Page 101 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“Here. If you’re so keen of fixing things, fix this.” Her brown eyes glitter with a challenge. Itsnaps something in him that shouldn’t snap.

“I have no idea? Do you really believe this?”His voice has fallen to a growl; he’s stolen a step closer.

“Sure. Must have been nice to grow up like a prince,” she throws right back, holding his gaze, unafraid. “Pampered and loved and adored.”

He takes another step, baring his teeth. “Do not believe this, Melody. Do not believe that the few things I allow the outside worldto see are the whole truth. That it’s not hard for me to watch you suffer, day in, day out.”

“Oh, must be pretty hard—watching me from your silken cushion, sipping your golden wine.”

Gods damn him, that mouth.

His snarl tears the air like a knife slashing through a curtain. “I’ve been a slave for the better part of my life.” His hands come to rest left and right of her head on the wall, his body pinning hers against that desk. She looks surprised but doesn’t balk, doesn’t break his stare either. He leans into her scent, her heat, ignoring both, his voice low, vicious. “First, I was forced to serve the king of Palisandre, then I was enslaved by Gatilla. I served in more ways than you might want to envision. I was forced to kill and maim, forced to serve her in her bedroom too.”The words escape. Words he’s never voiced before, but suddenly they tumble out, all on their own.

For a few moments, there is silence; and then Melody’s face falls. All her rage is gone in an instant as she spots his aura that must have torn. And for a reason he can’t fully comprehend, he lets her see it. Lets the veil around it rip and glide down further.

She just stares, and then her eyes widen. Compassion lies in them. Warmth and compassion he’s never seen on a fae before.

“I’m sorry… I…”

He pulls back and straightens before he can do something he might regret, but his voice is still raw when he says, “You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t know. And you were still a child with Lyrian. I was a young man. But do not believe it doesn’t hurt me to see you shackled and afraid. That I don’t know how you feel. But Caryan was the one who freed me. I owe him, Melody. I’m eternally grateful.”

To his surprise, she leans in and hugs him. He’s so stunned he just stands there as her arms wrap around him, her head at his neck, her scent everywhere in the air, even stronger than moments ago.

It takes a lot not to reach out and bury his hands in her hair. Not to run his hands down her soft skin, over her body, her shy curves. Not to treat her like she’s his and trail his lips down the curve of her neck, lick the spot where it meets her collarbone.

Gods, he’s never wanted a woman the way he wants her. It almost has him tripping.

He steps back and involuntarily, she lets go of him, dropping her arms, retreating herself. He hates the shame flushing her cheeks, the way she bites down her lower lip, looking everywhere but at him. He knows she believes that she’d made a mistake in touching him like that. And he hates that he lets her believe it, but it’s the better way. Theonlyway, he reminds himself. Anything else would be inacceptable.

He turns away from her and walks over to her bed, slumping down on it as relaxed as he can, letting none of his inner turmoil show on his face. All the thoughts that ravage his mind. That it’s her bed he’s lying in, Abyss doom him. That he has never spoken so openly about anything before, not even with Caryan. That he knows she’s watching him because her eyes feel like a burn on his skin every time she does.

After a while she follows him and slowly curls up on the sheets, a healthy distance away from him, and it takes even more of his willpower to close his eyes, not to look at her but pretend he is tired. To make his voice sound disinterested and cold when she asks, “Who was Gatilla?” and he says, “One of the darkest figures the fae world has seen in a long time.”

Only when he’s sure she’s fallen asleep does he allow himself to finally open his eyes again and watch her sleeping in the moonlight.

31

Blair, two years before Gatilla’s death

Blair strode towards Caryan’s war tent. Her claws slashed through the heavy fabric of the flaps as she shoved them aside violently.

Then she stopped dead. Caryan stood there, his back to her, his powerful, male body totally naked. But Blair’s gaze snared on her aunt sprawled all over his bed. The scent of sex and blood assaulting Blair’s nostrils too late.

Blair blinked before she bowed her head and dropped to a knee.

“My queen. My commander,” she gritted out, too startled and tired for much diplomacy.

“An interesting way to enter the tent of your general, Blair,” her aunt chided, fabric rustling as she sat up, her eyes narrowed at Blair. A snake ready to spread her venom, strike and kill.

“Forgive me, but I have news that cannot wait a second longer,” Blair answered dryly. Half true. True enough that the lie could pass her lips. She prayed that this was enough for her aunt not to probe further.Keep them focused only on the essential parts, that’s what Caryan once told her.

Her aunt waved a hand. “Then, by all means, report, Blair.”

Selective truths, Caryan also told her. What was she doing here? She should tell her aunt everything, shouldn’t she? But this could put Caryan in peril… What Kyrith said, it changed things. She considered it on her flight back. The white mountain lion of Palisandre knew Caryan, even confirmed it. How? From where? Things she needed answers to before she spoke to her aunt. Fuck. She hadn’t known Gatilla would come here, or she wouldn’t have walked right into this trap.

Blair said, “The outpost is destroyed, my queen. No casualties on our side.”

“Yet?” her aunt snapped.

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