Chapter 28 #2
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the same spot in the forest that we visited the other night.
It looks exactly the same, and I smile at the beautiful setting that he created.
Whatever magic he used to protect us from the rain is also in place here.
He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit, marveling at the rain pouring around us.
It’s even better than the other night. He sits across from me, but we don’t speak. I stare at the handsome prince across the table.
“Thank you for agreeing to dinner with me,” he finally says, breaking the stare to pour the rosé into two separate glasses. He hands me one, and I take a big sip.
“This is delicious,” I say. “Great pick.”
He smirks. “I told you I was a wine connoisseur.”
“Would it kill you to just say thank you?”
His eyes narrow, and he looks like he’s about to fire something back at me, but he says politely, “You’re right. Thank you.”
I give him a tight smile, feeling like I’m walking a tightrope with him, as usual.
“Why did you act like that yesterday? With Marik?” I ask. He throws me a confused look, so I say, “After you and I…had our moment. Marik was looking at us, and you seemed kind of afraid of how he’d respond.”
“After we had our moment?” he echoes. “What do you mean by that?” He quirks an eyebrow at me, but a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
My cheeks turn pink, which I know is exactly what he wanted. I try to ignore the burning in my cheeks and, feeling emboldened, say, “After you fingered me.”
His smirk deepens, a single dimple forming on his cheek. “I appreciate specifics, Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes and blurt, “Why did you act like you were afraid of him after I rode your fingers and then came all over them?”
“Oh,” he says with a shit-eating grin, “that. I wasn’t afraid of him.”
This is like fucking pulling teeth. I wait, refusing to ask for more information.
He knows what kind of information I’m looking for.
He takes a long sip from his glass before setting it down slowly and saying, “My brother has a temper and doesn’t like when what he thinks are his belongings are tampered with. ”
“I’m not a belonging,” I say.
“I know that. I don’t think anybody could even attempt to say that. But my brother certainly seems to think he has a claim on you.”
“Well, he does, in a way,” I say simply.
He stares at me, the green in his eyes seeming to recede.
“Mae, you are the High Queen, a very powerful one at that. Sometimes, I don’t think you realize that.
Do not forget that. Nobody can claim you.
The right male will merely sit beside you, hopefully there to encourage and empower you.
He will not own you,” he says, anger in his voice.
I swallow, surprised at his sudden passion. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then don’t say that again. Words are powerful.
” He sits up straighter, rolling his shoulders back before continuing.
“He got mad that I was with you. He was probably more mad that you that you would choose me in that moment. He likes to feel chosen and seen. Whenever our parents chose me over him, he would withdraw, just like he did last night. When his withdrawal didn’t result in my parents trying to console him, which it rarely did, he would turn violent.
So, I got nervous that he was about to turn violent.
But he didn’t. He went with withdrawal, and it worked. Quite well, from the looks of it.”
I roll my eyes at the insinuation. “What is with you princes? I already told you I didn’t have sex with him. But you and Koa now both seem to think that. And even if I did, it’s none of your business who I sleep with.”
He looks at me before throwing his head back in laughter, which surprises me. “I don’t give a damn who you fuck. Fuck him, fuck Koa, fuck Elle, fuck Ivan. I don’t care, Mae. Make no mistake, if you choose me, I want it to be because you’ve had everything and chose me because I’m the best for you.”
“You think you’re the best for me?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
Is he forgetting about the multiple arguments we’ve had in the last week? We barely know each other, and we can’t seem to have a single encounter without arguing in some way.
He plucks a grape from the charcuterie board in the center of the table and plops it in his mouth. “No, I know I am.”
“You don’t even want to be with me,” I say, accusation in my tone.
“It’s complicated,” is all he says.
“Un-complicate it,” I demand.
He sighs. “I don’t want to be the High King. But you challenge me in a way that nobody has yet, and it’s addicting if I’m being honest.” He’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s moving the grapes around on the plate. Is he nervous?
“I guess we really are recreating the other night. You’re just saying the same thing, Asmo, but with different words. Last time, you said I was intriguing. This time, you’re saying I’m challenging—"
“Two different words,” he cuts in, still eyeing the plate in front of him.
