Chapter 36
thirty-six
George sees the sun.
“Get over here with that little arse of yours.” Isahn grabbed George and sent sultry cords of water coiling around her backside, urging her heart rate sky high and her body toward his.
She’d nearly made it back to bed after her morning trip to freshen up, but he was too impatient, apparently.
His warm, rough hands wrapped around her arms as he pulled her down and rolled her in one swift move. She found herself lying face down by his side, bare bottom up to greet the day.
Squealing into the pillows, George kicked her legs as he dove onto her, pressing his face right into her “little” ass—it most definitely was not—and giving her a mostly gentle bite, smack in the middle of her left cheek.
His fingers trailed up the sensitive backs of her thighs as he lay there, using her rump as a pillow.
“Get off me.” She laughed as she bucked her hips off the bed, loving his weight on her.
Isahn only held on tighter, and his fingers found their mark, slipping between her legs to expertly stroke her slit.
“Ohh,” she moaned into the pillow, parting her thighs for him.
Letting out a hungry chuckle, Isahn’s weight shifted as he moved down the bed.
“Up,” he demanded, his big hands sliding beneath her hips, fingers pressing into her belly as he lifted her ass, baring her center to him.
She was completely at his mercy, and she wanted it, content to pass off control for the time being. Fully exposed, the cool morning air brushed over her wet center. When Isahn swept a finger, featherlight, over her clit, then pulled away, George pulsed, probably visibly, in anticipation.
“So perfect,” he rumbled, voice low and his breath steamy against her inner thighs.
She wiggled, pushing backward, seeking him. Her reward was his hot, wet tongue.
They made love for the second time that morning. Or, rather, he made love to her while she happily fulfilled the role of hedonistic pampered princess.
As George came down from galactic heights, she rolled onto her stomach again—having somehow wound up on her back—and popped her bottom into the air.
Isahn growled as he slipped around behind her, his knees between her calves. The thick head of his cock bobbed against her slit, teasing her.
Scooting back, she pushed herself against his erection. His hard shaft nestled between her cheeks when he leaned over her. With one naughty hand, he tweaked her nipples, and she squeaked.
His scorching kiss met the side of her neck. “You’re sure? Like this?”
“Oh, yes,” she rasped. Unwilling to lose the sensations of his palms on her breasts, George sent fingers of touch magic to grasp him and guide him where he needed to be.
Isahn slid into her in one smooth motion, his hips hitting the backs of her thighs, balls slapping against her overly sensitive center. She was so very full, and it felt so exceptional she couldn’t stop herself from crying out, muffling her voice in the pillows.
“Faster,” George managed between gasps.
Gripping her hips, he lifted her ass and drove in again and agai—
A rapid knock sounded on the door.
“Fuuu...” Isahn pulled free with a groan, rolling to the side with his cock glistening in the sunlight.
George rolled onto her back, offering him a frown. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you at the do—”
The knock came again.
With a beleaguered sigh, George swung off the bed. Her right foot found her discarded robe on the carpet. Pinching it between her toes, she tossed it up and grabbed the fluttering fabric before it pooled back on the floor. While she knotted her belt, Georgetta cracked open the door.
Eanraig stopped short of barreling into her face.
“Deiwa!” She hopped back. “Were you knocking with your body?”
“Aye.” He nodded, unashamed. “Princess...” Though his tone was somber, his eyes held a hint of mischief.
Something in the fourteen-year-old’s too-wise gaze told George she didn’t want to have this conversation in the hallway. “Come in.”
Heart thundering, and not from Isahn, she shut the door and ushered Ean over with a wave of her hand.
“Yer invited to dine with yer da tonight,” Ean announced. “He had word sent over. Called it a family affair.”
In the four days that had passed since Viceroy Doukas’s invitations went out to their vast and varied allies, George had heard nothing from the king.
Not a peep. She’d hardly even seen her father; just one time in the corridor during her return trip from visiting Adda in the kitchens. He’d only nodded in passing.
It was like she stepped out of her body as a voice said, “Perfect,” and she realized it was her own.
“Did I hear that right?” Isahn rounded the corner behind George, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back.
His quiet support shoved her into herself.
“Ach!” Ean covered his eyes and hurled himself backward, hitting the closet door with a thunk.
George glanced over to see Isahn’s bare shoulders, bare torso, bare... everything. He stood, proud as can be, at half-mast. She laughed.
