Page 28 of Claws of Death

I don’t respond before disappearing into the room, but in my heart, I know she’s the right person to help me unlock the depths of my powers—even when my magic seems to be that of Crows now rather than the fickle water-wielding Vala gifted me. I still need to rediscover that liquid spark inside of me.

The Crows and Kaira follow me into the suite where Andraya and Pouly are standing by a set of silver brocade sofas and armchairs reminding me of metal rather than comfortable furniture. The main room is big enough for us all to scatter while, along the fir green and cream walls, a few sets of dark wooden doors lead to individual bedrooms.

“You need to control your temper, or we’ll lose the willingness of the only fairy out there who can actually make a difference in this war.” Royad has his opinion ready, dishing it to Myron in front of everyone.

Andraya sucks in a breath as if readying herself for a blow of magic to rush the room while Pouly grabs for his sword like the guard he is.

“I didn’t see you playing the diplomat,” Silas points out at the Crow King’s cousin without batting an eyelash. “And frankly, he doesn’t deserve diplomacy after everything he did to us.”

“None of them do,” Herinor interjects, “yet here we stand in the royal residence of the very king who decided we weren’t worthy of our own freedom.”

He isn’t wrong. Then, we all agreed there is no way around this visit and that we trust Astorian and Clio enough to facilitate discussions. The friendship I’ve found with Clio and Kaira isn’t the same as the cool respect the Crows hold for her, but when I watch them interact with Astorian, it’s clear the males share a bond just as strong, knit together through their time in the dungeon. Herinor seems to be the only outsider in the group.

“And everything we did to him.” Myron stalks to the chair closest to the wide, silver-curtain-framed window and drops into it, eyes on the greenery behind the window. It’s a familiar sight even when we’re one level up from the throne room. “Never forget what my father did to earn Recienne’s hatred, yet he is ready to talk alliances.” He props his head up in his hand, elbow braced on the armrest. A phantom wind moves loose strands of his hair, making them dance across his creased forehead. “Don’t forget that Clio was once held captive by Carius the Cruel. Yet, she forgave us. Tori forgave us.”

I don’t need to meet his gaze to read that he’d never forgive a people who took me away from him.

By the time the clothes pop up on the coffee table we’ve all gathered around, the discussion has ebbed, and we’ve all retreated into our own thoughts. Even Kaira hasn’t spoken to me through our minds, and I’ve been focused on every tiny shift in Myron’s mood.

After the Crows all added their opinions to the pile, Pouly and Andraya seemed ready to bolt from the raw amount of power filling the room. Kaira kept watching in silence, only nodding on occasion and avoiding Herinor’s burning stare whenever she agreed with Royad or Silas.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what any of us think if Myron can’t hold his temper together. I have hopes, though. He wants Erina and Ephegos defeated as much as I do, so he won’t risk an alliance, no matter the hatred and history between the Crows and the King of Askarea.

Herinor is already digging through the stacks of fabrics for something remotely like armor, grunting his disapproval when he comes up empty-handed. Pouly has opted for a pair of black pants and a deep purple linen shirt entirely too big for his human frame, but it’s better than the fairy-sized black tunics loosely covering Royad’s and Silas’s muscled torsos when they reappear in the main room after washing up in the spacious bathing chamber.

Royad’s eyes sparkle like sapphires in the sunset light, and Silas stares at Myron with onyx and impatience as he studies my still-unchanged attire.

“Isn’t it time for you to get ready?” He clears his throat. “Your Majesty.”

Myron crooks a brow at him. “You don’t really want to start calling meYour Majestynow, do you, Silas?” He stands from where we are sitting side by side on the settee by the cream and fir wall then holds out his hand for me. “I was waiting for my queen to be ready to join me.”

All he does is wink at me as my heart launches into a tailspin, my tattoo tingling and heating as if he’s touching it. “Ready?”

Bobbing my head, I let him guide me to my feet and follow him to the bathing chamber, grabbing the only bundle of female clothes left while Andraya and Kaira are changing in two of the adjacent bedrooms.

I’m not remotely ready to step in front of the Fairy King once more, but losing my dirty clothes sounds like an appealing idea. Especially with Myron there to help me out of them.

The bathing chamber is large enough to host all of our travel party, but when Myron shuts the door behind us, leaning against the wall beside it, it’s like we’re alone in this palace, this realm, this world. His ocean eyes gobble up the sight of me in my faded tunic and pants, my braided hair, the heap of fabric in my hands, and he leans a shoulder against the marble-tiled wall beside the door, folding his arms across his chest.

“I have no intention of letting you put on those clothes once I’ve peeled you out of these.” Like a gust of ocean wind, his gaze grazes the front of my tunic where the fabric pulls in at my waist. Heat rises in my belly, spreading like a spring tide, and I take a deep breath, breasts turning heavy under his stare. It’s been a few days since we last took a momenttogether to simply enjoy each other’s presence, and his former enemy’s bathing room is definitely not the place my mind should ponder all the various ways he could bend me over the bathtub edge and take me, or how his weight would feel on top of me if he pinned me against the fir and cream patterns adorning the tiles beneath our feet. I’m not even looking at the chair in the corner, wide enough for him to sit and accommodate my knees if I straddle him?—

“Whatever you’re thinking, I want it all.” Myron pushes away from the wall to follow me to the center of the room, sunlight reflecting in the mirror to our sides and painting lines of gold and fire on his features.

Myron’s fingers brush mine as he takes the clothes from my hands, his gaze never leaving mine, and drops them on the floor in a heap of midnight blue and silver.

“We should get ready.” My voice trembles as I try to convince myself I can ignore the desire flickering to life inside of me.

Myron cocks his head, fingers tracing the neckline of my tunic, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin. “Youshould get ready, Ayna.”

“For what?”

I don’t get another warning as he grabs my hips and shoves me toward the chair, thumbs hooking into the waistband of my pants and tugging to my calves as he sits me down. I suppress a yelp as my bare ass lands on the green velvet cushion, and Myron lifts my arms above my head, pinning them to the high, carved backrest while his mouth crashes down on mine.

“Don’t move,” he orders me as he lets go of my wrists, and I hold still, eager for more of his kisses.

The next time his lips touch my skin it’s not my mouth, though. With expert fingers, Myron tugs my shirt over my head, dropping it beside the chair as his breath flashes over my breast. I moan my approval as his tongue flicks my nipple then circles around it, teasing.

A part of me remembers that we will be summoned to meet with Recienne again soon, but I no longer care when Myron kneels down in front of me, hands roaming my sides, down my hips, to the inside of my thighs. Each touch leaves a trail of fire, each breath coming harder than the last. My heart beats out of my chest, heat pooling in my core as Myron pushes my knees wide and his gaze snags on my center.

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