Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine Book 1), page 20
Delen was waiting outside when I emerged from the bathing room in my robe.
I was given only a nod when I greeted him. He entered silently with a moon-colored gown in hand that he draped over the chair in the corner of the room.
A pair of heeled slippers were carefully set by the door. He then stepped into the hall, and I assumed I would be readying myself, of which I would prefer, but he quickly returned with a small trunk.
His gray tunic was fringed in blue, matching the paint on his eyelids. I marveled at the glittering hue and the light rouge over his rock-hewn cheeks while he unlocked his trunk and opened several wooden compartments.
I moved closer to peek at the kaleidoscope of rouges and eye paints, but the look he shot me over his muscular shoulder made me retreat. “I’m only curious,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
His shoulders dropped, and he shifted to the side.
I smiled, knowing it was permission to inspect but to keep out of his way.
His skin was a light bronze, and his hair as white as my own. “You do not hail from Hellebore,” I said after some silent minutes.
He didn’t answer me.
He plucked the chair from the bureau and gestured for me to take a seat without saying a word. I watched as he placed a selection of colors upon the inside of his arm, and then as he picked two small brushes from a pocket in the lid of the trunk.
Delen was almost done applying the cool and sticky paint to my eyes when his lips parted, and I saw it. His silence was not because he too despised my presence here in this court, but because he couldn’t speak.
Horror swept through me with steel wings that scored at my innards.
Gently, I clasped his smooth chin.
His shoulders and jaw stiffened. Narrowed gold-brown eyes met mine, his brows low with confusion.
“I just need to know one thing.” My heart thundered at the thought. “Did Florian take your tongue?”
Delen blinked, staring at me as if unsure he should answer. After a moment, he shook his head. But the way his gaze hardened on mine caused my stomach to sink.
Rather than voice my suspicion, I released him and looked down at my fingers.
He was from Baneberry.
My gaze remained unseeing upon my hands as my fears and doubts and desires blended into an unsettling storm.
Delen gently threaded thick strands of my hair with dried flowers into a makeshift crown. My eyelids were painted a marble white that flicked at each corner. Kohl soaked my lashes, and a faint silver dust was brushed over my cheeks. My lips were a nude pink that matched the heeled slippers awaiting me by the door.
Delen inspected me, seemingly satisfied with his work. Then he bowed and left my rooms, allowing me privacy to don my lacy moon-washed gown.
It wasn’t easy to wriggle into. I should have expected as much and perhaps asked Delen to wait and assist me. I did the best I could, tightening the silk ribbons at my back. The bodice sat loose, but it would need to do.
Florian was in the foyer, talking with two of his warriors. One of them was Fume, the other a male with silver hair cropped so close to his scalp, he appeared to have none until I descended the last few stairs and neared.
Florian dismissed them. Fume made his way to the doors, but the male I’d yet to see before gave me a once-over that tightened his ice-blue eyes.
“Something wrong with your feet, Shole?”
The male’s full mouth curved as he took his time dragging his gaze from me. He gave his king a look that resulted in a glacial glare from Florian, then stalked to the doors.
Tension and something my senses failed to name emanated from the king. It worsened as he slowly turned to where I stood waiting before the stairs. The ice that kept his features perpetually as he wanted them—unmoving and unreadable—fractured with the parting of his mouth.
I chewed my lips, then winced. I rubbed them and inspected my finger, but there was thankfully no rouge. Whatever Delen’s materials were made from was a magic that didn’t exist in the middle lands of Crustle.
A glimmer of jewels caught my eye.
I soaked in the crown atop Florian’s head, noting it was the first time I’d seen him wear it.
Stunned by the overt reminder of who he was, I lowered my gaze to his boots. The pair he’d chosen for tonight’s festivities were knee-high and smooth black leather. His fitted pants coaxed my eyes to roam over those powerful legs to his torso.
A dress coat, black and edged in a dark blue with matching buttons, rose high at the collar and hung from his broad shoulders in intimidatingly sharp lines. He’d left it unbuttoned. A matching blue shirt beneath was tucked into his pants, molding to his broad chest and tapering temptingly at his waist.
By the time I reached his jaw, the bristle there not as heavy, he was standing before me.
My neck curled back, my smile one that conveyed I knew I’d been caught—and I didn’t much care. “Majesty.”
Florian’s lips closed, curving slightly.
My smile fell beneath the changing hue of his eyes while he stared down at me. He didn’t blink, though his long lashes dipped as his gaze danced with mine.
I might not have been exceptionally knowledgeable when it came to sex, but I was beginning to wonder if perhaps these staring games of his could not be defined as a hunter merely studying his prey.
For as much as I loathed to admit it, the longer he looked at me, the more I struggled to ignore it. The intimacy that aroused more than any words I’d read in books.
Discomfort stumbled with anticipation, and when the two combined, a wildness that begged to be unleashed was born.
“You look divine enough to eat,” Florian murmured.
The heat he’d quelled just hours ago flared and forced my eyes from his. I hadn’t eaten well in days, yet the only thing I hungered for was not what I should want.
“Turn around,” he said gruffly.
