Page 73 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“You know why they’ve invited us, don’t you?” Sessaly was saying.

“Because all the great houses are coming,” he muttered, sighing.

“Nay.” She shook her head animatedly. “Nay, only us.”

“What?” Erran cringed at how fast he’d reacted to her predictable ploy of presenting something ridiculous for reaction. “I need to bathe, Ses, unless that wasn’t already pungently clear.”

“I’mserious,Erran. The Laws, Strongs, Garricks, Leecasters... None of them are coming. And why should they? Wee little Esmerelda is only a lass. Hardly a cause to roll out the finery.”

“It’s custom to hold a fete when a lady is born. You, the princess of tradition, know that.”

Sessaly flicked an affected glance at the door and leaned in, lowering her voice. “Father wants to put the whole messy Yesenia affair to bed. He’s going to parade you and Mariel around like prize cattle to show everyone you’ve moved on.”

Erran’s hand went cold on the door’s knob. “Ihavemoved on. And he wouldn’t... He’s not one for games.”

“You were made a fool in Warwicktown. Only there can you be unmade.”

“Me? You’re the one who just sat there while Yesenia had you about the neck, which you deserved, by the way, for goading her.”

“All the more reason for Father to show everyone there’s no more trouble.” She lifted to peck him on the cheek, winked, and scampered off.

It was maddening that Sessaly’s words had landed at all, how they’d crawled under his skin and burrowed deep. Adding to his misery was that what she’d saiddidmake sense. Yesenia returning to the Southerlands was an opportunity to set the past to rights, at least in Rylahn’s eyes. In his own...

He hadn’t thought of Yesenia at all after he and Mariel had become intimate on the island. It was Mariel whose touch he needed to calm the tempest brewing in his soul—Mariel he already missed in the short time they’d been apart.

So why was he still standing in the hall?

Erran shoved inside. The sitting room was empty, but steam was rolling from under the privy room door.

He walked in and found her half-asleep in the water, her head rolled back and her arms draped over the sides. Her fingers brushed just above the stones.

Quietly, he shed his own clothing. Her eyes fluttered open, watching him undress. She said nothing, and there wasn’t anything on her face he could read.

Erran peeled her away from the edge and gently nudged her forward before climbing in behind her. He settled his legs on either side of her and eased her onto his chest. Her head rolled sideways, her breath trickling into a sigh.

He reached for the crate with the soap and lathered some onto a sponge. Mariel closed her eyes as he ran the gritty, porous material along her neck and chest. He lifted first one arm and then the other from the water and washed them, pulling the sponge down and along each finger... around her nails. He dipped it again but left it under the water, reaching forward to clean her outer thighs, avoiding the old gash still healing. Mouth pressed to her shoulder, he washed her toes one by one. As he dragged the sponge along the inside of her leg, at last she shifted, murmuring a soft moan that was almost lost to the quiet.

Erran abandoned the sponge in the water and nudged her legs to the sides with his palms. “I want to make you come, Mariel.”

She nestled her face tighter to his chest with a nod.

Erran choked down a lump of desire. Seeing her come undone under his hand, his mouth, his cock... there was nothing better. Nothing more beautiful, more erotic. He’d never said the words aloud because he didn’t knowhow,but her openness to receive as much as he gave was a blissful contrast to his past experiences, which, with time, continued to be redefined.

He massaged her inner thighs as he worked his way inward, spreading her with both hands. She adjusted from the warm intrusion of bathwater. The heel of his palm settled into place, kneading ever so slightly.

Mariel twisted under the water. Her hands cupped under his thighs, her fingers digging deeper. Mere moments later, she whimpered, crashing.

When her shudders subsided, he lifted and turned her so she was sitting astride him. But it wasn’t sex on his mind, despite the throbbing evidence to the contrary. He could only control his actions though, not his reactions.

He kissed her tears and eased her against his chest, wrapping both arms around her to convey what words could not.

“I should be glad we were rescued,” Mariel said, her words warming against his heart. She climbed until she was settled over him and sank down, taking him in, but instead of riding, she curled back against him and said no more.

Erran kissed the top of her head over and over, his thoughts a heavy, twisted mess. He understood her perfectly. He should be glad they were home. He was... mostly. But he couldn’t shake the terrible fear he’d left a part of himself on that island—the most critical piece. Mariel’s sad distance only reinforced his dread, like she was, in her own way, saying good-bye to something they’d both only just opened their hearts to.

Mariel’s heart was an ironclad fortress, built for self-protection. Her pulling away was not about a change in her own desire, but the fearhehad changed, that he was incapable of feeling what he felt for her without the “magic” of the island. The only way for him to conquer it was to show her how wrong she was. About that. About Yesenia. Mariel had shut down at the exact moment Yesenia’s name had been mentioned, and only he could fix it, by assuring her there was no place in his life, or heart, for the past.

First, he needed time with his own thoughts on the matter. Even before the island, he’d made his peace with the situation and had accepted the past was past. Hadn’t he?

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