Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine Book 1), page 6
The bird finally took flight, but not until I’d unrolled the small note that read, Midnight, same room, in a heavy and almost illegible cursive.
The note slowly crunched in my closing fist. I tossed it onto the kitchen countertop before opening the bag of cherry tomatoes and the cheese I’d purchased upon leaving the market. While eating, I contemplated what might happen at this next meeting.
I drained a glass of water and set it down with a trembling hand.
He was a king.
And it was therefore outrageous of me to lose myself to thoughts of his mouth devouring my own, and the way he’d felt so perfectly larger than life beneath me.
It would be equally as outrageous yet also wise to take his gold and never return—to continue seeking a way to sneak into Folkyn now that I had some means to do so. After all, there was a good chance Hal might have been lying about the sum of coin needed to persuade the right people.
His warning flattened that plan before it could grow wings. He hadn’t been lying, and even if he had, it would still cost more than I could afford.
And if I did not return to the Lair of Lust when sent for, what might Madam Morin do? She would undoubtedly be furious at my snubbing of any client, but a client such as he?
Whether I liked it or not, Crustle was where I must remain for the foreseeable future. So I popped another tomato into my mouth and drew a bath.
The squeak of the faucet and the water crashing against the porcelain tub echoed throughout the hauntingly empty apartment.
I’d spent my entire life feeling lonely. Now, I was truly alone.
Alone and unsure how to remain afloat while already sinking in these punishing and cage-resembling middle lands. To make an enemy out of anyone, especially a king, could cost me my life. Gane was the only one who might notice if I disappeared, and by the time he did, it could very well be too late.
I sank into the warming water and gazed at the coral tiles through a film of honeysuckle-scented bubbles, knowing none of this was new. I’d just made sure to never acknowledge it too closely before, my heart and mind always glued to a future I could not see.
For although I refused to admit it, I knew a future outside of Crustle was as good as nonexistent. If I wished to ensure my survival, it was best I make peace with that—and with my loneliness.
If this was it, then maybe there was no need to seek different employment. Maybe, with clients like the blue-eyed king, I could work for Madam Morin long enough to buy a small farm beyond the marshes surrounding the mayhem of town.
Dark-blue eyes blazed behind my closed eyelids, and I gasped as I rose from the water.
Excitement unfurled and exploded in my chest, shaming me.
I wanted to see my unexpected client again.
The king wanted me. For reasons I had yet to understand, being that he’d even said he preferred his lovers more experienced. If anyone could grant me all I’d dreamed of, everything that now seemed so irrevocably out of reach, it was a king of one of the ruling houses of Folkyn.
Impossible. He would certainly punish me.
But perhaps he wouldn’t.
Perhaps with enough patience and careful prodding, he could be convinced to help me, I thought, as the memory of his warm mouth and his warmer warning returned with frosted fire.
I’m going to do such filthy, dishonorable things to you.
I stopped my hand from sliding down my body and closed my thighs. Only because he might scent what I’d done, regardless of bathing. I groaned with a myriad of frustrations as I sank into the water again before washing and preparing to leave.
I wasn’t willing to wait and see if I would have an escort this time.
Arriving at the Lair of Lust a half hour before midnight, I made good use of my earliness by searching for a gown.
After trying on three that were either too tight or too large, I settled on a lemon number that fell to the floor in a single sheet of satin-backed lace. It resembled a night gown for someone with the coin to spare on the indulgence, but I couldn’t deny how much I liked the way it molded to my curves.
Gentle but fitting, it cupped my breasts, hips, and upper thighs before falling to touch my toes.
In the dressing room, I attempted to do as Madam Morin had said last time and wear my hair up. But the pins wouldn’t hold the wild and thick waves. Instead, I braided and pinned a few pieces behind my ears.
A woman entered as I contemplated doing something with my face, her own and her upper body flushed. Adjusting her tasseled dress, she froze at the sight of me and flicked strands of bronze hair from her cheek. “You must be Rolina’s replacement.”
I nodded and set the powder puff down. I had no idea how much to use anyway. “Hello.”
“Pretty,” she said, a little curl to her lip as she inspected me. “Rolina always dealt with the rogues. Dennis is a biter, so be sure to watch those lovely tits.”
I coughed to hide my shock. I had no intention of meeting other clients. At least, I hoped I would not have to. I didn’t bother saying so, though. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to meet him.”
“Count yourself lucky, then,” she muttered, closing the stall door to the tiny bathing room in the far corner.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the subtle paling of my cheeks, and decided to forgo putting anything on my face. Being that the woman hadn’t so much as offered her name, I didn’t doubt she wanted privacy. And I had no business hoping for something as elusive as a comrade, let alone a friend.
The door to the dressing room had barely closed behind me when Madam Morin appeared atop the stairs to the third floor. “Oh, merciful Mother. You’re actually half decent this eve.” She strode briskly down the hall. “Though I must say, a little color on those lips wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’m not well-acquainted with the art of such things.”
