one who breathes fire?"
His mouth pulled into a half-smile. Erqis had traded the severe, embroidered doublet he'd worn to hold court with a soft, worn linen shirt, the billowy sleeves rolled up to his elbows; it was a stark contrast, and Neira wondered which version of Erqis he himself preferred – the cruel, self-assured conqueror who had murdered a man for insulting his wife and terrified his nobles just hours before, or the laid-back, flirtatious adventurer who didn’t seem bothered by his own actions and was happy to have a quiet dinner with her.
Perhaps didn't know him as well as she thought.
"When you die," he began, picking up a piece of fresh bread to top it with soft cheese, "that’s just it – even immolation. A moment of agony, not that long at all in the grand scheme of things, and then it's over. But you?" His smile broadened. "You, my beautiful, terrifying darling, drag the soul, the consciousness back into a broken body. Keep it there, tortured, for as long as you want. Every mercy lies at your fingertips. When our enemies fall, they rise as your servants, desecrated and bound to your will. Do you realise how rare of a gift that is?"
Neira had spent her life mourning the absence of magic at her disposal, had wished for it so often to show her father there was merit to her beyond what he could grant her. Now, after this afternoon, she'd give anything to be rid of it.
It felt sacrilegious to admit it.
“It doesn’t feel like a gift.”
It felt too much like being a pawn again, always one step behind the true masters of the game.
"It doesn't matter what it feels like," Erqis insisted. "You'll come to terms with it eventually. What matters is how monstrous the court, the empire , thinks you are."
She said nothing, idly stabbing her dinner, until a terrible thought came to her. "You say the consciousness returns to the broken body… Do you think Strings is in pain?"
"He doesn't seem to be." Erqis shrugged. "Perhaps that is one of those mercies. You reanimating the cat was an act of goodwill, something you wanted to do out of the goodness of your heart, whether you realised it at the time or not. The girl, too. But there was no goodwill in that throne hall earlier."
"Hm." Neira pushed the remains of her perfectly delicious, roasted carrots with her fork, her appetite long gone. Monstrous. Was that something she wanted to be? "So I am to step into my father's shoes in reputation."
"It would certainly be beneficial, yes."
"To you."
"To us . You and I are in this together. Why do you care what they think of you? All this time you’ve been here and you have made no connections, formed no relationships. You care about them even less than I do."
She pulled her arm away when he touched it, but he caught her hand instead.
"Neira, whatever foul sacrifice your father made to gain this magic, you are reaping its benefits now. Don't throw that away out of something so childish as fear."
"I'm not afraid."
She was terrified. But not of her magic, even as it swelled in her day by day – no, her fear was an unformed, hazy sense of dread that didn't seem to ever dissipate, like the anticipation of something terrible in the dark. It was the same, sinking numbness she had felt every time she'd had to cross the bridge under the castle of Brightmere, the one that ran too close to the murky water. As if something was waiting, just out of sight, to grab her the moment she took her attention off of it.
"But I would appreciate not being a prop for your show. You will not use me like this again without telling me beforehand. Without asking me."
Erqis kissed her knuckles. "I promise."
Neira scowled at him. "Just like that, you agree? And the next time you want to intimidate someone to death, and you remember I am at your side?"
"I'll make sure to give you a moment's notice."
"How kind."
"Perhaps we could agree on a hand signal!"
He didn’t understand. How could he? All her life, she had been a prop, a pawn, a plaything in her father's dollhouse of a court. Erqis could call himself different, better, all he wanted – he was still treating her the very same way.
Neira freed her hand and put her napkin over her plate.
"What are you doing?"
"My appetite left me."
"You barely ate anything." Erqis frowned. "Listen, I'm sure your cat is fine."
"That's not…" Neira sighed. A pesky headache was brewing, pinching between her brows. She really wasn’t in the mood to unpack her childhood trauma with him.
"Do you want to fight with me?" Erqis asked.
"No."
"Because I am happy to oblige, my love. Anything to put some colour in your cheeks."
"I do not want to fight with you."
Erqis picked up his meat fork and brandished it at her so dramatically she couldn't help but laugh. The sting of the tines was gentle when he tapped the back of her hand.
"I have the first point!" He raised his arms to be lauded by an imaginary crowd of people, standing so brashly his chair tipped over. "They love me! You better catch up, pet."
Ridiculous. He was absolutely ridiculous. But watching him prance around the room in mock-victory…
Erqis drew up short when a knife flew past his ear and stuck in a tapestry; he slowly turned to face a grinning Neira, leaning back in her chair with a fork between her fingers.
"That doesn't count as a point. You didn't hit me."
"Only because I am merciful."
"You better show that mercy behind closed doors only." He levelled his fork at her. "I expect you to draw blood next time!"
Neira was out of her seat so fast he stumbled backwards. And then, just to call his bluff, she took a few quick steps towards him, rounding half the table. Erqis was forced to smack her fork aside with his when she stabbed it too close for comfort, his free arm stretched behind him for balance, but the grin on his face was so broad it bordered on insane.
