Page 77 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“With pleasure.”

The pace becomes punishing, but it’s exactly what I want, him pounding into me, forcing me closer to climax with every thrust. I dig my fingernails into his forearms, almost hard enough to draw blood, then the taut muscles of his behind, willing him to go harder, until I can see the stars, basking in the pure joy of this moment.

Just when I don’t think he can go any deeper, Ruskin pulls my leg up against his chest and claims an extra inch within me. A cry of pleasure claws its way up my throat, and I shut my eyes hard, struggling to process the way my body responds. A violent orgasm floods through me, pulling on my vocal cords. It makes every muscle in my body tighten and release.

It pushes Ruskin over the edge too, and he finishes with me, releasing my leg and falling forward, his palms on either side of me, as he thrusts one final time. He holds perfectly still for a moment and the torrent of sensation—piercing and perfect—grips me, dominating my mind and body for a few exquisite heartbeats, then gives way to a mellow glow of satisfaction, enveloping me in a warm embrace as my muscles grow slack.

But there’s something else, something beyond the power of our mingling climaxes—magic. Even as my orgasm crests, a second surge follows it—a force more mystical than physical, at once achingly familiar and yet separate from me, entering my body, filling me up from fingertips to toes and then spilling outwards.

The magic hums around me—around us—and I look up to see various bits of metal flying around the tent. Knives and forks from our supper, hair pins, my shoes, tugged along by their buckles. Ruskin looks up at the sound of his sword being dragged into the air and laughs, reaching up to tug it from orbit. As soon as he touches it, the wave of power dies and the metal falls to the ground with a series of harmless thuds.

He sets the blade down beside us and strokes my hair.

“Seems like someone got carried away,” he chuckles, both of us still panting from our efforts.

But though the magic was mine, I’m sure that the energy powering it was not. I felt it fill my body as if it was coming from somewhere else—a raw strength much more forceful than my own pouring into me from something—someone—else. In my heart, I know the source without needing any more evidence: Ruskin. The power that filled me was his, mingling with mine, and though it was just for a moment, it was enough to energize my magic so that it rushed from me and expressed itself in a random flight of metal.

As he kisses my forehead and extricates himself from me, I can see Ruskin has no idea what happened. He looks peaceful, happy, slumping down beside me and closing his eyes. He can rest easy, believing I simply lost control of my magic in the heat of the moment. But I know what really happened.

Destan’s words come back to me. Hadn’t they covered something like this? A theory about naminai being able to share each other’s power, channeling strength to each other. It wouldn’t be possible otherwise, would it?

But how is it possible at all? My bond with Ruskin is incomplete. Ruskin doesn’t know my true name—isn’t even aware I have one. But I know his, and maybe that’s enough, in a moment of intense closeness, when we are sharing so much else, for his power to slip into me.

His even breathing tells me he’s fallen asleep, and I want to be there too, in easy slumber. But I’m kept awake by this revelation, wondering why it fills me with such fear. Just an hour ago, I felt like we’d taken a step forward—that I was ready to trust him. But now I realize how far we still have to go, because I’m not ready to trust him with this. Not yet. Not when I don’t even know if I’m willing to accept the naminai bond.

I’m the one keeping secrets now, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. But telling him everything doesn’t feel like a solution either. I don’t know if I can get past my doubts about us, and it’s not fair to him to get his hopes up for a bond I’m not sure we’ll ever fully share.

I don’t sleep well for the rest of the night, too unsettled by the fresh deception that festers between us.

Daylight filters through the fabric of the tent, and Ruskin wakes to find me already dressed and packed. I don’t want to linger here, in this place where we were so intimate. It’s too unsettling when I know that for now I have to keep a certain distance. At least until I’ve decided what to do about our naminai bond.

It doesn’t stop him coming up behind me as I check on the horses, trailing a hand along my hip.

“Good morning,” he breathes into my hair. I close my eyes, summoning the strength not to turn around and kiss him. I arrange my features into a neutral expression before facing him, casually ducking away from his touch.

“Good morning,” I say. “I’ve already eaten, so I’m ready to get going whenever you are.”

He studies me, instantly picking up on the careful distance of my tone, the gentle rejection of his intimacy. His expression drops into blankness, which is enough to show that I’ve hurt him—badly enough that he’s trying to hide it. I feel like a cold bitch, but I can’t let this go further until I’m sure how far I want it to go.

“Very well,” he says, and for once I feel a swell of relief that Ruskin isn’t one for communicating much. He could just ask me what’s going on, why I’m pulling away after we held each other so close last night, but instead his jaw hardens, and when he blinks, his eyes shift into their Unseelie shape. He’s closing himself off right in front of me, and I made it happen.

“I’ll skip breakfast. You’re right, we shouldn’t waste time,” he says, his voice matching mine—remote, unbreachable.

We set out and the tension of yesterday settles back down upon us, though for entirely different reasons this time. We don’t really speak again until the trees begin to thin out, and the land opens up into rolling green hills with banks of violet flowers.

“Amethyn Valley,” I breathe, my blood running cold from the memory. It’s beautiful now, the blooms carpeting it, not revealing a trace of the terrible bloodshed their ancestors witnessed all those years ago.

“Yes, we’re close to the border now. We’ll cross over near the mountains, past Irnua Lake.”

We ride for another hour more, and the peaks slowly take up more of the skyline. I can see an expanse of dark water to our left, over the ridge of the road, and I notice the ground growing less springy beneath the horse’s stride, the lush green grass thinning out and giving way to a carpet of khaki moss.

Eventually Ruskin stops, closing his eyes as if listening to something.

“We’re by the border now.”

“You can feel it?” I ask.

“Most fae can, but me especially. I’m leaving the Seelie Kingdom behind, and some of my power as High King with it. I won’t be able to draw from the land the way I can in my court. We should be careful from now on.”

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