Page 71 of Of Song and Scepter
I hum a quiet melody to match our dance, the notes rumbling in my chest. It starts soft and unassuming, the ghost of a lullaby. But when she leans in, her mouth moving against my skin to form a smile, I find my courage. I breathe magic into the tune, catching the echoes of my Voice and weaving them into a rich harmony. Green balls of light lift around us, each orb sustaining a note of the chord.
She gasps, her breath skittering across my scales. I lift our hands, spinning her through the opening. Her skirts flare in a shimmer of silver, wrapping around her legs. With a push of magic, my orbs encircle her, dipping to kiss her skin. She smiles at me, eyes bright beneath the moon. For a moment, I think she might let go, might take the opportunity to run again. My song takes on a melancholy note, stacking in dissonance. But she slips her hand behind my back, fingers grasping the silk of my shirt, tugging me close. I release the spell, and the orbs scatter into glittering dust in the breeze.
“Enna… I cannot fight this any longer. From the moment I saw you hopping across my beach, I’ve felt a pull deep in my gut. Wherever I turn, wherever I run, it’s there, anchoring me to you. Tell me you feel it, too.”
“We can’t,” she whispers, shaking her head. Her nose brushes my chest. “You are going to be king soon, and I’m… I am not fit for you.”
I grab her chin and tilt it. Gone is the fear in her eyes, replaced with hesitation.
“Is that what you’re worried about? That we don’t fit together?” I smirk. “Wicked, I can show you right now how well we fit.”
Chapter forty-two
Enna
Wicked, I can showyou right now how well we fit.
My body relaxes as the dizziness washes over me. He tucks me against his chest, murmuring sweet nothings in my ear. His teeth catch my earlobe and, despite myself, I shiver and wonder where else those teeth might glide next.
His hands slide over my waist, warm through the silk. The fabric slips over my skin, deliciously soft, and my core heats. Too much fabric. Too much space between us. My bottom presses against his erection straining against those goddessdamn leather pants.
What was I doing? Leaving? There’s a pouch of stolen Coral goods strapped to my thigh, ready to carry me all the way to the Rime.
No, that can’t be right.
“This dress,” he moans. “Gods, as soon as you walked in wearing this, I knew I was done.”
His fingers rise to trace the deep V neckline, a knuckle slipping beneath the hem and skirting over the swell of my breast, across my collarbone. His thumb rests in the hollow beneath my neck. My pulse pushes angrily against the pressure of him, battering with the strength of my blood, but it’s not enough.
“Nervous?”
I push my elbow back into his ribs, and he catches my wrist, clicking his tongue in disapproval. His thumb passes over the silk of my glove, and my spines lift to meet him, the thin membrane of silk stretching. His fingers stroke the tips of my spines, and another rumbling moan escapes his lips. With a quick pinch of his fingers, he slips the glove off.
“Off with these silly things. Don’t hide beneath them for my sake,” he says, and the other joins the first in the sand below. He brushes the fading marks of my bruise. “You’re beautiful.”
My spines quiver in their new freedom, glinting in the light of the moon. My spinesarebeautiful—one of my favorite features, right along with my fangs, my claws. I am a wicked beast of the Drink, sharp and cold as the darkness from whence I came. And this prince—somehow—sees their beauty, too.
Soren grips me firmly by the ass, pulling me securely against his lap, and pressing his erection against me with a moan, my name quivering on his lips. The satin of my dress slips between us, soft against my bare skin. I want it gone—off, shredded, I no longer care. His large hand cups my ass and takes hold like I’m the only thing keeping him afloat in a vast drowning sea.
“My little moon goddess,” he whispers.
His bulging cock nudges my center, and I moan, dragging myself along its mound, coating my dress with my arousal.
His fingers trace my upper thigh, slipping along the silk. His thumb hooks into the slit, finding my skin in the secret passageto the evidence of my betrayal. If Soren discovers the contents of that pouch, this will all end in an instant, and I’ll be cast out for the snapperfish.
I need to distract him.
“You okay, Wicked?” His voice rumbles in my ear, his thumb retreating.
I nod, then rotate back into his arms. My nipples harden into tight buds as my breasts skim over the expanse of his chest. The dark green scales embedded in his skin rise at my touch. His jaw flexes, one singular blood vessel straining against his pretty skin. I run my claws up his arm, then tangle them in the hair at the base of his neck, pulling myself higher. I steal a quick nip on his collarbone. He smells of salt and sun and driftwood.Delicious.
“Soren,” I breathe, attaching his name to this heat building deep in my stomach, threatening to consume me with flames. “I need you.”
Growling, he lifts me up, hoisting my skirts over my legs. I clench my thighs around his hips, using a claw to snip the strap of my pouch. I toss it into the darkness, out of view, just before his hand slides over my bare skin, cresting my cheek and slipping into the pool of heat between.
“Are you not wearing undergarments?” He chuckles. “You wicked thing.”
His knuckle swipes through my wetness, nudging my already swollen clit. I gasp, clawing at his shoulders for purchase as I attempt to bring him closer still. He grunts, the tip of his finger swirling over me.
