Chapter 22
Aoife, one year and three months earlier
Warmth enveloped me in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. Strong arms cradled my body, a hard chest under my head, and the perfect body for me to curl right into.
I lay on a pallet in the slave barracks where I slept every night as a slave, along with all the other slaves in the castle.
Fairwitch had only given us one big room to sleep in together, and it had become a part of our culture, everyone sleeping in groups, singing lullabies and telling stories as we slowly fell asleep. Together. A community.
Tonight, though, it was just one body behind me. I blinked open my eyes, wondering where everyone else was, but the room was empty, save for me and . . . I didn’t have to look behind me to know it was Ambrose who held me. Just like he did every night.
Because of our community sleeping arrangements, the Fair Folk had to get creative to find time for intimacy, and here, on this morning, it had been handed to Ambrose and me like a gift.
A gift I would not waste.
A slow smile came to my face as I said his name and rocked my pelvis, rubbing my backside against Ambrose. He moaned behind me, and I grabbed his hand that was wound around my waist and dragged it down my stomach and under my plain long tunic, the same one all slaves wore.
His hand was so strong, so big, and I reveled in how small mine felt against it.
He didn’t say a word, but his breath grew labored as he pushed his hard length into my ass, grinding against me. It felt so big, so perfect. After he was done touching me, I’d turn around, push him onto his back, and ride him hard.
But for now, his fingers felt good. Strong and assured.
I guided his hand down between my legs, and rocked against it, riding it while still on my side, still pressed into him.
Need filled me so completely, so overwhelmingly.
Ambrose’s fingers never disappointed me, but the way they curled into my entrance, the way he just knew exactly where to touch me without me having to tell him, felt different.
His body and the way I molded to it felt different.
His musky bergamot scent and the way I wanted to inhale it so deeply it became part of me felt different.
Sunlight pierced my eyelids, and I stilled, the area between my legs throbbing as I grabbed his large hand to stop what he was doing, all the differences I’d noticed shoving to the forefront of my mind.
This was all wrong. There was no sunlight in the slave barracks, and the pallet felt unnaturally soft, like I was sinking into it.
My eyes shot open, and I stared at the big expanse of windows that lined the back wall of my bed chamber.
The bed chamber I’d specifically told Lor I didn’t want.
That had been six months ago, and I hadn’t slept in here a single night since.
Not that he’d know that since I never revealed to him where I decided to sleep.
A petty part of me hoped he assumed it was with Ambrose just so I could make him extra annoyed.
I blinked, unable to understand what was happening. How had I gotten here? Why was I here?
I swallowed, that desire in my core still flaring bright, leaving me with the painful ache of not getting that release I was so close to, and then my entire body tensed as I realized there was someone in bed with me, arms wrapped around me, his scruff pressed into my head, and the smell of musk and bergamot mixing in the air.
My insides turned to knots.
Lor. I’d somehow fallen asleep with Lor. Not just fallen asleep. I glanced down at his hand, still in between my thighs.
Oh, feck.
I’d ridden Lor’s hand while we were both asleep. I’d been in some sort of twisted nightmare where I’d thought it was Ambrose behind me. Not the king of Fairwitch Isle, and from what I could tell, he was still fast asleep.
He could never, ever know about this.
I slowly sat up, gently grasping his hand and pulling it out from where it had been between my legs. Right as I placed his hand back in front of him, Lor stirred, eyes sleepily blinking open. When they focused, he shot up in bed, staring at me with his brows furrowed.
“What happened?” I snapped.
He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “You had a fever last night. Margaret found you in your office, sick and out of your mind.”
That was odd. The Fair Folk rarely got sick.
“And you brought me here?” I gestured to the wide open space with its black tile floors and ceiling painted like the forests around us.
It didn’t look the same as it had when Fairwitch slept here, but just knowing this had been their place of rest and respite while I labored and slaved away under their command made my skin crawl.
Lor’s jaw locked. “Well I see you’re feeling better.”
I crossed my arms, looking down to see I was wearing the same tunic and trousers as last night.
So he hadn’t changed my clothes. He probably realized I’d kill him if he’d undressed me.
“Yes, the Fair Folk have amazing healing capabilities. I wasn’t surprised I’d healed within a few hours of sleep, that I’d been feeling good enough in my sleep to ride Lor’s hand.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re healed?” His hand reached out to press against my forehead. “You’re flushed.”
I snapped my head in the other direction, horrified that I was actually blushing. “You shouldn’t have brought me here,” I said. “I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to ever step foot in this room.”
“And what was I supposed to do?” he asked, and though I couldn’t see his face, the irritation in his voice was apparent. “You won’t tell me where you sleep every night, I suspect just to annoy me.”
That was exactly why.
“I didn’t dare take you to my bed chamber.”
I whipped in his direction, now facing him and trying to ignore that stupid large hand resting by his side, ignore the pulse of heat that spread through me at seeing it. That hand. Why had it felt so good between my legs?
“You had no right,” I snapped, scooting to the edge of the large bed and through the wispy canopy that hung over its posts.
I stood, and Lor followed, halting me as he blocked my exit. “I’m sorry that I thought to help you when you were sick, that I was worried about you.”
My core still throbbed with need that I didn’t want. What I wanted was to get away from this man and his large hands.
“You should be sorry,” I said, backing away. “It was unforgivable, bringing me here.”
“You’re so difficult,” Lor said. “All the time. I don’t know what Castle was thinking, making you its queen. You’ll be the ruin of me. The ruin of us all.”
It was cruel, even though I knew I’d been cruel too. With that he pushed past me and stomped out of the room, leaving me with nothing but anger and a pulsing ache between my legs.