Page 5 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

I bathed in eucalyptus and spearmint, washing the scent of the morning’s activities away with their fragrant leaves. Since showing Tharan my scars, I had not replaced the earring, preferring to wear them as a badge of honor rather than hide behind a glamour.

Pulse still racing, I sunk low in the tub. Tharan was everything I dreamed of and more, but still, my heart ached a little thinking of how we met. I could never tell him about the night I dipped into his mind and planted the seed, leading us here. Truth be told, part of me wondered if he only loved me because I fiddled around in his mind. Then again, he was the Alder King; he knew of my powers and hadn’t questioned my affection.

The sting of losing Caiden still bit at my heart. Seeing him in Ryft’s Edge and then again in the palace when we returned ripped my healing wounds anew. I thought I’d have more time to forget him, and frankly, I hoped never to see him again—another test from the Trinity.

The water chilled, and my stomach grumbled with hunger, reminding me I now had duties beyond lounging about all day. Being the Hand of the King meant an onslaught of dailymeetings on everything from military restocking to rebuilding what the fire took to foreign alliances.

Pulling myself from the water, my skin glistened in the bright morning light reflecting off the fresh snow. Despite recently using my life force to call upon the Morrigan’s army, I felt normal, invigorated even. I braided my hair into loose pleats, donned a simple wool gown, and headed to the morning room, where Tharan and his advisors took their breakfast.

Pale light streamed in through stained-glass windows, filling the room with colorful designs. Vines crept up the wood walls, reminding us we were in a living tree. A small fire burned in the hearth, heating the room. Tharan sat at the head of a long table; hair pulled back with a leather tie. He thumbed through the daily reports. A cup of coffee steamed beside him. He smiled at me, and my heart skipped a beat. “Good morning, Aelia,” he said as if we hadn’t spent the morning wrapped around one another.

“Good morning, your Highness.” I took a seat to his right. The smell of fresh coffee and crispy bacon filled the room.

Across from me, Sumac, Tharan’s best friend and leader of the Wild Hunt sat, feasting on porridge and looking through her own morning reports. She wore a high-necked sweater the color of the forest after a rain, complementing her verdant eyes. Next to her sat Hopper, a green-skinned sylph with high cheekbones and gaunt features. His shoulder-length hair was tied back behind his ears. Hopper, Sumac, and Tharan grew up together, and when Tharan became king, they became heads of their respective units—Hopper, the diplomat, and Sumac, the head of the Wild Hunt.

Around the table sat the Master of Coin, Master of Forestry, and Master of Culture. I had no idea where the other advisors were, but it was nice to be in a small group. Savoring the momentary respite from sharing Tharan with his entire kingdom, I ran the tip of my slipper up his leg.

Beneath the table, Tharan’s hand found my knee, and with a little squeeze, he let me know he was thinking of me.

“Where is everyone this morning?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

A satyr set a pile of parchment in front of me. I huffed, reaching around it to fill my plate with bacon and eggs. Once satiated, I glanced at the stack while munching on a piece of bacon. “It looks like half of your advisors are busy running your kingdom.”

“I guess that’s a good thing,” Tharan said, turning to Wren, the Master of Forestry. “How is the forest healing?”

The sylph woman who smelled of lilac and elderberry and whose hair matched, lifted her head from her work, purple eyes sparkling in the soft light. Her pale skin reminded me of Lucius’s. “Healing takes a long time, my King, but it is mending at a tremendous rate. Thanks to the renewed magic that comes with crowning a new Alder King.”

“Very good.” He turned to the Master of Coin. An elderly sylph with a long black beard and a shaved head. “And how about our finances?”

The man cleared his throat, and the teacup in his hand shook uncontrollably, an unfortunate side effect of extended life. Even Illya’s gift could not stop the body from fraying. “We have enough coin to fund a war, should we need to.”

“Let’s hope we do not, but try to fill our coffers as much as possible. With the way things are going, we never know when we might need it.” The elder nodded, and Tharan leaned back in his chair, muscles pushing through the thin linen of his shirt, and I wished the room was empty so I could throw my legs over him and finish what we’d started this morning. My pussy yearned to feel the girth of his cock inside me. Even now, my muscles clenched as I imagined him thrusting deeper and deeper.

“Any word from my sister, Hopper?” Tharan asked.

Hopper’s mouth flattened into a straight line.

“No. We have not heard from her. I suspect she went to live with her mother’s people in the ghost isles.”

“I will send word to the Ghost Lord.”

Seeing Tharan rule over his kingdom, with his power shown through his relaxed shoulders radiating casual confidence, filled me with want. My thoughts drifted to the vision of him between my legs, and my mouth went dry with desire.

“There’s something else.” Hopper patted his mouth with a napkin. “The Court of Sorrows needs a new ruler. Nysemia had no heir, and with most of her court dead, it is up to you to choose who will rule.”

Tharan rubbed his jaw in thought, and I couldn’t help but think of earlier when he smiled at me from between my legs, face covered in my wetness.

“Who do you suggest? I would give it to my sister if I can find her.”

Hopper nodded.

“That would be wise, but she will need a husband.”

A sigh escaped Tharan’s lips.

“I suppose I’ll have to make that match as well.”

“Indeed, my King.”

---