Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine Book 1), page 11
I’d bathed and cleaned my hair with vanilla and honeysuckle soaps in a tub large enough to swim in, and I’d wondered if Florian had known we’d used similar soaps, though far less lovely, in the apartment. I hadn’t the heart to inform him that I’d rather never use scents Rolina had once adored again.
She could no longer rob me of luxuries or anything else, including manners.
I’d then perused the dressing chamber with my eyes bulging and my exploring fingers trembling as they’d swept along all the many stunning fabrics. Velvet, silks, the softest cottons and chiffon...
All of the gowns were hard for me to absorb, let alone decide on what to wear.
I’d settled on a long-sleeved navy-blue number that was most likely a nightgown due to the looser bodice and the figure-hugging silk. I’d paired it with my coat, although it probably did not suit, when Olin had knocked upon the door to escort me downstairs.
Stiffly, I picked at the delicious serving of lamb soaked in mint gravy. Even the beans here were different—larger and juicier.
The steward stood outside the dining room, utterly silent. When I’d greeted him upon opening the door to my rooms to find him with his hands clasped behind his back, he hadn’t returned it.
He wore a similar uniform to the warriors who’d escorted us to the manor, sans the armored and bulky coat. His dark-blue waistcoat was lined in black and without a single crease nor a speck of lint, his matching trousers the same.
His silver hair was cropped close to his scalp. His mustache was impeccably trimmed. That, and his stubborn silence and posture, said this was a male who took his responsibility and loyalty to the Hellebore family seriously.
Perhaps too seriously, I thought, when he entered the dining room upon realizing I’d lost interest in finishing my meal.
“Is it not to your liking?” he said in a crisp tone that conveyed someone like me ought to be grateful and finish every morsel.
“It was incredible, thank you.” I offered a weak smile. “My stomach might need time to adjust to such a large serving, for I’m already indecently full.”
“The king will be displeased,” he said tightly.
I feigned looking around the large and narrow room. My eyes settled at the head of the table where I knew Florian would sit if he’d deigned to join me. “He is not here,” I needlessly said with a stronger smile.
Then I sipped my water and stood, collecting my plate and crystal glass.
The steward’s disapproving look fell into a scowl when I walked the long length of the oak slabbed table to the doors. “Which way to the kitchen?”
Olin sputtered. “You may leave that for the staff to collect.”
“I don’t mind. I would like to see it, and seeing as the king is busy, I’ve nothing else to do but explore.” I lifted my shoulders. “Would you care to show me?”
He glared at me for sweltering seconds that should have made me reconsider irritating him more than my mere presence evidently already did. Then the steward sighed and marched out into the hall. “This way.”
He walked at such a brisk pace that I struggled to keep up, the cutlery threatening to slide from my plate.
At the opposite end of the first floor, we descended a steep and rocky flight of stairs. The kitchen was located a level below ground. Starlight still crept in through the slicing of windows squashed right below the ceiling.
Along the far wall, steam rose from sinks filled with soapy water and pots bubbling on stovetops. An island bench stood large and center in the humid room, fires burning beneath for yet another stovetop above.
Scraps overflowed from two pails by the door directly opposite the one we stood before. The other was open, giving way to stone stairs that presumably twirled up to the gardens astride the manor.
Regret kept me rooted in the doorway.
A ginormous male flitted from the sinks to the stoves with the grace of a trained dancer and barked orders in a melodious voice at two youths attempting to keep up with his needs.
Olin gave me a smug look.
I refrained from bristling and cautiously stepped forward. I had to see this through now. “Uh, hello.”
A young male dropped something on his foot, muttering a curse that sounded like, “Tullia.”
All activity came to a crashing standstill. Three sets of similar eyes fell on me at once.
Olin cleared his throat pointedly. “Our guest would like to return her meal.”
I frowned at the steward, as I was not a guest, and that was not true. At least, not entirely. Stepping forward again, I smiled and said, “It was delicious, thank you.”
The intimidating male who’d been throwing commands blinked at me with large brown eyes. His matching hair was secured in a low ponytail by a black ribbon at his thick nape. Slowly, he looked from me to the steward, then he came to retrieve the plate from me. “You did not finish it.”
“I’m not used to such large servings,” I said softly, hoping my voice did not quake from his nearness.
But he gently took the plate and glass in his long fingers and nodded once. His golden features seemed a little drawn as he stared at me for a long moment before saying, “Then I will ensure your next meals are smaller to give you time to adjust.”
The steward made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.
The male with my plate glanced at him with narrowed eyes. Then he nodded to me once more and disposed of my dinner’s remains.
I was unsure what else to do, so I smiled at the other males and realized they were twins. One of them grinned brightly; the other glared and assessed me as if I were an insect who’d snuck inside his home.
“I am Kreed, and these are my sons, Thistle and Arryn.”
Without a name to give them, all I could say was, “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Kreed smiled, though it didn’t touch his eyes. Something akin to concern pulled at his mouth when his sons snickered to one another, and I turned from the room.
Upon reaching the first floor, I couldn’t help but remark aloud, “That was...” I gazed down into the humid gloom of the stairs. “Odd.”
