Page 63 of Terragnata and the Heir of the Earth

“What was that about? And your display in the training arena? Why did you nearly shoot the head off Xinlan?” Cas demanded.

I only blinked at him.

“You know Terra, you’re behaving like an absolutechild. Not at all like my future bride, let alone the future Queen of Viribrum.” His voice dripped with a condescending disdain that made my blood boil.

“Perhaps,” I said, my voice low, “that is because I neither want to be your bride, nor the Queen of Viribrum.”

Cas released me and pain flashed across his face. “I would not say such things lightly if I were you,” he growled.

“Does it really matter what I say, what I think, or what I want?” I whispered.

“Do you even know what you want, Terra? Just this morning, you were begging for me to have my way with you. And while I don’t know if it’s the binding or how you actually feel, you still clearly yearn for Ezren. What do you want in life? If you don’t want to be queen, what then? Do you have any aspiration for greatness at all? If you do not, tell me now. I’m sure I can set you up with a nice, easy, country-Fae husband. I have no doubt that, with your skill-set, you would be alegendaryfarmer.”

I froze for a moment, mouth ajar. His words settled, pressing an uncomfortable weight on my chest. I turned on my heel, not bothering to look back, not even for Gia.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BLADELESS WEAPONS

The sun slipped from the sky, reflecting warm colors on the pale palace stone, as I ran back to my quarters in denial of the tears streaming down my face.

I flung open the double cherry-wood doors leading to my room, disregarding the Fae guards already posted on watch. I was a prisoner and a pawn. It seemed I had been the entire time I was ‘home’, everysingleday since my father tried to take me to Nebbiolo, perhaps even before then. Liberty, the thing I had always craved in the human realm, was just as out of my grasp as it had always been.

Thankfully, Olea was not in the room when I arrived. I knew she would come soon, to prepare for whatever dinner-banquet-torture waited for me that night. But I didn’t desire to see my mother, Cas, nor the reveling group of courtiers, all waiting for me to make a mistake. No, I would practice an age-old human trick. I would fake sick.

Fae couldn’t catch a common cold nor a fever like humans, but I remembered something Dane said to me. “Faeries and Witchlings mature similarly to humans. First bleed for females is typical between the twelfth and fourteenth year.” He didn’t explicitly say Fae experienced the pain of flow, but they did feelthe pull of the moon. I hadn’t had a cycle yet in my new body, so I’d have to take the chance that Fae females suffered the same consequences as human women. Something in my gut told me they did. Being a female was never easy, regardless of species.

I rummaged around the wardrobe, looking for sharp crystal earrings or a scrap of metal I could draw blood with, given my lack of weapons. I found something better. A half full bottle of brandy.

I smirked and tossed back much of the rest of the bottle. The rest I poured into the chamber pot, topping it off with my own relief. And then I opened the window and smashed the bottle against the side of the palace, below the sill, until only the shard of a handle remained.

I undressed my bottom half and then I ran the broken edge of the bottle the length of my underfoot, wiping the drawn blood with my worn undergarments. The brandy muted the pain, and still I grimaced at the vulgarity of my act. My resolve hardened, knowing it would save me from banquet torture. And maybe, if I felt up for it, I would again attempt to see Jana late in the evening.

I left my undergarments on the ground next to my bed, praying Olea wouldn’t make me remove another pair for further proof. Then, I dressed in bedclothes, curled up under the massive canopy, and prayed for sleep.

I feltthe tug of sleep and a soft picture came into focus. I was back in the Adimon Mountains, before our coupling. I stood facing him—the green-eyed warrior—sheer silk draped over the curves of my body, lavender and soft pink wisteria flowing from the canopy ceiling atop the room of my making.

Ezren stepped closer, still towering over me despite my newfound height. My breath grew heavy with anticipation, acute awareness of my bareness beneath the silken garment lancing my core. His eyes searched mine, and I stared right back, unable to move. “You have no idea how much I want you, Terra,” he said, his voice low.

He took his middle and index fingers and placed them on my lips, gentle in his touch. I intuited his meaning and parted my mouth, tracing them with my tongue. After a moment he pulled them out, trailing his fingers across my lip, dragging on my chin. His fingers moved to my neck, traveling down the center of my chest, and lingering on my abdomen. And then, when they were just below my stomach, he leaned in and whispered, “Moan, when you like something, squeeze my shoulder if you feel pain.”

He let his finger brush where I parted, and I convulsed, nearly falling, but Ezren’s forearm wrapped around my waist, steadying me. And then he let his fingers slip into my opening so slowly that I writhed, standing in the position he held me in.

The moan came whether I was commanded to or not.

I raised my hands to his neck, gripping him for stability while I felt the pressure of his fingers inside me, his thumb drawing circles on my spot of pleasure. “Ezren,” I half breathed, half groaned. “I. Can’t. Stand.”

He chuckled and nipped my ear. Then he withdrew his fingers and squatted down, tossing me over his shoulder and making his way towards our grassy earthen bed.

My fingers pressedinto the Dragon scale that pulsed from my hip bone, sweat and the gods knew what else drenching my shift. They’d allowed me to sleep through the night, and softlight peeked through the drape cracks. Predictably, Olea busied herself around the room, preparing the fire and bath. I sat up, strings of disrupted hair framing my vision.

The realization that I’d awoken in this bed for only the third morning sat heavy on my chest.

“Ye were moanin’ quite a lot, en yer sleep, miss. Te be sure, et sounded more like… pleasure, than pain, but are ye alright?” Olea’s cheeks colored with a faint flush.

I slumped back into the pillows and sighed. The question conjured the image of Leiya, and it sent a pang to my chest. “Good morning to you, too,” I grumbled, staring at the canopy above me.

She busied around, fluffing chair pillows and dusting surfaces I knew she’d cleaned the prior morning, before turning to face me, hands on her hips. “The prince—he wilna satisfy ye? He has a reputation ‘at one. But me suppose he’d be more proper wi’ hes bride.” She looked at me as if about to share a secret. “Dinna worry mistress, me hath somethin’ for yer problem,” Olea whispered, winking.

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