“You just keep saying that you want me because I’m something you’ve never had before. That’s not a good enough reason.”
Finally, he looks at me. “Come here,” he says.
“What?” I ask him, exasperated.
“Come. Here.” He scoots back from the table and gestures toward his lap.
I can’t explain why, but I listen to him. I scoot my chair back from the table and go to him, slowly sitting on his lap sideways so I can look at him. He wraps his arms around me, and I put one arm around his neck.
“I can’t explain it, Mae,” he says, his voice low, soft, almost a whisper. “I can’t explain how I feel when you’re around. It’s like…a desire to protect you, to hold you, to cherish you. But there’s also this desire to push you, to piss you off, to drive you as insane as you drive me.”
“Look at me,” I say. He does, peering at me through his long lashes. “I understand what you’re trying—and failing—to say. I get it, Asmo. But I just don’t know if it’s enough.”
“Maybe it’s not,” he says. “But doesn’t this feel good? Didn’t it feel good last night?”
I nod, my cheeks turning pink again.
He stands, still holding me in his arms, then he sets me down gently. He kneels in front of me and says, “I meant it when I said I wanted to bow before you in this dress. You’re stunning, Mae.”
“And you’re deflecting,” I grumble.
“Let me show you how right this can feel.”
Holly and Koa’s warnings ring in my head.
Serpent hybrids use the art of seduction to manipulate others. If a prince beds you, he’s likely going to assume he’s gained an advantage.
I shove the thoughts away.
His hands settle on my hips, and he looks up at me. My breath catches in my chest at the image of him kneeling before me. All I can do is nod my permission for whatever he’s asking for. I don’t even care what it is. He can do anything.
His hands travel down, tracing the curves of my waist to my hips, then traveling to my upper thighs before settling at the hem of my dress. His touch is light, and I’m reminded of the way the petals felt against my skin in my dream.
With every movement he makes, my body lights up.
Wherever his finger touches, my nerve endings fire, making me feel alive.
It’s how my magic makes me feel: alive and alight with limitless possibilities.
I feel infinite when I use my magic, especially when I push myself and discover that the boundary can be pushed.
Like I have no idea what’s possible, but I can push and see.
I can discover new parts of myself. This feels the same, like he’s discovering new parts of myself with every brush of his finger.
His finger slowly glides under my dress, hooking at the hem.
He circles the hem all the way to the back, fingertips lightly trailing from the back of my upper thighs to the hollow behind my knees.
He wraps his strong hands around the backs of my knees and pulls me forward, my knees now against his chest. His hands rove back up my thighs, stopping just before reaching my backside.
He looks up at me before pressing a kiss just above my knee, then places another one slightly higher.
His hands drift up up and up, cupping my backside in his hands and squeezing.
I stifle a moan as his kisses trail higher on my thigh, teeth and tongue and soft lips sending my blood into a frenzy and rushing immediately to my core.
He lifts my dress up, hitching it up and over my hips.
Chilly air greets my bare skin, goosebumps erupting.
When he notices that I’m not wearing any underwear, his answering grin is wicked, sinful, delicious.
His mouth makes its way to my inner thighs, and I part my legs on instinct.
His pace is agonizingly slow, melting me into a puddle.
I’m soaking, the slickness in between my legs pooling already.
He freezes.
The sight of him on his knees before me threatens to undo me, but something’s wrong with the way he’s frozen, staring at my upper thighs.
“What’s wrong?” My voice comes out hoarse.
His thumb traces the scars on the tops of my thighs.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. He wrenches his gaze from my thighs and looks up at me. My intense desire for him suddenly dissipates at the question, shame replacing it.
“I did.”
His thumb traces the top scar, lightly grazing over the raised blemish.
“It’s nothing,” I say, desperate for him to move on, to not ask me any more questions, to just drop it.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me as his thumb moves to the next scar, then traces the third and final angry slash.
His thumb is gentle as he traces each raised defect made by my own hand.
His silence is too loud, too damning. I try to step away, but his hands grip the backs of my thighs, keeping me firmly in place.
“Why?” he asks.
A way to shut off the overwhelming voices in my head? A way to distract myself from everything that’s wrong? A way to control the uncontrollable?