Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine Book 1), page 14
“No,” I said, thinking back to the time I’d indulged my curiosity over Rolina’s preferred method of escapism. “My guardian drank a lot. Sometimes, she’d fall asleep and leave some left over.” My limbs tightened at the memory. “There wasn’t enough left to fill half a glass, but she still noticed.” I took another sip to give myself something to focus on—something to keep me from falling prey to another memory. “She was furious.”
“She hurt you.” The low words were not a question.
I still nodded, for he’d already guessed as much. I set the wine down and tucked my clammy hands within my skirts beneath the table. “Rolina preferred to escape me and her grief via toxins, but most of the time, it only made it worse.”
“A rather gentle way of putting it,” he remarked snidely.
“I suppose,” I said, casting my eyes from his probing gaze to the tabletop.
He watched me for some time, a long finger circling the base of his glass. “And how did you escape?” he finally asked, so softly, it felt like a brush of his fingers over my bare flesh. “Books?”
I smiled, giving my eyes back to his. “Guilty.”
His mouth curved, those endless dark blues unrelenting upon my every feature. So much so, I felt cold when they fell away and he served me a slice of the herbed fish. “Lemon?”
“Please,” I said, slightly croaked.
I was tempted to remove my coat when he squeezed the fruit. Liquid poured from his iron grip, matching the flood of heat pooling low in my stomach.
I didn’t need to meet his eyes to know he’d handed me a knowing look. The murdered slice of lemon was dropped cruelly to the side of the entrée dish.
“You are too pure of heart,” Florian commented. “Considering.”
I blinked. “Considering?”
“The woman abused you.” Then, as if mystified, he asked, “How?”
Though he waited, I could find no answer for him. I picked up my cutlery and kept my eyes fastened to my plate as we ate in a silence that was anything but comfortable.
Mercifully, the tension was tamed by the arrival of a bushy-haired male.
He introduced himself to me with a wide smile and a ruddiness to his cheeks that met his brown eyes and made me instantly wish to trust him. “Don,” he declared with a dramatic flourish of his hand as he bowed to both of us. “Welcome to a piece of my soul, beautiful lady.”
The king looked at Don with his elbow on the table. His talented fingers skimmed his jaw, a smirk at his lips while the jovial male regaled me with tales of his beloved restaurant.
“... And my father was also a great fisher, but me?” He laughed, hearty and thick. “Oh no. The goddess cursed me with terrible seasickness.” His eyes twinkled when I laughed. “Or did she bless me? For I have always been a master cook, my dear, never you doubt it.”
“Father.” Jessilba appeared behind him, wide-eyed and seeming almost concerned. She clasped his elbow, tugging. “Come along before you paint yourself a liar. The squid is done.”
Don sputtered a myriad of colorful curses. Bowing with two jerks of his rotund form, he hurried back to his kitchen through a door beyond the bar.
I watched him go, feeling lighter from his presence.
That lightness bubbled when I found the king studying me, that smirk now matching the contemplative look in his eyes. “You have a musical laugh.”
Unsure if that was a good thing, I only stared while my cheeks grew warm.
“Like birdsong beneath the rain,” he murmured, almost as if to himself while lifting his glass of wine to his lips.
His throat dipped as he swallowed, and I imagined what it might feel like to run my tongue over his Adam’s apple.
I hadn’t realized I was still staring at his throat until a plate of squid was set before me. A glowing salad, drizzled with a sauce that smelled like nutmeg and ginger, was piled alongside it.
Florian sniffed and prodded at each dish until he was satisfied it was safe, uncaring if Don or his daughter watched from the kitchen.
While we ate, I thought of Snow and failed to hide the bite of panic in my voice when I asked, “Did someone feed the cub?”
Ever the refined king, Florian finished chewing while giving me an amused look.
He swallowed and dropped his gaze to his food. “I told you it would be taken care of.” He cut into the squid, his eyes darker when they lifted to mine. “You do not trust me to keep my word?”
His question should have been answered with a confident and instant yes.
Instead, I said around a mouthful of food, “I trust you do not like that I disobeyed you and brought her to your stables.”
I felt his stare like the burn of the sun while I focused on my meal. After a moment, he said, “You surprise me.”
“I don’t mean to offend.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Oh. I swallowed and gulped some wine, pondering what he did mean.
As we came close to finishing our meals, I then pondered how to broach the subject of the news he had yet to tell me.
As though feeling my itch to ask, the king’s eyes rose from my plate to meet mine.
I was thankful my voice sounded more confident than I felt. “You said you have news regarding my family.”
Again, Florian took his time chewing. He then set his cutlery down and dabbed at his mouth with a silver napkin. “They are not in my kingdom,” is all he said.
My stomach sank with my heart.
I’d known there was a good chance anyone who shared my bloodline would not reside here in Hellebore. For if they did, then surely, the king would have sought them out upon first learning what I desired most from Faerie.
“Finish your meal, butterfly.”
I’d eaten most of it, and I was now far more interested in the wine than anything else. “I’ve had enough to eat, Majesty,” I murmured, and brought the glass to my mouth to drain it.
He watched me place it on the table, that familiar tic to his jaw. “Florian.”