After flicking down, Isahn’s eyes came up wider than she’d ever seen. “Sorry!” He ducked around the corner.
“Aye, ye heard right,” Ean called after him. “It’s time.”
A sobering weight settled back onto Georgie, pushing a slow exhale from her rounded mouth. “Tonight’s the night.”
“Aye.” Ean did an excited flip in mid-air. “Are ye ready, P Georgie?”
She didn’t think she’d ever seen him do that before. The ridiculous action yanked a laugh up through her slurry of anxiety to escape her still-open mouth.
Of course he was excited; his freedom was finally a tangible thing.
Many others would feel just as Ean did; she had to get used to it.
The mages who were dragged beneath the veil and forced to be aides had to live knowing they were separated from their loved ones, had to live with unspeakable horrors inside the palace. They were entitled to their joy.
The fae had to live with the knowledge that a once-great kindness to their people was being used as a means to control them.
They were aware of the wider world. Fates, they could see it beyond the lake.
But they’d never been free to leave. Not in a thousand years.
Even the legionaries and viceroys were at Gasparo’s whims. Their perspectives were all valid, and they all deserved to be free.
She only needed to kill the king.
The sizzle of Isahn’s parting kiss lingered on Georgetta’s lips as she glided through the halls of her home.
Hildy walked, straight-backed, at her side, accompanying George into cena as the princess’s allotted guard.
Arriving late, intentionally, they aimed to ensure the king’s ire and improve the chances of him calling her to stand before him.
All George needed to do was get between him and his wine and drop the honeyed dose of death into his cup.
The lethal pill was in a quick-dissolving pressed-powder form, tucked under the band of a clever ribbon bracelet that matched the embellishment in her hair.
She may not have been born ready for this, but she was certainly rising to the occasion.
Three guards stood outside the private triclinium: Burke, who’d managed to get himself assigned duty there, and two of her father’s men. There should only have been one.
Her gut tightened as she closed the final gap to the chamber and hoped to the gods she wasn’t walking into her own death. Burke opened the left door, and Gordiani, or something like that, pulled open the right.
Georgetta stepped inside.
“No guards. Leave yours in the corridor,” the king called out almost merrily.
“You’ve got this. We’ll handle the hall.” Hildy hid her shock at the change in plans, sending a whisper for George’s ears alone. It steadied her slightly wavering resolve.
The doors clicked closed, and she was on her own. The room smelled of incense and old wine. King Gasparo lounged upon his lectus with an aide—Helena—by his side. Aside from them, the room was empty. George was alone and ready to do the unthinkable.
No. Not alone. Isahn was in the wall with Ean. Hildy and Burke were in the corridor. And Wynnie and Dunstan would be lingering nearby. She wasn’t alone. She could do this.
Flattening her affect, she sneered, “I thought you said this was a family affair?” and eyed the poor aide with faux disdain.
“Georgetta, you’re late.” Her name festered on his tongue, all wrong.
It wasn’t his to hurl at her, not anymore.
His rage, on the other hand? That was perfect. The plan was still on. She had to fight back a smile, knowing what was coming next.
“Here. Now,” he spoke viciously while pointing at the floor in front of his lectus.
She slumped her shoulders and crossed the room timidly. It wasn’t hard to feign submission with years of practical experience on the matter.
The moment she stepped into the narrow space between the lectus and table, he laid into her, “You abysmally useless cunt, just like your mother. Can’t even arrive to cena on time. Stand up straight while I’m addressing you!”
George snapped her shoulders back and used the opportunity to clasp her hands behind her back. She met her father’s gaze head-on as her fingers worked the pill free, blocked by a simple mirage of sight magic in case he could somehow see behind her.
“Looking plump around the hips these days, Georgetta.” With touch magic, he grabbed her waist and squeezed. “Is that what held you up then? Couldn’t find a dress that fit?” He laughed at his own bad joke.
She ignored his berating words and heartless touches. He had not one fatherly bone in his miserable body. This was the only course of action. It was the right thing to do.
“I’m sorry, Father,” George said at the precise moment she dropped the pill into the wine glass at her back.
“Don’t interrupt me!” He slapped her across the face with a hard hand of magic.
Her head snapped to the side, and her teeth cracked together. Though her cheek stung, her heart soared with joy. He only needed to drink.