Knocking a ringlet from her cheek, Morin slowed and raised a brow. I was quickly studied from head to toe. “Get friendly with it, Flea. This one seems content, to be sure, but future clients might want a little more...” She pursed her crimson lips. “Flavor.”
I frowned, but before I could find anything to say to that, she snapped her fingers. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She gestured to the stairs. “Move, darling. He’s already here.”
“Already?” It couldn’t have been midnight yet, surely.
“You speak as though it’s a bad thing.” Laughing low, Morin scooted behind me to enter the dressing room. “Keep him eager, and you’ll keep his coin. But do hurry on now.”
The door closed, and I was left wondering if perhaps it was not such a bad thing indeed—to have a male as powerful as he so keen to see me.
Yet on the second floor, my confidence began to melt. I paused with my hand over the door handle.
His scent permeated. His presence a silent hum upon the air.
Belatedly realizing that if I could sense him through the wood, then he could sense me, I opened the door. As I quickly locked it behind me, I said without thinking, “You could have told me you were a king before we...” Remembering myself, I shut my mouth.
I winced, then turned and curtsied.
King Florian raised a brow. He was already lounging upon the divan, an ankle over his knee. “Before we what?”
Unable to conjure the right words, especially with those eyes traveling from my heating cheeks to my chest to my covered legs, I blurted as I straightened, “Before we fornicated.”
He coughed, and I could have sworn it was to cover a shocked bark of laughter. “Fornicated?”
My nose twitched. It was the wrong word, I knew, but it was too late now. I clenched my skirts. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know that I do,” he drawled dryly. “Would you care to explain?”
“I would not.” I was more red than a ripe tomato, made worse when I failed yet again to respect him properly. “Majesty.”
Another laugh. This one a melodic rumble that accompanied a flash of straight teeth and extremely sharp-looking canines. “You look like a lemon pie, butterfly.”
More embarrassment threatened to bloom. Doubting I had room for more, I curled my bare toes over the cool wood and forced a response. “Not fond of pie, Majesty?”
His lips twitched. “Sit.”
Laying a large hand next to him upon the divan, he waited for me to settle beside him.
“It would have been helpful to know you were a king.” I smoothed my fingers over the satin hugging my thighs and felt him track my every movement, perhaps even my slow-to-calm breath.
“How so?”
I glanced at the untouched liquor cabinet. “I could have been far more respectful.” I quickly added, “Majesty.”
“Florian.”
“King Florian.”
His nose crinkled ever so slightly. “Florian.”
“Oh,” I breathed, officially mortified. “Understood.”
He hummed as if amused. “You’ve been busy.” When I finally met his glowing dark gaze with a frown, he elaborated. “The market.”
“What of it?” I asked, feigning confusion—for visiting the market was nothing but normal.
The king of Hellebore dragged his teeth across his lower lip. Apathy and that strange cold heat pulsed, then leaked from him. After a moment, he huffed lightly. “You were hunting for something. I wish to know what it is.”
“Why?”
“I wish to know everything about you,” he stated, and so matter of fact, it took a moment for those words to sink beneath my skin.
It trembled in response, my fingers curling into the thin fabric of my gown. “There is really nothing much to know.”
“Humor me.” He turned to fully face me. “For now.”
I did the same, leaning into the lowering back of the divan. “For now?”
“I loathe repeating myself.”
Indeed, a tiny crease formed between his brows.
A huge risk, yet I supposed there was no better time than now to take it. I supposed there wasn’t going to be a good time for something so audacious as attempting to ask assistance from a king.
I chewed my lip, then released it when I decided on saying, “I would like to ask something of you first.”
His expression didn’t change. His eyes didn’t leave my face, roaming every feature with slow study. “Ask,” Florian clipped.
Fear drummed in my chest.
I silently prayed to the goddess that it did not quake my voice and cleared my throat. “If I am to meet with you,” I started, then corrected, “if I am to meet only with you, then I wish for something in return.”
Surprise cracked his facade, but only slightly. “Gold is not enough for you, daring creature?”
Heat infused my cheeks once more. “Some things cannot be purchased, no matter how much I wish and hope and try.”
“That is why you were poaching known criminals at the market.”
The word criminal alarmed me. At the same time, I hoped Hal was okay. “I was sent away.”
“And that is why he still breathes.”
My eyes bulged, and I forgot who I was seated with. “You followed me?”
An impatient and slow blink was all the response he gave.
Of course, such a thing was beneath him. Florian likely had loyal people everywhere—including the market.
His silk shirt, buttoned only to mid-chest as his other had been, gaped when he lifted a knee to the chair and leaned closer. He slid an arm along the back, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together right beside my shoulder. “Tell me of these things that cannot be purchased.”
His scent and pheromones crawled over and into my body, making my words meeker than I intended. “Will you consider my request if I do?”
Mouth quirking, the king said, “You are not exactly in a position to barter for much of anything, sweet butterfly.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Your aroma and your delicate...” He paused, then said flippantly, “Beauty, shall we say.”
My cheeks and neck caught fire, and I ducked my head as I scrambled for lost words. He was referring to my lack of experience with, well... anything. I knew that, but for some reason, I still liked it—liked whatever he called me far more than I should. Perhaps because it was not done out of hatred.
