Page 18 of Crownless King

“May I?” I half-whispered, bracing for his rejection.

His entire body trembled as he took in a long breath.

“Please, Voron,” I begged, gently sliding my finger across his hard stomach under the waistband. “Please, let me.”

He didn’t say a word. The only sound was the creak of the door frame as he flexed his grip on it when I tugged on the lacing of his pants, loosening it enough to shove his pants down his hips a little.

Standing behind him, I couldn’t see what I was doing, acting blindly. I slid a hand inside his pants and closed my eyes, letting my other senses guide me.

He strained toward my hand. Hot and hard, his erection practically sprang into my hand, eager and ready.

He hissed at the contact, jerking his hips away from me as if I’d burned him. The next moment, however, he was thrusting into my hand.

I prayed I was doing this right. Unlike with swimming or knitting, I couldn’t tell with any confidence whether I’d done something like this before with any other man. But I’d never touchedVoronthis way. And that alone already made this unique and special.

He released a strangled groan. The sound could come either from pleasure or pain. With Voron, both appeared to blend often. The door frame cracked, the vines holding it creaked, whining at being dislodged. He jerked, thrusting frantically into my hand.

It didn’t take long, just a few hard, desperate pumps, before the hot spurts of his release hit my skin.

I relaxed my hand a little, stroking along his entire length from the thick bulbous head down to the taut sack at the base of his shaft.

He trembled in my arms, his climax resonating through me. Pleasure spread warmly in my chest. I loved it, loved making him feel the ecstasy he’d given me before. Only unlike him, I wasn’t going to run away. I was right there, hugging and stroking him down from his high.

I kissed along his spine through his shirt and murmured, “Was it good for you, darling?”

He seemed to have enjoyed it, but I felt a little insecure about my skills and needed some reassurance. Also, I just wanted to hear his voice. He stood with his back to me, and I longed to see his face.

From the corner of my eye, a shimmer caught my attention. I leaned back to see it better. A thin line of bright blue light appeared through the shirt on his back. I’d seen this before, back in Elaros.

I pressed a finger to the fabric over the light.

“Voron, are you feeling this?”

Reaching up, I slid the shirt off his shoulder. A wing design was etched into his skin in raised shimmering lines, like a glowing tattoo inked over scars.

“It’s wings, Voron! They’re glowing on your back. Are you getting wings?”

“It’s nothing but a picture. A birthmark.”

Voron unclenched his fingers from the ruined door frame and rolled back a shoulder, shrugging my hand off.

I gripped his arm, trying to turn him to me. “But it’s lit. It shimmers with magic.”

He barely turned his head, speaking over his shoulder.

“It shimmers with lust, not magic,” he scoffed. “It’s been happening lately when I’m aroused.”

“But Voron—”

He whipped around, yanking his shirt back in place.

“Don’t, Sparrow. It’ll never be anything but empty hope.”

A servant’s hooves sounded in the distance down the hallway as we stood in the open doorway to the library.

Tucking himself in, Voron stumbled down the corridor. He didn’t look back at me, not once.

Again, I was left staring at his back as he walked away. The silver-blue lights on his back formed a complete outline of folded wings. Then, they flickered and died under his shirt.

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