"Remember my promise?" Neira purred, stabbing at him again. "What if I collect now?"
Erqis dodged her again, forced her back a step with a feint attack. "You'll have to hit me first!"
It was utterly childish. Just the thought of anyone seeing them behave like small children, dancing around their dinner table trying to stab each other with cutlery should have felt shamefully mortifying, but…
But, for the first time in a while, Neira felt like she could breathe. She was panting, not used to the exercise, but had she ever felt so alive?
Had she ever done this as an actual child?
Had there even been other children to play with?
Her line of thought made her miss the fold Erqis had kicked into the carpet when he had skidded out of the way of her more aggressive attacks. Her shoe caught in it, the momentum carrying her forward with a brief shout.
Erqis caught her. He had to lunge, but his arm wrapped around the back of her shoulders as if dipping her in a dance routine. He was breathing hard, his eyes as wide as hers.
A thin trail of blood trickled from his cheekbone, where her fork had grazed him in the tumble. His own improvised weapon had dropped to the ground.
Slowly, Neira lowered her fork; trailed the sharp tines against his cheek, tinting the tips crimson, drew patterns down his jaw until it rested against the softer underside. "I got you," she said softly, raising her eyes to his. The look on his face took her breath away.
The tines dug into his flesh, but Erqis leaned down regardless. His lips brushed against hers, feather-light, as he held her in this precarious embrace. Neira heard her heartbeat in her ears.
She didn't pull away, didn't reprimand – she closed her eyes, the fork dropping from her lax fingers. At some point, Erqis set her on her feet again, his arm dropping around her waist. His hand slid into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and had she ever felt so precious before?
She opened her eyes to catch the last rays of the setting sun through the window tint his crown of curls gold and brass and copper, set his eyes in the shade of summer grass – real grass, the kind that grew here, not the brackish weeds back home – and Neira had to avert her eyes from the brightness of him.
The slight press of his fingertips against her jaw turned her face back towards him, back towards his waiting lips.
How they ended on the floor, on the untidy carpet, she didn't know, only that her hand was resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat racing under her fingers, her head cradled by his firm biceps.
When Erqis had lost his shirt was a mystery she didn’t feel like solving. She trailed her fingers through the tufts of hair covering the warm muscles of his chest, followed it down his front, where it thinned into a single trail. Erqis' tongue licked lazily against hers, a groan low in his throat with her hand sliding into the loosened laces of his trousers. He was thick, hard. Neira curled her fingers around his cock, moulded her palm to the damp head.
She followed the length of him to stroke her fingertips against the sac underneath, then up again with a firmer grip.
The king cupped her face, pressed his forehead against hers. "You're teaching me a dangerous lesson," he ground out, holding himself perfectly still, although it was very clear he wanted to thrust into her hand.
Neira chuckled. "You're receptive to lessons? Now? Like this?"
"All I’ve learned is…" He moaned when she tightened her fingers, trailed her thumb over the sensitive rim. "That fighting makes you want to fuck."
She had to laugh at that. His free hand trailed over her face, down her neck, until it was spanning one of her breasts. She felt the heat of his palm as if there wasn't a dress between them. "We fight a lot more than we fuck."
His grin looked almost pained. "You're not a very good teacher, maybe."
Neira bit his lower lip. "I accept your challenge." She drew her hand back and climbed to her knees to straddle him; Erqis sat up, propped on one hand behind himself, helping her sort out her skirts and smallclothes, and wriggling down the waistband of his pants until he rested hot and hard against her slick cunt.
This was different than the last time; she didn't have the patience for his fingers, and the broad stretch of him when she angled herself and sank down burned more than the tantalising friction she had come to expect. Neira hissed through her teeth, brows drawing close, and had to rock back and forth for a moment before her kingly husband had been slicked enough to give her all of him.
She grasped his face, brought their foreheads together again as his arm banded around her waist. Along his cheek, the blood she had drawn was already tacky and dry; Neira dragged her thumb against it, then her tongue. Erqis bucked up against her, something like a whine building deep in his throat.
Slowly rolling her hips, she licked him again, his blood salty and metallic and utterly, mindlessly delicious, and when she pulled back, he dragged her back in to lick the taste from her mouth.
Neira dragged her fingers through his hair, the curls sliding over her fingers like silken rings. He was gazing up at her as if she was the only thing he could see, wanted to see. The open awe, the vulnerability – at any other time she would have chided him for letting his guard down like that, but the way he felt inside her quickly burned anything that wasn’t him from her mind.
Erqis grasped her tighter, a foot planted against the floor so he could fuck her properly, matching her pace perfectly. And Neira watched, drinking in his expressions and sounds, the little shivers he made trying to hold himself back until it became too much and he pinned her against his hips, groaning against her neck.
And then he did truly whimper when she kept riding him, for long minutes until she had found her own pleasure on his overstimulated cock.
The sun had set fully by the time Erqis regained his words. "Will you stay the night? With me?"
She did.