Olin laughed, short and barked.
I frowned but hurried after him down the hall.
“It is you who is odd, changeling,” he said as he left me at the grand staircase that would deliver me to my rooms.
I watched him go, unease quickening my heart and keeping my feet still.
I was accustomed to being disliked, to being loathed, even, and I hadn’t expected to be treated as though I was a much-needed addition to this royal house.
That wasn’t what unsettled me.
It was the tension that stalked the halls. A reek of secrets and ghosts. It was the inescapable feeling that no matter who I was—a soon-to-be queen or a changeling—I would not be welcome here.
The war-hungry king had his secrets, this I knew. I’d thought I could get by without learning them. That I could find comfort in his realm without learning all of who he was.
Now, I couldn’t help but worry that I’d been wrong.
The following morning, a walk of the grounds revealed a frozen lake far beyond the stables, but it failed to clear the uncertainty.
An uncertainty that haunted my dreams and sprouted thorns with the king’s absence.
Florian had already indulged so many of my curiosities. Though each time he had, I was left with more questions and concerns that wouldn’t be revealed until his presence no longer clouded my judgment.
Marriage wasn’t something I’d ever thought too much about. While I was not opposed to the idea, I had harbored grand ideals of falling in love numerous times first. I never thought I’d one day agree to wed someone before I had experienced many lovers.
I was attracted to Florian. That much had been made abundantly and embarrassingly clear during the first moments I’d laid eyes upon him.
But one needed a heart in order to fall in love, and Florian...
If he had a heart, he’d hidden it too deep beneath his ice-crafted armor.
The longer his absence from this place he called home, the more I realized there was no care behind his actions. No empathy. Certainly no concern. There was only a ruthless and incredibly Fae-like interest to amuse himself while ensuring he received everything he desired.
And I was unassuming and insignificant enough to fit those desires.
There was no going back now, and though this attraction had grown claws and teeth that seemed to sharpen with every encounter the king deigned to give me, I didn’t want to.
I reminded myself that I was right where I needed to be to see to my own desires. So any befuddlement and useless wonderings would need to be cast aside and ignored.
The stable hand was in the paddocks with two giant horses, similar or perhaps the same as the beasts who’d hauled our carriage through Hellebore to this estate. More of them shifted and nickered as I crept through the rear door of the stables and into the dark.
The building appeared to be constructed from thick layers of wood to keep the freezing gusts from entering. Eight horses eyed me. All of them monstrously tall and seemingly taken aback by my presence.
“Hello,” I whispered, unsure why. Perhaps not to startle them.
Crossing the hay-dusted stone between the rows of large watching eyes, I marveled at how big the beasts truly were.
Intimidating, certainly, though not enough to stop me from offering my hand to a dark gray mare. She sniffed my chilled fingers, then nudged them away with a grunt.
“Bluebell won’t humor anyone without a treat first.”
My stomach flipped.
I spun to find Florian behind me, who’d entered soundlessly through the rear door I’d left open.
Dipping my head, I smiled. “Majesty.”
He straightened from the stall of a stallion and unfolded his arms. “Florian.”
I sucked my lips to keep from grinning and turned back to Bluebell. She was now watching Florian’s approach with a spark of hope in her eyes. I knew the feeling.
“You shouldn’t wander off without telling anyone,” Florian said. “It’s freezing out.”
“I was bored.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. I couldn’t be idle when a brand-new world awaited exploration. “And there’s so much to see.” I moved to the next, who eagerly tossed his large head over his stall door.
“Yet you chose to visit the horses.”
The horse sniffed my cheek when I stepped too close, and I laughed as I retreated and gave him my hand. “I’ve never ridden one, let alone seen creatures so huge this close.”
Florian said nothing for a short while.
Curious, I asked, “What of the winged beasts?”
“The hunt are the only ones daring enough to tame and breed them for their needs.” He watched the friendly horse attempt to chew my hair, then sighed and headed back to the door.
I’d thought he’d left, and I was still attempting to quell the disappointment when his booted steps sounded again.
His arm brushed mine as he reached for the stall door. “Step back.”
“You’re letting him out?” I asked, stumbling back with my eyes widening.
The reins in his hand swayed as he unlatched and opened the door. “You wish to ride a horse, and Bennington is the most tolerant of strangers.”
“I don’t have to,” I said quickly. “This was not what I intended when I said that. I was just speaking—”
Florian turned and pressed a finger to my mouth, blue eyes dancing between mine. “Sweet creature, would you like me to take you for a ride or not?”
The double meaning in his words did not escape me, and my cheeks flushed. I still nodded.
His eyes brightened. His finger dragged my lower lip down, his gaze following as he brought it over my chin and then to his mouth.
He could have just kissed me. He could kiss me whenever he liked, and he knew it.
But he ran that finger over his lips as if tasting something so delicious it was forbidden, then turned back to Bennington.
I watched, my heart thundering with anticipation, as Florian readied the horse who had to duck his head to fit through the large entrance to the stables. Then I followed them out into the cold.
He mounted first, swift and with an elegance that shocked for a male of his size and a beast so large. The sun peeking through the gloom overhead blinded when I gazed up at him from the ground. His hair curtained his cheeks in dark waves, the breeze rustling it against his shoulders and lips.
