Page 35 of Essence of the Throne

“Caspian…” His name lingers on my lips, clinging to the atmosphere like the mist surrounding us, thick and intimate. I’m lost in him—lost in this strange realm where we exist away from the declarations of chaos and the political games of the king.

The prince groans in response, the sound deep and primal as he begins to move with purpose, his hips digging into mine with relentless force. The bark presses as deep as his cock—a concept I didn’t realize I’d love so much. His pace is unforgiving, and I’m certain my body is a heartbeat away from splitting in half.

And yet, I’ve never felt so alive.

“Tell me you want this,” he hisses, his breath hot against my ear, a challenge disguised as a question. I can feel the weight of his words cram into the space between us, igniting every nerve in my body and burning the space behind my eyes.

I know full well that he’s not referring to the sex. And still, I can’t find the will to deny it.

“I want this.” The confirmation escapes me before I even think to swallow it back. My own voice betrays me, honeyed and eager, as it balances on the edge of surrender. I’m at war with myself, every thrust erasing the ragged lines I’d drawn in my mind, drawn between us—the assassin who once claimed power by stabbing the same man who now reduces her to a mere vessel for pleasure.

Caspian smirks—Angel damn him—and increases his rhythm, driving deeper, impossibly harder. Each slide of his cock into my heat is a declaration. He knows just what he’s doing to me. “You're doing so well, Ari,” he murmurs, and my insides twist with both anger and desire at those words.

His hands grip my hips tighter, pulling me in at a new angle. I curse with a loud moan, disappearing to everything but the feel of how high he takes my body. The pain of the wounds on my back is nothing compared to the feeling of him sliding in and out of me.

My lips search for his and our kiss is nothing less than messy and perfect. I pull back just enough to speak. “Caspian, fuck, I’m so close, I can’t—” The broken words seem to renew the fire in him as he holds me still and continues pounding into me at that same exquisite angle and speed.

I’m going to slit his fucking throat for being so good with his fingers and cock.

But I’m not a complete monster, so only after I make him watch as life leaves the eyes of the women he decided to fuck before me. He at least deserves to witness all the fun.

His base grinds against my clit twice more before stars line my vision. I’ve no idea what I’m saying—or screaming, if the rawness in my throat is any indication—but I do not care.

Caspian bites my shoulder as his hips slow and warmth coats my walls, causing me to clench around him again. I lean my head back against the tree while my hand explores the thick strands of the prince’s hair—far too soft after having traveled for days.

We remain wrapped around each other for several minutes after, Caspian leaning me forward to caress the relaxed muscles of my back. How is it possible for someone to be so demanding and rough, yet so attentive and caring at the same time? The prince is a walking paradox.

He pulls back, the intensity still simmering in the air between us. I breathe hard, panting as the forest beyond begins to shift back to reality. The tree’s rough bark fades from my awareness once more, replaced by a warm glow that surrounds us both.

“Angel knows how I’ve craved you,” he breathes against my skin, voice hoarse and thick with satisfaction. But that satisfaction feels like sand shifting beneath my feet—fuck, I always do this. “You’re a tempest wrapped in silver hair…”

“And who gets caught in the storms, prince?” I whisper, sudden defiance sparking within me. “Men that drown.”

His smirk falters for just an instant, and I hate myself. I don’t know how to fucking do this—how to be the woman he needs, when I cannot even satiate my own. But my words hurt even me, the sour heat in my chest overwhelming. I openmy mouth to apologize—something I would have died before doing for anyone else—but he shakes his head and places a brief kiss on my lips.

“Small steps, angel. You’ll stop second guessing yourself, eventually.” Another kiss before he slides out of me, and I wince as my feet touch the ground. He tenses, but I wave away the concern.

“I’m fine, I’ll just heal—” My eyes widen when they finally notice our surroundings. There are no words to describe the glowing wings that have seemed to fill the entire forest.

“By the Angel…” he breathes, reaching out to touch the remnants of light from one of the floating sets of wings. “It’s the Khyla.”

My head snaps in his direction. “You know what they are?” I pull on my clothes as the prince studies the things. Uncertain whether they pose a danger or not, I remain next to him in case my presence is needed.

“I’m not sure, I think so? I mean, I’ve heard stories, but they were just that.”

I hum. “In your stories, did thesethingsharm people?” He chuckles, pivoting to face me.

“No, the Khyla are supposedly little creatures that originate from the Aether. It’s said their purpose is to discover the intentions of those who enter their territory, as they’re tasked with protecting something or someone.” My face scrunches, and I’m certain I’m giving Caspian a look full of disbelief. He smiles. “Listen, I’m just repeating the stories.”

“Why would they care about our intentions?” One of the moth-like things flutters past my face.

He shrugs, slipping behind me to run his hands down my arms before lacing his fingers through mine. “Think of them as scouts, of sorts. If they believe we have bad intentions here, they’re said to have the ability to influence those intentions, leading us from this area and the forest. If they are what I think, we must be very close to finding the Palmluvela. I’m not certain what else they would be protecting out here.”

Caspian lifts my hand, holding it out for one of the Khyla to land on. I’m not fearful of insects or small creatures, but there’s something sootherabout these. There is no awareness in my chest that screams danger—no, these things,moths, only seem curious.

The one on my finger takes flight, and I reflexively step from Caspian’s arms toward the others. The forest glows with a soft, golden light from the thousands of Khyla fluttering around. They are like tiny lanterns as their wings emanate the light and cast shadows on the surroundings. The trees themselves seem to be illuminated from within, their leaves rustling in the moths’ wake. Interesting, though, that the normally silent forest hums in time with the languid movement of the Khyla.

Another floats toward me, my palm lifting to hold it. Its weight is imperceptible as it lands and fans its glowing wings, settling into my hand. I pull my arm closer to inspect the creature—words I never thought I’d utter. Something thrilling prickles under my skin at their presence, however.

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