Page 172 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Riven shoves away the girl who has started to open his pants, getting up when the scent of Melody’s blood drifts over to him, cutting through all the other smells, as distinct as a beacon of light in a starless night.

He follows the scent back to the kitchen, and then, spotting servants sweeping up a mess of glass shards, trails it back outside into the corridor. Vanella, the dark-haired elf, comes sauntering through the darkness. A red gown made of translucent chiffon slides over her body, the front cut so deep it reveals her belly button, that piece of fabric only held into place by golden fibulas. Her face is schooled in a mask of pure triumph. Not a day has gone by, and she’s already replaced Sarynx. Riven would almost believe the act if it weren’t for the hard lines around her fluorescent-colored lips.

“Where’s Caryan?” he asks her.

“Don’t worry, your king is safe, as is your little slave girl. Or as safe as she can be, I guess. I just saw him sucking her blood on the patio. It looked really… intense.” She curls a strand of her silken hair around her finger as she rolls the last word, batting her long, green lashes up at him. She laughs bright as a bell when she notices Riven’s clenched jaw.

He tries to pass her, but she blocks his way.

“I wouldn’t go and watch that if I were you.”

“And why would that be?” he growls down at her.

She cuts him a slashing grin that doesn’t suit her. It’s a little bit too desperate, just like her dress. “Do you think no one else notices how you two are looking at her? It gets kind of boring, though, to watch the display of your depraved tastes.”

Riven scrutinizes his nails, but his voice is cold with a warning as he drawls, “You better not forget who you’re talking to, and all the more, who you’re talkingabout.”

Flames flare up on her skin, enough to bite and hurt, but not to burn. Yet.

For a moment, Vanella looks truly afraid as she stares at the flames licking at her. Flames that could eat everything, even stone. She falls to her knees, pressing her forehead against the ground. “Forgive me, I forgot myself for a moment, my lord.”

“Indeed you did.”

Riven pulls his magic back with a snip of his fingers. “I’d be careful if I were you, Vanella,” he says, straightening the sleeves of his shirt. “I know you feel triumphant now Sarynx is finally gone. But you do not seem to realize that he’s already as bored with you as he was with her. And it’s a dangerous thing—to lose Caryan’s interest.”

He steps past her and walks toward that patio where Melody’s and Caryan’s scents linger, although they are already gone. Only drops of her blood shimmer on the ground, silvery in the moonlight, the scent heavy in the air. And yes—Vanella wasn’t lying—there areotherscents too.

He takes a moment there, in the quiet, watching bats cutting through the night catching prey, before he slowly walks back to the party, to the girl with the silver imprints on her lavender skin who’s still waiting.

52

Melody

I wake up in a bed that’s not mine. I’m alone.

I get up and walk past the open terrace door, the warm wind caressing my naked shoulders. I follow the faint sound of rushing water while I fight hard not to remember snippets of what happened before.

I’m dead sober again, and I suppose my fae blood might process alcohol faster. Or maybe it’s magic, but my head feels clearer than ever. I don’t even have a hangover, although it’s still the deepest night outside.

Maybe it’s just the few hours of soundless, deep sleep like I haven’t had in years.

Not the sleep brought on by exhaustion, but calm, safe slumber.

Absurdly enough, I felt safe when Caryan lay down next to me, watching me in the dark.

Light from a single candle that flickers on the ground dips the bathroom into a warm, restless twilight while my bare feet soundlessly pad closer. There is a bath like the one Nidaw always puts me in. A huge round pool, embedded in the floor, marble steps leading into the water. The ceiling is open and you can see the stars.

Caryan’s in the bath, his arms and upper body out of the water. His head is leaned back, his throat exposed, and the magnificentwings I dream of sinking my fingers into are spread wide outbehind him, a velvet black in the absence of light, soaked from the steaming water.

He must have summoned them, or howeverthatworks.

I pause, taking in the scene—him in such a vulnerable, private state. His face, stripped of its usual, lush austerity.

He doesn’t stir, doesn’t open his eyes.

Could it really be that he hasn’t heard me approaching? Hasn’t smelled me?

My eyes take in every inch of him, but rest on a huge scar that runs from the left side of his chest down over his navel to his right hip. I spot magical runes there, but they’re not moving like the rest of his tattoo. They look damaged, brutally maimed by whatever weapon and whatever cruel hand tried to cut him open from his heart down, as if to saw him in half.

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