Page 25 of Heir to His Court

Sauntering onto the main grassy dance circle, I glanced over my shoulder with a smile. Would he be too self-contained to join me? Fae danced, of course, but this wasn’t a Court, and the patrons here were Low Fae, excepting him.

Renaud joined me a moment later. “You do so love to taunt me,” he said in my ear. “I indulge you, but a reckoning will come.”

I laughed, my bottom pressed against his groin. His hands settled on my hips and I danced, showing him what a halfling could do with her ass and hips. A hiss rattled in his chest. If I turned my head, I knew his eyes would be bright, searing blue.

“Don’t drop that glamour, boy,” I murmured in English. “You’ll cause a panic.”

The music shifted to something with a guttural beat, something for. . .as he had once put it. . .fucking while standing.

Renaud’s hands tightened on my hips, his body pressing into me. “Are you trying to test me?”

I clenched. He made English sound so fucking dirty in his accented voice, probably on purpose. “Baby, all I want to test is if you know how to handle this ass.”

The Prince laughed, low and taunting. “Let me show you, Nyawira, how well I can handle this ass.”

He settled into a deep, dirty rhythm that had me gasping. I didn’t know where this haughty, remote High Court Prince learned to grind. He matched me, as if he’d spent the year in New York at my side.

I stilled, thrown by the realization. Of course—he had. Darkan had been there the entire time. Ranting about unworthy eyes, sulking and offended and possessive, and Fae wereonlypossessive with their mates. I was so stupid. I should have known.

That first night. . .I inhaled, clutching my head as a particular memory uncoiled. I’d forgotten about the succubus, about using my Apex powers. I’d beenmadeto forget.

“Nya?”

My family had called me Nyawira, Nya, in New York. Darkan had begun to do so too. “I’m fine. There’s. . .a lot to unravel about what you did, playing with my mind and my memories.”

“Ah.” His arms tightened around me. “If you’ll let me offer a suggestion. One memory at a time. My mother ripped away the binding. I’d intended to take it a little slower.”

We were still speaking in American English, and now neither of us were moving, so we garnered a few irritated glances.

I turned in his arms. “When? When were you going to give me back my mind?”

He held my gaze. “After the treaty was signed, and there was time to handle the fallout. This isn’t the kind of secret you unveil in the middle of political negotiations that require focus.”

Because I’d slipped into his mind, I felt the sincerity in the statement, and relaxed some.

“Fine,” I said.

Renaud tilted his head. “What? No recriminations? No cries of unfair play, of manipulation? You’re growing up.”

He was taunting me. “You’re pushing it.”

The Prince smiled. “I do so love to. . .push.”

The spark of almost boyish mischief did something to me. As aware as I was of how this could be another manipulation tactic, I sank into him a little more.

His stare was a silent challenge.

“Okay then.” I smiled, then unleashed.

I didn’t dance like a Fae, ethereal grace and sensuality. I danced like a human, raw and unabashedly sexual, a challenge he answered with a silent snarl as I backed him up, pushing him into an empty chair on the edge of the clearing.

“Keep your hands at your side,” I said, “and do not rise.” I lowered my gaze to his lap and smirked. “Well, don’t stand, at any rate.”

Two minutes into the song, his talons were digging into the chair, the wood groaning under his grip. He leaned forward as if he wanted to rip out my throat, rip off my clothes, or both, but he didn’t stand, didn’t touch me. Just watched and wanted and silently promised that turnabout would be a rabid bitch.

Rewarding him for his restraint as the music shifted, I straddled his lap and twined my arms around his neck.

“Such an obedient boy,” I crooned, and kissed the tip of his nose. “What should be your reward?”

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