Lips that curled when I failed to acknowledge the hand he’d offered.
I dropped my head momentarily—eternally feeling the fascinated fool around this king—then placed my hand within his cool grasp.
He tugged, pulling me forward a step. A shocked squeak left me as he reached beneath my arms to haul me up onto the horse to sit before him.
The saddle was bigger than average, of course, but not built for two. I failed to care about the rubbing of the leather pommel snug against my core while pressed so tightly to Florian’s chest.
His rough exhale stirred my hair. His arm a tight band of muscle around my waist.
He adjusted my plum skirts, instructing, “Lift your legs for me.” Taking his time, he gently tucked the wind-catching gauze and silk under my thighs.
Every stroke of his fingers singed. Every breath in my ear became more ragged. Until he cursed and snatched the reins, hard at my lower back as he commanded Bennington to leave the drive of the stables.
I gripped the saddle, my chest filled with a riot of fluttering butterflies as we passed by the paddocks.
The stable hand cupped a hand over his forehead, watching us. He bowed before we left his line of sight and disappeared behind a dilapidated greenhouse. Rows upon rows of dead fruit trees surrounded it.
“Lemon trees,” I said, studying the bare branches. “Oranges, too.”
“It’s been a long while since they’ve produced any fruit,” Florian said to my ear. “They need to be ripped from the ground.” His tone hinted at a reluctance to do so, and I sensed something stopped him from getting rid of the greenhouse, too.
“Autumn will come,” I said, as that was likely why he waited. Hellebore was the coldest kingdom in Folkyn and all of Mythayla, but its deathly winter would make way for enough respite to give birth to more life.
Florian didn’t respond, and I soon forgot about the seasons as we approached the lake I’d seen from a distance earlier. The surface resembled a grimy mirror, shadows swaying from the snow-dusted trees we trotted within.
“Can we walk upon it?”
“Yes, but not with Bennington,” he said. “It’s thick, but not so thick that it will tolerate all of our weight combined.”
As we moved on, I looked back to the lake with longing—with a wonder for what lurked in the water beneath its frozen ceiling. “Have you ever seen a pixiefish?”
“Many,” he grunted, his fingers rubbing ever so slightly over my stomach.
“They were my favorite creature of Folkyn to read about when I was young,” I said. “Are they truly unable to leave the water?”
“Worried their tiny teeth and claws will find you?” Florian teased dryly.
I didn’t care if he wasn’t interested. I still said, “No, I just cannot imagine only ever staying in one place. Never seeing anything else.”
He sensed why that troubled me, but he took a minute to respond. “In Oleander, you’ll often see them baking upon the rocks by the rivers and sea. So yes,” he said, as though I’d forced him to, “they can leave their homes, but not for long.”
Not for long.
Those words hung like icicles within my chest as we wended deeper into the woods.
Bennington seemed all too happy to explore despite the cold. His breaths steamed the air, but he trotted through the brush with what could only be described as merriment. I leaned forward and patted his neck.
“You shouldn’t distract him.”
“He’s not distracted,” I said. “He’s happy.”
Florian’s hold tightened, almost as if he wanted to squeeze me for talking back to him.
I wouldn’t have minded, and I was past the point of caring what my acceptance of his frosty treatment said about me. Attraction, I reminded myself. I was discovering what I liked, and there was nothing wrong with that. I wasn’t worried that I liked to be told what to do.
The only thing that alarmed me was that I liked a lot of him.
Bennington leaped over a log, and I let loose a breathless and near-silent scream. Florian’s chuckle warmed my skin. The sound one of rough and rare beauty.
As if knowing it pleased me, he sobered and cleared his throat. “You wear the same coat.”
“I like it,” was all I could think to say. Rolina had never given me anything that wasn’t once her own, or unclaimed clothing she’d brought home from work.
“And do you like the rest?” he asked some moments later. “The clothing.”
My eyes caught on the crimson ivy of the manor through the trees ahead. We’d almost circled back. “I do,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Ask.”
I refrained from sending him a scowl over my shoulder. “How do you know I wish to ask anything?”
“You tense, and your tongue pokes at your teeth.”
I frowned as we left the trees and crossed the dirt road to the pebbled drive. “You can’t see that.”
“I can see the change in your jaw when you do it.”
Distant voices and wheels trundling over rock and dirt invaded our bubble.
“Perceptive,” I said, admittedly kind of impressed. Also far too pleased that he’d studied me so thoroughly.
My smile waned at what I glimpsed behind us.
Wagons were being hauled uphill toward the manor. Many wagons and many warriors on horseback. I stared over my shoulder as we continued ahead of them all, attempting to see what they were doing.
Florian placed his lips on my cheek and whispered roughly, “Ask, butterfly.”
So focused on whatever the king was having delivered—and in such large quantity—it took a moment to recall what we’d been discussing.
Another kiss to my cheek and I remembered, although his scent and the hand pressing against my stomach made it difficult to form the question. I hoped my insecurity came across as mere curiosity. “Who did all the fine clothing belong to?”
