Seravyn
The kiss is frantic and desperate and needy. There’s a brief moment where the shock of it freezes him against me. I hear the glass shard clatter to the floor. Then his hands are palming my face and my nape. The warmth of his blood on his palm seeps into my skin.
A deep groan wrenches free of him as his mouth turns hungry, deepening the kiss. He kisses me back with a feral need, hauling my body closer to his, bending at the knees to bring our bodies together.
I’m in his arms, his mouth parting over mine, his tongue delving into the depths of my mouth to claim me—and suddenly it’s not enough. He’s turning me, bracing my back against the wall, tilting my head back as he seeks a more devastating angle.
“Gods—fuck, Sera,” he mutters into the kiss. His rough thumb traces the line of my cheekbone, and I feel it in my spine.
A sound escapes me, small and involuntary. His mouth moves down my jaw, setting a blazing course to my neck, and for one impossible heartbeat, I surrender. A sound breaks out of his throat, low and wrecked, and then he’s kissing me fiercely to take it.
In the back of my mind, I know how reckless this is. I know what I’m risking, what we’re risking. But I can’t let him go back into that hall with murder in his eyes.
Better it be lust.
His hands tighten in my hair below my crown and slide down to grip my jaw, the back of my neck, the small of my waist, pulling me into him until I can feel every taut line of him through my silk gown.
The lean and hard shape of his chest, the heat of his ribs, the tense restraint in his body daring to break.
His tongue traces the seam of my mouth and he groans against my lips. His hand slides up the back of my neck and into my hair and grips, tipping my head so he can take the kiss even deeper.
I press myself against him, and he makes another ruined sound as his hand drops lower, finds the curve of my hip through the crimson silk, grips—reclaiming every inch of me where Aldric dared to touch.
A loud crack of applause breaks into the moment, reality crashing through.
Ren breaks the kiss. His chest is rising and falling fast. His hair is wrecked from my hands, Aldric’s crown askew. He drops his forehead to mine, his breath ragged. His thumb sweeps under my jaw, gently stroking.
“Meet me later,” he demands.
I drag in a breath. “I don’t know if—”
“Come to me, Sera,” he says, the desperation burning in his eyes searing right through me.
“I’ll come to you.”
And in this moment, with my heart clenched in a vise, I mean it.
I close my eyes. My hand is still on the back of his neck, fearful of letting go. His thumb sweeps under my jaw. I tilt my chin up and kiss him once more, softer this time, slower, a long, sweet press of my mouth that tastes of all the restraint we just broke.
As I pull away, Ren coasts his thumb across my cheek, clearing away any visible trace of his blood. What’s likely on my gown is masked by the crimson.
“Leave first,” I say to him, pressing a finger to his mouth when he starts to argue. “You need to be seen in the hall. Go.”
Ren hesitates a moment longer before he touches my cheek, then departs the corner alcove. I wait the necessary length of time, smoothing my palms down my gown to collect myself. Then I school my features into a mask and step into the dim, torchlit corridor.
I pass the great hall, the ruckus growing fainter as I keep walking and slip down a side corridor. Isolde is there, right where she’d said she’d be should I need her.
And I need her now.
She’s stationed just beyond the great hall’s archway, a wine cup in hand. Her eyes lock onto me immediately.
“Sera, what is it?” Her voice is hushed as she quickly takes me in. My tousled hair, the flush of my skin. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I promise her. “But I need something from you.” I lower my voice. “The small vial, the one with the dwale with the valerian that you keep in your skirts.”
The dwale is a nightshade-based sleep draught. Brewed with valerian, a calming herb, it’s a potent sedative designed to put one under fast.
There’s a long pause before she says, “You need it for yourself…right now?”
“No, for Aldric.”
Her face purses, worry lines carving her brow. “I saw what he did during the dance. Oh, Sera. Did he—”
I shake my head. “It’s to ensure that he won’t later, when he’s too impaired to know better.” Not that I think Aldric has any honor in the matter regardless, sober or otherwise.
And it’s only a small lie to Isolde.
Her mouth tightens, not wholly convinced for my safety, but she reaches into the folded sash at her waist and produces the small dark vial.
“All you need is three drops,” she instructs. “While he’s a big man, any more will make him vomit it up before it takes.” She presses it into my palm, her fingers closing over mine.
I nod once. “I understand.”
She releases me, and I tuck the vial into the seam of my bodice. As I hurry back toward the great hall, I reach behind my back and undo the laces, working them loose.
I weave a path through the crowd, first searching out Ren, where he’s seated in his mock throne.
He’s being entertained by the court jester, receiving the ridicule in the king’s place.