I should have smiled and said his name, as per what was growing usual, but I couldn’t find it within me to care at that moment.
If my family wasn’t here, then I would need to find a way to discover where they were. That, or I would need to travel to the other kingdoms of Folkyn—Oleander, Baneberry, and Aconite. Doing so would be no easy task, being that this king I’d agreed to marry said I was confined to his kingdom because he was in conflict with one of them.
We were settling into the carriage when I dared to finally ask him, “Which realm are you feuding with?”
Florian’s gaze was bright with incredulity as it swept to me.
But I held it and said, “If I am to search for answers, then it would be helpful to know which kingdom I should avoid looking at first.”
His shoulders sat tight and high, the name almost gritted. “Baneberry.”
We lurched forward, and I stared at the clean and sharp lines of his profile as he stared at the closed driver window. He knew I watched him, yet he looked straight ahead and said nothing more.
He did not reach for me once during the short journey through the streets and up the mountain to the manor.
Something about his silence felt venomous, as though it were both a punishment and for my own good. I felt neither grateful nor remorseful. If anything, I grew more irritated and confused the longer this game of affection and rejection continued.
There was plenty Florian wasn’t telling me. I knew that. I’d known it since I’d first pressed my mouth to his in that pleasure house. I just hadn’t expected it to bother me this much—to eventually crawl under my skin and prod like a parasite that might kill.
I was merely insurance for his kingdom. I was to be his dutiful wife. I would likely be expected to provide him with an heir or two at some point, too.
But I was not permitted to truly know him.
Therefore, I was not supposed to ask him what this feud was about, nor why he seemed annoyed that I’d asked of it at all.
Left with no other options, unless I wished to return to Crustle and start anew with my quest to find the home I’d never had, I remained silent.
A familiar male with white-blond hair that stood in puffs reminiscent of the snow beneath the carriage’s crunching wheels rushed to greet us. It was the same male who’d laughed in Florian’s study after his king had kissed and dismissed me.
He wore a uniform that confirmed he was indeed a warrior, but the crest on his coat was different from the others I’d glimpsed. It was red, which I assumed signified his high rank.
A rank that allowed him to glare at the king impatiently as soon as he opened the door. As if he might pluck Florian from his seat to deliver him evidently urgent news.
The male looked at me with narrowed pale-blue eyes, his light-brown skin creasing as his lips curled a fraction.
I hadn’t the time to decide whether it was a sneer or a smirk. Florian left the carriage and landed upon the pebbled drive in one shockingly graceful leap.
I climbed out with the help of the driver, who held my hand with a stiffness that conveyed he’d rather not touch me. Perhaps because I was betrothed to the king. I didn’t care to analyze it when Florian barked at the blond male, “Fume.”
The warrior, Fume, who’d been walking toward a wagon parked on the other side of the drive, backtracked.
Florian said something in his ear, the two of them similar in height. Then Fume crossed the drive to a small group of his awaiting brethren while I slowly made my way to the doors Florian and his ire had blocked.
A stupid question, yet I asked it anyway. “Is everything okay?”
Florian ripped his gaze from the wagon trundling from the drive. I peered over my shoulder, the frosted breeze lashing at my cheek.
Hands, bloodied and large, gripped the bars of the small oval window in the wagon’s side, attempting to shake the grate free. A muffled bellow echoed in their wake.
“Go upstairs and get warm.” An order, iced and final. The king disappeared with flurries that left a vapor where he’d stood.
I stared through the darkness for moments that numbed my fingers and cheeks until the sound of nearing steps broke my trance. A patrolling guard approached, and I retreated indoors before being told to.
Though I tried, I failed to forget the sight of those bloodied hands while I warmed up in the bathing pool. My mind in tangles and my gut twisting, I sat in a fluffy navy-blue robe before the fire until I heard Florian enter his rooms.
I was walking down the hall before I could talk myself out of it.
One of the doors had been left cracked open. I knocked and waited, tempted to peer inside my soon-to-be husband’s private chambers.
“I’ve little time, butterfly,” he warned from within. “I’ll send for you tomorrow.”
Dismissed without even opening the doors.
Annoyed and undeniably offended, I spun on my heel to return to my rooms. But that twisting in my stomach intensified.
I turned back and pushed the cracked door all the way open, letting myself in.
Then stopped at the sight of Florian’s bare back.
Muscle twitched and shifted as he dropped a bloodstained shirt to the floor and then unbuckled his belt. “I told you—”
“What exactly does this feud with Baneberry mean?” I asked, done with being left to dwell in confusion. “I thought you were not yet at war.”
“There are many facets to war besides battle, sweet creature.” He dropped his belt, the leather hitting the stone with a resounding clank, and turned to face me. “And none are things I wish to speak of tonight.”
“Or ever,” I whispered, my eyes plastered to his chest—the scars and muscle and taut golden skin.
But it was the tattoo that stole my focus.
Such a thing was common within the middle lands, especially among humans, witches, and half breeds. It was rare to see them on a full-blooded faerie. Given the way we healed at a far faster rate than those with mortal blood, it would have taken countless sessions to become a permanent etching upon his body.
