Page 26 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“Oh, right,” I say, similarly incoherent. “I just came for…” I tear myself away from his gaze, scanning around for the shoes in question. They’re over by the bed, and I have to close the gap between us, sitting on the edge of it to put them on. I try to focus on the task at hand, attempting to navigate around the meters of fabric making up my skirts so I can tie the ribbons that will keep my shoes on my feet.

“Let me,” he says, kneeling in front of me before I can protest.

My breath hitches as he pushes back the fabric, revealing my legs up to the knee. His hand doesn’t quite graze the skin of my thighs, but the whisper of his touch is there. I want more, for the air kissing my skin to be replaced with the heat of his hands and mouth, the weight of his muscled body, but I stay silent, watching him.

He takes my ankle, extending my leg outwards, and slips the first shoe on. I’m sure he’s lingering on purpose, his fingers brushing against my ankle bone in a light caress. I close my eyes for a brief moment, trying to compose myself. There was the brazen proposition of the night before and then there’s this. He’s undoing me by inches now, perhaps knowing that this drawn-out temptation is so much harder to resist. I open my eyes again to see him take the ribbon and slide it up, wrapping it around my calf and tying it in a neat bow.

Then he catches my gaze and very slowly and deliberately lowers his mouth to kiss the patch of skin just above it. My blood simmers and it takes all my self-control not to make a brazen noise that would reveal just how much I want him.

“Ruskin,” I say, my tone half-warning, half-request.

“Shhh,” he says, beginning to apply the same torturous technique with the other shoe. Somehow, in this moment, it doesn’t feel like there are any walls between us. But then hasn’t it always been like that? Our desire has a habit of washing everything else away, drawing us together, even with all the obstacles the world tries to throw at us.

This time, when he finishes tying the bow, he rises up from his knees, takes my face in his hand, and kisses me.

My resolve finally breaks.

I let his mouth claim mine, his hand circling round to the back of my head, cradling it. The heat of his lips feels as if they’re igniting mine, sending shockwaves across my skin, and I tilt my neck back to give him better access. I need him—this. To be devoured by him and taken over. Not so long ago, we were everything to each other, and even if it’s an illusion, I’m desperate to be reminded of that closeness, to feel that we belong to each other again. Before I know it, I’m falling backwards onto the bed, him leaning over me. Our mouths don’t part, but both his feet are still on the floor, his legs between mine, pressing against the inside of my thighs, one hand fisted in the sheets beside my head. He’s firm, unyielding, and yet somehow his lips are as soft as the pillows beneath me, brushing against mine one moment, then applying intoxicating pressure, urging me to submit to him. I bury a hand in his hair, feeling its silkiness between my fingers, stroking it as his tongue caresses the grooves of my mouth. The noise of unbridled enjoyment I make isn’t exactly ladylike, but it only seems to make him want to kiss me harder, swallowing me up completely. Yes, this is what I want. My mind blocking out all thoughts of consequences and focusing only on him, me, and the way our bodies touch.

It's still like kissing Ruskin, but a version of him that’s totally uninhibited. I realize what it reminds me of: the night of the Harvest Moon. He’d had the same lack of restraint then, but in the best way, like for the first time he wasn’t holding back.

I lift my hand to bury it in his shirt, thinking to pull him down on top of me. I want to feel his weight, the heat of him, touching all of me. The point where our lips connect isn’t enough anymore. Then there’s a knock at the door, and everything goes still. It’s enough to create a space in my mind for sense—a sliver of the control Ruskin swept away by kissing me. There’s a reason I’ve been denying myself this—why I’ve been holding back: to protect myself, and Ruskin. Now is not the time to throw that away.

Not to mention the fact that I’m about to go to a dinner that could win us vital support against Evanthe.

Great.

I let out a groan of annoyance and regret as Ruskin straightens, a self-satisfied smile on his lips. His mouth is slightly pink from kissing me, and I can only imagine how I must look. Hair in disarray, skin flushed. The thought has me smirking back, and Ruskin looks delighted, offering me a hand so I can stand and pull the wrinkles out of my dress.

“Eleanor? We need to get going,” Destan calls.

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “Coming!”

“Enjoy your meal,” Ruskin says, in a way that sounds like he’d like to have me for dinner.

When I open the door it takes Destan all of two seconds to register Ruskin and guess what we’ve been doing.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I suppose I should just be impressed you’ve got your shoes on.”

Destan and I sweep down the corridors of the Unseelie Court. I hope we look composed and ready for our political manipulations, despite my recent activities. I try not to dwell on whether I should’ve kissed Ruskin or not. He’s my soulmate, for star’s sake. It felt right because it is. At least, on some level. I’ll have time to decide whether I truly regret my actions later.

“Now, you need to be subtle at this meal,” Destan says. “Don’t go in and just start asking people what they think about Evanthe and things like that.”

“I wouldn’t,” I say, slightly insulted.

“I don’t know, you humans are always so literal.”

“We only seem that way to you because we don’t have to invent so many ways to get around not lying,” I say.

“If you need an opener, try asking about their lineage. High Fae always like that—it gives them an opportunity to boast about how they’re descended from such-and-such a lord or lady.”

I think about Lisinder introducing us to all his family last time we were here. It wasn’t exactly boastful, but he did seem to enjoy telling us who he was related to and how.

“Okay,” I say. “I can do that.”

“Then we can start bringing it around to Ruskin. Lisinder is a popular king, and as I understand it, the court is full of his family. We need to emphasize their connection through Prince Lucan.”

I nod, struggling to keep all this advice straight in my head.

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