Page 94 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

“Because of the moon in the sky,” he says, and then adds, “and the goddess, too. But my point is that we do not know what the gods have in mind. It is not our job to speculate. Our job is to remain here in this tower.” As I crawl into bed next to him, he slides his arm around my shoulders. “It is not so bad being here with me, is it?”

“You know it’s not.” Some of my grumpiness eases and I dramatically drape myself over his lap. “What else does your book say?”

“Mmm. Nothing near as important as this.” His hand slides up my skirt, and when he discovers I have no bloomers on, he arches an eyebrow. It’s become a tease of mine, to only wear bloomers sometimes, just to see his reaction. It never fails to arouse him. “You are letting this pretty cunt freeze to death.”

“You should warm it up.”

He grins, showing his fangs. “I absolutely should.”

Hours later,I’ve forgotten all about the goddess and her theoretical anger. I’ve had Nemeth knotted inside me and he made me come so hard that I wept his name as he played my body like a harp. Now I’m feeling much looser and relaxed, and I watch from my spot in bed as he feeds a log to the fire, preparing my potion. As he hovers near the hearth, he practices his stretches and extends one wing gracefully outward. I wince inwardly as the other stretches out, the flare of it tight and off-center from where I stitched him. It looks uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

Nemeth shrugs. “It is tighter than it should be, like my wing is pinched in one spot. With time and use, I think it could stretch itself out again. The scar tissue just needs to be worked.”

“And you need to fly,” I say softly. “And there is nowhere to fly in here.” He’s tried flying downstairs, but he doesn’t have enough room to spread his wingspan to its full breadth. The ceiling is too low, and the stairwells too narrow. It’s something I fret over constantly, because I know how much it must bother him to be stranded here like this, to have an injury to such a vital part of him and not be able to do the proper exercises to mend it.

“It is what it is,” Nemeth replies. He pauses and glances over at me. “Speaking of things we cannot change…we are out of your tea.”

The minty concoction that Riza makes for me? She sent a bag along with our supplies last summer. But if we’re out, we’re out. I shrug. “I’ll just drink your brew.”

His wings flutter as he closes them, a sure sign that he’s nervous about something. “I examined yours to see what was init, because I knew you were running low. Did you know you have pennyroyal in it?”

“I couldn’t pick pennyroyal out if someone painted a portrait of it,” I reply tartly. “I don’t know plants. What about that one is important?”

“Pennyroyal is an herb that can prevent pregnancy. I never said anything before because I know you drink it for the taste, but now that you are out, I wondered if you wished to try to replace it with something else?” His wings flutter again. “Or shall I not give you my knot anymore?”

I snort. “Are you truly worrying over an herb? I told you, love, I can’t get pregnant. I know you think your cock is impressive—and I do, too—but even you cannot pound the blood curse out of my veins.” I give him an amused look. “Much as I would love to try, of course.”

“You are not worried about conceiving, then?”

“I’m far more worried you’ll stop giving me your knot.”

His eyes gleam with heat. “If my mate demands, who am I to deny her?”

Who indeed.

“Today’s the day,”I say excitedly to Nemeth as I dress one summer morning. “Solstice. Year two! Can you imagine? We’ve made it two years so far.” I give him a cheery look as I slip my dress over my head and then pull the laces of the bodice tight. “I think we should celebrate. Once our food supplies are delivered, we should splurge a little. Work that into the plans for the year. If I’m being perfectly honest, I’d give my left tit for some pie or a scone with cream.”

Nemeth chuckles at my enthusiasm, reaching over and tugging at one of my laces the moment I tighten it. I swat his finger away. Normally I’d take him up on any kind of flirting, because we have nothing but time and bedsport is so very delightful, but today is not just any day.

Today is the solstice, and our food is to be delivered today.

It’s a delivery that is desperately needed. Nemeth has been careful with our supplies this entire year, but we’re out of our wood logs and almost out of peat bricks. My ingredients for my potion are low, and our foodstuffs are looking pathetic. I’m sure we could make it last for another month or two if we had to, but I’m very glad that we don’t.

My mouth waters at the thought of a cup of tea, in the blend that Riza always makes for me. Tea, and a bit of honey. Oh, and fresh bread with jam. Gods, I would love that. Simple, but delicious. “Do you think they’ll send jam again this year? I’ve completely forgotten to ask in my letters. The last jar they sent was delightful. I’m not normally a fan of yellow plums, but that jam was pure bliss on toast.” I cinch my corset up tight and then fluff my tits, adjusting them in the dress. “Oh. My letters. I need to get them! Where are they?”

“Next to mine,milettahn,” Nemeth says in that calm voice of his. My sweet scholar never gets his wings ruffled over anything (except perhaps a knot-licking). “We won’t let them leave without taking the letters, I promise.”

I beam at him, full of anticipation. I know I won’t find out what anyone thought of my letters for a year, but it’s exciting to be able to get to send word out to someone outside, even if I must conceal everything I’ve done in here. I’ve got no mention of Nemeth or our mating in my letters I’ve written to Riza, Nurse, and Erynne. Part of me feels guilty that I’m keeping such a large secret, but then I remember that they deliberately avoidedmentioning the war in their letters to me and kept their letters full of fluff and nonsense.

I can do the same.

For the last month, I’ve written and rewritten my letters, obsessing over the messages I’m sending. The one to Riza is twenty pages long, the one to Nurse nearly as lengthy. Erynne’s is five pages. Part of me wanted to be ruthless and send her nothing, because I’m still bitter over her demands that I murder Nemeth. But…she is my sister, and in the end, I know that sending her a chirpy letter full of absolute nonsense will make her mad with frustration. As a sister, I can’tnotsend such a thing, after all.

I’m equally excited to see what the others have written to me. Even if the letters are full of nothing but recipes and weather predictions, I will savor every word.

Moving to Nemeth’s writing table, I push aside his books and hunt down my letters. They’re not sealed—I’ve got no wax to seal them with—so I’ve tied them with ribbons from my least favorite dress. Nemeth’s stack of letters is twice as big as mine. He spends a great deal of time writing to his family and friends back in Darkfell. Letters are something he has sent frequently in the past, since he spent his time locked away in the Alabaster Citadel.

---