Page 61 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

But was it truly a betrayal? I ask myself. Luthian never promised to fall in love with me. Never promised to not fall in love with someone else. And I don’t know if he loves Firo.

But Luthian left me, when I begged him to stay, and spent the night with Firo, instead.

My stomach pitches as the dragon suddenly dives. This time, when I cling to Arcus, my fear is genuine.

He seems to love it. “We’ve arrived, my treasure.”

Treasure. A thing to be owned and prized. Another clue he’s given away that will help me further manipulate him, for treasure is sought out and won. He won’t be satisfied if I merely give myself to him. He wants to pursue me, but he needs to be assured that he will win me in the end.

I can use that.

The dragon lands in a forest clearing. When Arcus takes us to the ground, I say, “Your Majesty, I hope this does not end with me in another labyrinth, waiting for you to hunt me down.”

“I did not mean to disappoint you,” he says. “Consider this an apology for the pleasure you missed.”

He turns me to face the mouth of a cavern, lit from within by shimmering shadows of water.

“Shall we go inside?” he asks, as if I have a choice.

I do not. He is a king. A dangerous one, who has already removed the head of his queen.

I’d like to keep mine, so I give him my hand and let him lead me inside.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Faery baths are naturally occurring magical springs that appear all over Fablemere. They aren’t confined to the places where faeries live, though it’s said that once, eons ago, faeries ruled all of Fablemere. Legends about the fae who created the baths abound, but those stories were never my favorite among the tales mother told. Who cares, after all, about magic springs and legendary caverns, when one can hear stories about the far-off Smuggler’s Sea and the pirates who brave it?

Arcus stops me steps beneath the rocky outcrop that shelters the mouth of the tunnel. He waves a hand to completely disrobe us both. “This is a pure place and must be kept so. This is the last faery bath to be used only by faeries.”

He steps away, holding my hand, but I stick fast to my place. “Your Majesty may have forgotten that I am no faery.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says with a dismissive wave. “This place falls under my dominion. The presence of your beauty honors these enchanted waters.”

I follow reluctantly. Though I am human in body, my spirit is fae. My presence feels profane here.

A warm breeze, flecked with shimmering motes, wraps around me as if in invitation. Perhaps because I was born of a wish, born of faery magic, I’m not truly trespassing. I let Arcus guide me deeper into the cave.

The ring of darkness at the mouth of the tunnel passes, and we enter a vast, high-ceilinged cavern. The sand-colored walls are brightly lit with the luminance of the opaque blue water. Steam rises from numerous, naturally occurring cauldrons of varying height; some spill over into each other, but never empty. The glittering motes fill the air, echoing the swirls of iridescence winding through the waters.

“Do all the faery baths look this way?” I ask, and add a hasty, “Your Majesty?”

He stops me, places his hands on my shoulders. “In this place, I am not a king. I am a faery, on the same footing as you. You may use my name.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but I don’t trust it. I’m sure he believes it, but I’m reluctant to test it.

“Please.” He dives a hand into my loose curls, his thumb stroking over my cheek. “I want to hear you say my name.”

I sway into him, and it’s not entirely an act; the atmosphere lulls my body into dreamlike languidness, and I melt against him, my chin tilted up to his. “Arcus.”

His mouth descends upon mine with such ferocity that it brings to mind the kisses that Luthian and I have shared. But where I can feel Arcus’s passion, I feel none of it myself. I let him ravage my mouth desperately, make the appropriate whimpers, clasp my arms around his neck, but while my body responds eagerly to his touch, inside, I am hollow.

Under Luthian’s mouth, I am whole.

If I keep thinking of Luthian, keep lamenting what I’ve lost but never had, I won’t be able to give the king what he needs to be convinced of my desire for him. I concentrate on his touch, the warm, solid strength of his muscled body pressed to mine. The smoothness of his skin, the skill of his tongue. I swoon, and he supports me with a hand around my back, a satisfied noise rumbling deep in his chest before he lifts his head.

“I would hear you say my name a thousand times today, Cenere. I want you to scream it in your passion.”

“Then make me scream,” I breathe, my gaze holding his fast.

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