Page 42 of The Queen's Line

"So…you do have the Hunger?" I asked.

Bryony nodded shyly, and Owen flipped his hand and squeezed hers reassuringly.

"And it's like a force of desire?"

"It forces desire," Bryony muttered.

"No, the desire was there," Owen said softly, ducking his head and bumping it to hers before looking up at me. "But I don't really remember what happened when it hit, and Bryony said it was like she was controlling me."

"Which I don't want," Bryony said.

Owen grinned and shrugged. "And I'd really rather remember everything that happens between us."

I laughed and nodded, swallowing hard around the envious stab in my throat. I would've felt the same if there'd been anything happening with Bryony other than the occasional kiss, always initiated by me.

"If this is all the Hunger is, I would've rather continued not having it," Bryony said with a sigh. She slid off the bench by the window, leaving Owen behind as she came to watch me. "What are you making?"

"I hadn't really decided," I admitted, wrinkling my nose at the block of clay waiting for me at the center of my workspace.

"How do you decide?" Bryony asked, the distraction from our conversation on her powers leaving her mood brighter.

"I usually only buy supplies when I'm inspired. I thought I might try it the other way around for once, but maybe that was a mistake."

"You're not inspired?"

I turned to look at her, the swell of her breasts at the collar of her dress, the tiny pinch of her waist from her corset. I could imagine the curve of her full hips under the sway of her skirt, painfully familiar with their shape as they nestled against me at night.

"My muse is shy of being admired," I said as Bryony began to turn pink beneath my stare.

She feigned pushing her hair away from her face, pressed the back of her hand against her warm cheek, and fought her smile. "Not of being admired, but maybe of being put on display," she said softly.

My heart thumped, and I nodded. I could relate to that, I preferred being the observer rather than the other way around. Bryony was a strong princess, determined to rule, and it was obviously not for the glory of recognition. The thump of my heart turned into a pang, and when I reached for her, she came willingly, pressing into my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist as I stretched mine around her shoulders.

"Private sketches sometime," I whispered, trying to stamp down my desire topushwhen she gasped against my throat and her breath cascaded damply down my neck.

"All right," she breathed. "For now…how is Owen for inspiration?"

I blinked and stared over to where Owen was stretched out over the bench Bryony had vacated, ready to nap. I'd noticed how beautiful he was, a fact almost disguised by his easy going and simple nature. Almost, but not quite. If Owen had been a model in my studio, I definitely would've attempted a seduction. He seemed wholly Bryony's now, but if she was willing to share…

"Owen, how would you feel about posing for me?" I called. "Just sketches to start."

"Happy to," he said.

"Naked," Bryony called, and I laughed at her wicked grin.

Owen opened one eye and tilted his head to stare at us, cheeks swelling with a smile. "Fine," he said with a shrug.

"Go and find something to read to us while we work," I whispered to Bryony, holding her tight to add, "Nothing too inspiring. There's a fine line between art and pornography."

Bryony laughed and ran away, skirt flying behind her as she left the room, both of us watching her back as she went.

Owen stood from the bench and crossed to me, pulling the hem of his shirt out from the waistband of his pants. I moved to find my sheets of parchment, pinning it to a board on my easel.

"How big are you?" Owen asked.

I hissed as I struck my own thumb with a pin, distracted by Owen's question. "Wha—Big? What do you mean?"

Owen waggled his eyebrows and looked down at his own crotch. "You know."

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