Page 51 of Pawns of Salistya

‘Any baked goods. And raspberries. Oh, and chocolate,’ I answered. My mouth started watering.

‘That’s more than one,’ he noted.

‘Well, you have a lot to learn about me. That question is like asking a mother who her favourite child is. Impossible.’ I shook my head at him.

Surprise and a hint of jealousy lit up his face before he carefully masked his expression. ‘You have children?’

‘Well, no, but –’

‘So how do you know?’ he countered.

I rolled my eyes. ‘This game’s getting off to a good start.’

‘If simply getting to know you is a game then I hate to say it, but you’ve got some trust issues.’

I scoffed, irritation spiking. This man was talking to his sister last night about getting me on side. And he’s going to pretend him being up here with me isn’t a game? And comment on me having trust issues? Un-fucking-believable. Of course, him not knowing that I knew was irrelevant.

‘Look, in case you aren’t aware, I didn’t come up here to be psychoanalysed. So, spare me,’ I shot back. ‘Which reminds me. What are you doing up here?’

He feigned innocence, ‘Just taking in the serenity. What areyoudoing up here?’

‘Oh, you know, leaning into my voyeuristic side. Strolling the roof hoping to listen in on someone getting lucky,’ I said biting my lip, dramatically moaning at the same time one sounded from the Queen. Qynthia followed it by releasing a scream and whimpering as she came down from her climax.

‘Fuck,’ Xylan groaned as he watched my every move, clearly reacting to the sounds and restraining himself.

I threw him a wink. ‘See? It’s a lot of fun.’

‘Apparently,’ he said, gritting his teeth.

I eyed him as he shifted his pants to make way for what looked like his hardening dick. Damn. I was joking but seems like he’s right into the listening thing. I’m into that. But, I resisted the urge to store that information for a later date. ‘It looks like you may have a problem there.’

‘Are you offering? After the show you put on today, I’d say you’re quite adept at resolving problems,’ he purred, leaning into me.

I simultaneously hated and loved the challenging glint in his eye. ‘I think I’ve had enough for one day. But I’ll take the compliment, thanks.’

He huffed out a laugh before creating more space between us. ‘Blue or Green.’

‘Oh? We’re going back to this, are we? Shall we place bets on us lasting more than one round of questions?’ I really tried not to taunt him, but I couldn’t help it. It was too fun. Plus, I think he secretly loved it.

‘Blue or Green, Minx.’

I guess that’s a no. And I guess I have a new nickname. ‘Blue.’

‘Interesting.’

Was it really?

‘Not for any political reason,’ I rushed out. ‘I just … I love the crystal clear ocean blue of the shallow waters of the Isles, right wherethe water meets the sand. The push and pull so great between the two that they are tied to one another, always coming back for more. The sand is stable, unmoving, while the water is erratic, at times calm, gentle, lapping at the sand. And other times? It’s fierce and untamed in its relentlessness to never stop moving. For the world to see it for the powerful force that it is. But the sand never cowers, nor ever tames it. It welcomes the water with an open embrace for everything it is. It’s beautiful.’

My heart ached as I thought of the symbolism of waves crashing on the shore and how obvious I’m sure it was to Xylan. It’s how I envisioned my true love. Someone who would accept me in all my wildness, never diminishing my power, but rather holding steady and staying by my side through it all. Always having my back, never afraid or thinking I was too much. I had known deep in my heart for a while that person was neither Eliasson nor Sir. Definitelynot the latter. That had become increasingly apparent over the last few weeks. And Eliasson? He didn’t know the full extent of who I was. And if he did, I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He would constantly be on edge, bracing for a tsunami to hit and wipe him out with everything else around him. It would never work.

Xylan watched me in quiet contemplation, lost in his own thoughts.

I broke the silence, not wanting to linger on the analogy of love. ‘Pink or Orange.’

My question snapped him out of his thoughts. ‘It wasn’t a political question, for the record,’ he clarified. ‘But if I had to choose, pink, of course.’

‘Wow. Someone’s comfortable in his sexuality,’ I joked, not pushing the political part any further. We’d made it all of two questions, I wouldn’t want to ruin it when we’re on a roll.

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