The jester can say the most insulting things against the king, as long as the real king isn’t the brunt of the jokes.
I walk to the high table, finding Aldric already there, the feast resumed. I sit at his right hand, feeling his suspicion permeating the air around us. He turns to me and cups my face. His thumb swipes beneath my bottom lip, clearing the smudge of my lip stain away.
My pulse riots.
“Wine,” he remarks, wiping the smudge.
“Thank you, My Lord.” I hold his sinister gaze, letting nothing show in my features, not even the disdain mounting within me.
He studies me another moment, his grip firming. “Where did you run off to before.”
I swallow, letting a flush rise high on my cheeks. “My laces…” I trail off, lowering my voice only for him. “I was searching for Isolde. The dance quite undid me…loosening the laces of my dress, it’s coming undone.”
A slow, satisfied smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He drops his hand. “Turn around,” he commands.
I do so, keeping my back straight as his hands grasp my waist. My breath catches at the feel of his hands roaming up, then his fingers dig into the laces. He draws them taut, snapping the bodice tight around my middle, my breasts.
And he’s dexterous with it, his fingers move with a sure, leisurely confidence as he draws the laces together, cinching them tighter.
I hold my spine straight, drawing in shallow breaths. “You’re quite good at this.”
“You’ll find I’m good at many things, love.
” His voice drops low at my ear, threaded with dark amusement.
“Lacing. Unlacing…” His fingers slide down the row, testing each crossing.
“There’s a particular pleasure in the snug fit, the way the silk bites.
The way the lungs have to work for each breath.
” He pulls another lacing tight, and the air leaves me in an involuntary sound, earning a groan of approval from him.
Aldric drags his knuckles down the bare skin between my shoulder blades, and I can’t help but shiver.
“Hold still,” he says, and proceeds to work the second row. Slower now, his thumb finding the small dip at the base of my spine and pressing there as he tugs the silk, and a fresh wave of unwanted heat climbs my throat.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “My beautiful, enchanting Threnmere girl.”
His mouth grazes the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
The threat of a kiss, his mouth just hovering.
After his fingers cinch the final crossing of laces, he ties it off, the knot quick and practiced.
Then he reaches around, his palms smoothing slowly up the silk along my ribs as if appreciating his work.
“Now,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “How does that feel.”
I exhale slowly. The bodice is so tight I have to draw breath from the very top of my lungs. My pulse beats hard against the binding. The vial against my ribs has shifted, pressing hard against my chest.
I turn in my chair, letting the high slit of the skirt part along my thigh as I face him. His eyes drop, heated as they climb back up at a slow, deliberate pace, taking in the way the silk grips, the way my breasts press full above the neckline, the laces framing every curve of me.
I rest one finger on the center of his chest, just above his heart, feeling his muscles tense. I lean in and rest my lips lightly against the shell of his ear, and he goes still. His jaw tightens, his hand still at my waist curls into a fist.
“The binding feels good, My Lord.” My lips graze his ear as I speak. “I confess, the dance seems to have loosened more on me than my laces…making me curious about what other talents you posess.”
As I pull back, his pupils are blown. His palm comes up to cup my jaw a little too hard, his thumb dragging across my lower lip. Something violent and hungry darkens his gaze.
“Drink with me,” he says.
I let my fingertip drag slowly down the front of his doublet, falling away as he turns to fetch an open bottle of wine. Half a heartbeat—that’s all the time I have. When his eyes leave me, drawn to the wine, I remove the vial and place my hand over my own goblet.
Three drops.
I watch as he refills our goblets on the table, and I’m trembling when I bring the edge of mine to my mouth, not taking a single sip. Our eyes meet above the rims, and I don’t waver.
This whole time, I’ve felt Ren’s attention on me, watching, as I’ve kept Aldric fixed only on me. I don’t dare let my gaze wander to him.
Aldric sets his goblet down, his grin lazy and certain. He takes my face in his hand, drawing me closer, the rings on his fingers cold against my flushed skin. “To my bride.”
I allow him to draw me closer, my hand out of sight behind him as I switch the goblets on the table.
“To my king,” I say in return.
He drinks. Long and deep. His throat works as he swallows the wine down, and over the rim of his goblet his eyes hold mine, dark and hungry and assured that he has broken something open in me.
And as dangerous as this game is, I allow him to believe it.
Because in less than an hour, once those three drops have brewed in his blood, the cruel king of Kravenholt will be slumped over, and his bride will be in a forgotten library.
Aldric turns back to the court, his hand finding my thigh. “Let us enjoy this night of folly, my Threnmere girl.”