I frowned, but he clasped my arm and gently turned me to face the stairs. My hair was gathered over one shoulder. His deft fingers liquefied my blood as he tied the ribbons of the silk bodice properly.
My breathing quickened. I told myself it was due to the tightened bodice.
I should have thanked him, this winter king who had tricked me into placing myself exactly where he wanted me upon his chess board. The urge to do so nearly got the better of me until his fingers met the exposed skin through the flower-shaped lace at my upper back.
The same lace spread down my arms, his touch tracing the material.
As light as a feather, his fingertips stroked, slowing at the skin the flowers exposed. The air became charged, hard to inhale, as his heat closed in at my back. His softened voice stirred my hair. “Your blood betrays you as much as your body, butterfly.” His mouth brushed the arch of my ear. “It rushes to meet my touch.”
Even if I could have trusted myself to speak, he gave me no time.
Cold washed in as Florian stepped back, and I turned as Olin neared with a shimmering cloak that matched my gown.
He bowed to his king, his shrewd lavender eyes appraising me for all of a second. I couldn’t resist smiling brightly now that I knew the source of his eternally dour mood was Kreed.
Florian noticed.
He stepped close once more to drape the cloak over my shoulders. Rounding me, he fastened it at my neck, and I made myself stare at his squarely hewn chin with its slight dimple as my body and blood began to betray me yet again.
A curled finger tipped up my chin. The king’s eyes narrowed. “Do not toy with Olin.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” I declared, all the while I fought back another smile.
Florian studied me. His own mouth twitched, then he stepped away with a rough exhale and held out his hand.
I looked at it, then at his eyes. “We’re materializing?”
“Unless you think yourself too unwell. In which case, you are welcome to stay here and rest.”
That I knew he would prefer that while I was victim to the heat had me stepping forward and folding my hand around his.
He eyed me curiously, as if sensing that I would endeavor to intentionally displease him, and took my other hand. He pulled me against his hard body. Another whisper was murmured to my hairline with tickling lips. “Hold on tight, troublesome creature.”
The energy currents were no kinder to me this time.
Screeching darkness stole my breath and every thought from my mind.
We were spat out with a force that would’ve sent me to my knees with nausea if it weren’t for Florian’s arm banding tight around my waist.
He held me to him as the world reshaped itself.
The call of owls and revelry nearby trickled in as the ringing in my head faded. My tight breaths soon slowed. My eyes opened to find the top button of Florian’s shirt pressed against the tip of my nose.
I broke out of his hold and rubbed it. “Where are we?”
“Wattle Woods,” he said, then remembered I had no idea what that meant. “We’re at the base of Frostfall Mountains.” He gestured to the trees climbing high over the dark hills behind us. “The manor and city are on the other side. Half a day’s journey via horseback.”
That would mean... “We’re near the sea?”
Florian huffed. “A few hours on foot.” A look at my shoes. “I must advise against fleeing for a ship in such impractical footwear, butterfly.”
I snorted, inwardly admonishing myself for showing that he was humorous. Frosty kings with armies swarming and robbing another kingdom should not be considered anything but grotesquely immoral.
And immoral Florian most certainly was, but grotesque...
Unfortunately not.
Perhaps I would find it easier to cling to my hatred for his cruelty and duplicitous actions if he was.
That should have shamed me, and it did, though mostly because I felt no shame for my own actions—and because I hadn’t even considered escape until he’d mentioned it.
“Running anywhere in your state would not be wise,” Florian said darkly, as if he could see my thoughts dancing all over my face. He likely could. I was not at all adept at hiding anything. “Though if you’re truly desperate to try, I shall give you a head start.”
A howl struck through the night. The eerie sound did not come from a beast, but from those in the clearing aglow with flickering firelight through the trees.
Florian grinned, the beautiful transformation of his goddess-blessed features anything but inviting. “I do enjoy a good hunt.”
I glowered. “You wouldn’t win anything if you caught me.”
His brow arched. He closed the distance between us with a flaring of his nostrils and his brightening eyes drifting down my body. “If you say so.”
His patience seemed endless—depthless.
Given all he’d planned and was now executing so meticulously, if this tension between us snapped in such a final way, I might as well be giving him the killing blade.
And I couldn’t help but wonder if I hadn’t discovered his true desires for me, if I’d have made my way to his rooms at the first signs of the heat’s arrival, what we might have already done...
His wolfish grin waned, his brows lowering as though he would speak.
Then there was a violent shake of the ferns at my ankles, and I startled, turning and flattening my back to Florian’s chest.
He grunted, his hands falling to my arms. Before his fingers could enclose around them, my heart stopped for a different reason.
I crossed to the ferns as a sniffing nose and beady eyes appeared.
I gathered my gown to crouch low and inspect it. The creature should have scuttled away, but to my surprise and delight, it waddled toward me on legs so tiny, its stout body was covered in dirt when I picked it up.
I brushed some from its smooth fur. Those beady eyes seemed unsure as they glanced at the king behind me.
I trailed a finger over its back. “Is it a peppin?”