Perhaps because it was not Flea.
Emboldened, I lifted my head. “Why come to the middle lands for pleasure?”
“Why not?”
I scowled. “That is not an answer.”
He raised a brow, and I tensed.
He noticed, and perhaps decided to keep what was sure to be a scolding behind his closing lips. A moment later, he said irrefutably, “You are quick to grow highly anxious.”
“You are a king.” And it would be wise for me to remember that.
“Let us not pretend it is merely because of me.” My eyes narrowed, but he spoke again, his tone milder. “We shall get to the matter of my visits with you in good time, but right now, I wish to know what it is you seek so that I might take your request under advisement.”
I wasn’t certain I breathed as I studied his unmoving features. Mother maim me, he’d meant it. He wouldn’t punish me, then, surely. Not when he wanted to know.
My heart shook, hope bursting the confession from my chest and past my lips. “I want to go home.”
King Florian didn’t blink for the longest time.
After enduring that intense midnight stare for an agonizing half minute, I feared I might vomit my heart into my lap. I had to look away. I gazed down at my trembling and twisting hands.
A finger curled under my chin, lifting it.
Those depthless eyes searched mine, and I hadn’t realized I was on the cusp of tears until he studied the damp awaiting to fall with his head tilted. “When making a request that means so much to you, leave your heart out of it.” His thumb glossed the edge of my lower lip. “For there are many who will find endless pleasure in robbing you of such rare innocence and wonder.”
I wasn’t sure what compelled me to dare ask aloud, but the words escaped before I could hope to stop them. “Like you?”
“Sweetest creature...” His lips curved, and he closed the space between us to whisper against my mouth. “No one’s intentions for you are more wicked than my own.”
I believed him. I had much to learn about the royals of Folkyn, but I knew enough to know there had to be some truth to the rumors and tales of their mischievous and often cruel natures.
His mouth hovered. Our eyes locked, and our breath mingled.
Despite knowing I was wading into water too deep to navigate, I didn’t want to retreat.
I wanted to place my lips upon his. I wanted to touch his face. His throat. His arms. All of him. I wanted to see if the rest of his skin and bones were as sharp and smooth as the goddess-carved stone of his features.
“You’re aroused,” he said, a thin note of shock in his voice.
I swallowed and tried to ignore it, but with his lips so close to mine, his powerful energy encaging me, and something wild and unknown awakening within my body... I failed. My exhale shook with my words. “I think I would like to kiss you again.”
His eyes flared as I finished speaking and did just that. My own closed.
A relief that both burned and made me itch for more swept through me as soon as my mouth settled over his. I breathed him in, not knowing what to do—not confident that I was doing anything normal or correct but uncaring.
Hands seized my face.
Stunned, I stared up into the vibrant darkness of his gaze. “You are daring indeed.”
Fear returned, a flush entering my skin that nearly overpowered the madness that’d stolen my brain just moments ago.
I blamed him, and I said as much. “Did you do something to me?” Maybe he was one of the few faeries who could manipulate desires.
The king’s hold gentled. His thumbs rubbed over the warmth in my cheeks with something akin to fascination in his tight features. “No more than you’ve done me.”
Then he released me and stood.
A swift chill arrived and left me swaying.
I didn’t dare stand. I stayed seated and on the verge of shaking as he crossed the room to the liquor cabinet.
His tone was calm, everything about him seemingly unaffected as he poured himself a drink. “I assume you do not know where this home of yours is.”
“No,” I said, glad for the return of conversation after a stretched and tense silence. “That is what I long to find out. I want answers, and I need help to get them.”
“Because you are a changeling.”
Not a question. He already knew.
He tossed the whiskey down his throat. I admired the broad expanse of his back and the way his shirt molded to his large shoulders but floated over his torso like rippling night. The glass was set down sharply upon the oak. “Answer me.”
“You do not need me to,” I said but then surrendered what he wanted. “Yes, I’m a changeling.”
He turned and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. Leaning back against the cabinet, he eyed me over the strong bridge of his nose. “You’ve lived in Crustle your whole life, and you now wish for that to change?”
“Desperately,” I admitted, knowing it was far too late and futile to hide it.
His lashes lowered with his eyes, their journey down my body one that changed their color when they returned to mine a shade brighter. “That is why you attempted to trade yourself with the hunt.”
My stomach sank. “How did you...?”
Fool, I inwardly scolded.
He was a king. Whatever he desired to know, the information would be found.
As if reading my thoughts, King Florian’s mouth curved. He untucked a hand to scratch at the bristle dusting his jawline. “I’ve heard all about your encounter with the hunt.”
“Is that why you wished to meet with me?”
“Partly.” The confession was toneless. “I’m also informed when someone new is hired here at the Lair, especially when they’re young and full faerie.”
“Why?”
His teeth flashed, blinding. “Because I own it.”
I didn’t get the chance to recover from my surprise and the shock of such cruel beauty, nor ask him more questions.