“You would do well to remember our agreement.”
My eyes dropped, then reluctantly rose from his tapered torso with my resolve. “If I am to be your wife, I should at least know what issues this kingdom faces.” I lifted my chin higher when his eyes darkened. “And why.”
“Should you now?” Eyes clasped on mine, he reached down to unfasten his pants.
I would not let him deter me or shift my focus. I kept my gaze locked with his even as my blood burned with hungering interest while he kicked his trousers aside.
“Come to me.”
I took a step forward, then stopped and scowled. “Florian, please.”
His lips quirked. “Two words I’ve never loved hearing more.” His expression hardened with his tone. “Come here, butterfly.”
Knowing it was perhaps the only way I might get what I wanted, and that I wanted to surrender, I did. I crossed the long strip of plush night-blue carpet to stand mere inches from him.
An arm shot out to wrap around my waist. My breath fled when he pulled me to his body, and I was forced to place my hands on his bare and incredibly warm chest.
He tipped my chin, removing my eyes from the name written in the old language the Fae did not share with others upon his chest. It was forbidden to speak or teach it in Crustle. I knew little about it, but I knew just enough from my tireless research to understand what the ink said.
Lilitha.
“All I loved was taken from me.” His thumb brushed my cheek, his eyes a never-ending darkness that stalked my flushed skin and parted lips. “My life irrevocably and unforgivably changed, and I’ve spent many years devising ways to rebalance the scales.”
“Vengeance,” I breathed.
Florian hummed. “I prefer to call it fair play.”
That nearly made me smile. The scent of the bloodied clothing behind him on the floor stopped it. My lashes lowered to his chest. “Your sister?”
His silence was confirmation.
I wanted him to tell me what had happened to her, all the while accepting that the princess was no longer here was all I needed to know. “You’ve been punishing Baneberry,” I guessed.
“I have been warning them of what’s to come, yes.”
Such few words, deliberately chosen for me to wonder over their every meaning. “You play games with me,” I said, the tension between us growing taut. “But I am not one of your chess pieces.”
His response drew my eyes to his. “I do not recall asking you to enter my chambers. In fact, I believe I advised against it.”
“That is not what I meant.” I swallowed the urge to apologize for my impatient tone. “Florian—”
His head lowered, the only warning I had before his mouth stole my own and erased what I’d been about to say.
He marched me backward to a bed twice the size of the giant one in my rooms. My legs hit the wooden frame, and I fell back onto the feather-filled bedding.
Florian loomed above me, dark hair and fever-bright eyes.
My heart swooped when he knocked my knees open with one of his, and his naked body dropped to press against mine. He groaned when his cock encountered bare skin beneath my robe, the flare of his eyes telling me he hadn’t expected it. “Fuck.”
He kissed me before I could find the strength to protest about what was surely going to happen.
Hot, wet, and toe-curling—his tongue and lips devoured mine with a hunger I’d yet to receive from him. Then he opened my robe and cursed at the sight of my breasts. My hands curled, lost in the thick gray bedding, as he gifted each breast the adoring heat of his mouth.
His hips rose, taking the heavy warmth of his cock that had nestled perfectly over my core and leaving me cold.
Until his finger slid through me and his mouth trailed a path over my stomach.
He stilled at what he found. “I see I have not been tending to your needs very well.”
I could have certainly agreed, but he was not talking about my emotional turmoil.
“So fucking wet, sweet creature.” He pushed my thighs wider, his mouth roaming lower to where I needed him.
Breaths growing panted, my back arched at the first slow swipe of his tongue over my swollen center. A groan vibrated against my slick and desperate flesh.
I knew what he was doing. I knew, yet all I could do was let him and admit, even if only to myself, I was weak and incapable of resisting him. Especially right now.
In my defense, he made it extremely difficult when the want that had indeed been awaiting his attention was finally given it. My body climbed higher with every lapping stroke of his tongue.
It seemed he was in a hurry this evening, as he didn’t feast until I was clawing and mindless. Which only further proved he was attempting to placate me so he could return to whatever business I’d interrupted.
He flattened his tongue against my clit, and I ruptured so completely, I was still twisting on the bed with my thighs clamped together while he pulled on a clean pair of pants.
Beneath heavy eyelids, I watched him snatch a long-sleeved shirt from the leather chaise lounge in the corner and slip it on. He buttoned it as he leaned over me to pull the bedding atop my useless body.
He was still hard. The imprint of him pressed angrily to his pants.
What awaited him must have been important. That, or perhaps he found pleasure in depriving himself.
A kiss that warmed the cold he’d wrapped around my heart was given to my head. “Sleep, butterfly.”
And after the doors to his rooms clicked shut, I almost did.
I blinked at the long oak dresser that sat nearest the doors. Then the matching slabs of shelving beside it that spanned the length of the wall to the chaise he seemed fond of tossing clothes upon.
There were no windows. Heavy drapes covered doors to a balcony stretching from the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed toward the open door of his bathing room, interrupted only by a fireplace.
He’d left me alone in his rooms.
So, of course, I decided it was only fair that I do some investigating.
Fair play, I believed he’d called it.