“Close,” Florian said. “A burshka.” Carefully, he pointed at the wriggling ears, his fingers skimming mine. “See, the ears are more round, and they’re twice the size of a peppin.”
“Peppins must be tiny indeed.” The creature’s nose twitched as it shied away from the king’s giant hand. “It’s so soft.” I pushed the critter toward him, forgetting how close we were. My arm brushed his stomach. “Touch it.”
As though I were doing something ridiculous, his mouth quirked with his brow. “I’ve seen hundreds of them before, butterfly. Gnawing at carcasses or stealing food from camps and village barns.”
He was as foolish as he was handsome if he thought that would deter me. “But have you ever held one?” The creature’s little claws dug into my hand as I again offered it to the king.
He looked down at it with a slight shake of his head. He might have been itching to arrive at the festival, but he was far from annoyed.
He plucked the burshka from my hand as if it were nothing but the rodent it was. It squeaked like a miniature pig.
“Careful,” I admonished, cupping my hand around his while stroking the milk-brown fur.
“Satisfied?” Florian asked, his eyes lifting to mine beneath his long lashes.
Sudden and severe dryness filled my mouth. I tried to say in jest, but whispered, “An unkind thing to say to me right now.”
The heat he’d calmed that afternoon rose with a brutality that stole my breath as I briefly lost myself to imaginings of his mouth on mine, his hand fisting my hair, and his imposing form overpowering my weak and needy body...
Florian’s eyes brightened with hunger, his jaw tight as he gritted, “Skies, Tullia.” He dumped the creature into my hand, somehow knowing I would wish to pet it before I released it. “Reel it in, or we’re going to leave before we’ve even arrived.”
Embarrassed and unsure of what to say, I ran a finger down the burshka’s back, then crouched to set the critter free. I watched it go, partly to try to do as the king said and calm myself, but also because I wondered what it felt like.
To have the ability to roam any place you wished.
Then I wondered why the thought of roaming Folkyn, or any realm, without knowing if I’d see Florian ever again unveiled a quiet terror within me.
Rising, I brushed my hands over my gown, wincing when I remembered it was easily soiled.
Florian tipped up my chin, his eyes searching mine.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m not. You’re fucking potent,” he clipped, his jaw rotating and his thumb skimming the corner of my lips. He watched them part. “I miss this mouth.”
He’d said it as if truly bothered—bothered that I hadn’t kissed him and bothered that he wished for me to.
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have lied to me,” I quipped and gathered my gown to pass him.
His fingers caught mine, twirling me back so fast I had to brace my hands over his chest to steady myself. “And you expect me to believe that if I had not, I would still be kissing you?” His snidely playful tone suggested otherwise. Clasping my chin, he lowered his mouth to mine. “You wouldn’t have done what I needed if you’d known.”
He was right. I wouldn’t have signed that contract. He didn’t need me to tell him that.
Though what else would I have done?
If Florian had admitted to wanting to squash the king who’d sired and hidden me, then would I have found another way to Folkyn? We both knew I would have failed and that, no matter what I tried to tell myself I would have done, there was no escaping Florian after that first meeting in the Lair of Lust.
My future belonged to him. My fate had been sealed the moment I’d first laid eyes on him. Perhaps, warned a quiet voice, even long before then.
These endless walls I kept slamming into—the lack of control over my own life—made that building rage war alongside the sickeningly powerful desire of the heat.
I was almost afraid to discover which one might win as our mixing breath warmed the chilled air of the forest.
My voice was thick. “And now I can never believe a word you say.” Ignoring the desire to kiss him until I drew blood and then slap him, I said with my mouth brushing his, “Nor can I believe for a moment that you suffer from lack of affection when you’ve indulged in others.”
The images Queen Aura had painted of this king were hard to forget, yet also hard to match with the male standing before me. The only exception was the part pertaining to his pleasure seeking with as many willing partners as possible.
He was a king. Virile and tenacious and mouthwatering. He oozed pheromones and power as though they were a second shadow to lure his prey. And not only was I inexperienced in matters of pleasure, but I was also now unwilling to fall victim to all that he was.
I was about to turn away when Florian said roughly, “For feeding only.”
The confession singed.
I stepped back.
Florian studied my features, his expression almost curious. “You’re upset.”
“I’m no such thing.” I glared at the pine needles and rocks blanketing the snow-kissed ground, wishing they’d fly up to smack this deceitful king in his arrogant face. “I suppose I am shocked, but I shouldn’t be.” I began to walk toward the awaiting lights again.
Shocked and stupid.
For a stolen second there, I’d almost believed it might not be so terrible to surrender to the heat rather than the rage. I’d almost believed he’d spoken true when he’d claimed that he wished to have both me and his revenge, and therefore, maybe I could have used it to my advantage by slowly gaining his trust.
But he didn’t want me badly enough. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have fed from another.
An irrational way of thinking, certainly. The king needed to consume blood to nourish those magical abilities of his—to keep them as cold and deadly as his heart.
But I didn’t want to be rational. For what upset me the most was that he hadn’t asked me if I would be a willing source.
Though if he had, would I have surrendered that much at least?
