Page 55 of Queen of Legends and Lies
Agnar snores lightly from where he’s sprawled on the floor, his coppery hair a tousled mess. He had a little too much to drink at dinner last night and fell asleep in my sitting room.
I didn’t see the need to wake him.
Leesa sits by the window, her knowing gaze on me. She realized I’d be unnerved before court today and came to offer moral support.
Just as the maids file out, with Rhiann leading the retreat, Serle steps into the chamber holding a dress so stunning it could drive the stars to weep with envy for the twinkling, sparkling gems sewn all over the crimson fabric.
Vicar Moise hovers beside him and stares down his long nose at Sterling.
“From Celeste.” For some reason, Serle looks quite proud of himself, stretching up on the balls of his feet before rocking back.
“Quite the gift.” And it would be. If the fabric, threads, beads, gems, and workmanship hadn’t come from Tirene’s own coffers.
Since she’s a guest of the crown, we supply her with everything she asks for. I frown at the extravagant gown. Its gems and lace scowl back, mocking my preference for comfort over pageantry.
And dresses over military funding. Did she really think this was appropriate?
“Indeed.” Sterling climbs out of his chair, stretches, and returns Moise’s flat stare. “It’s something else.”
Lingering in the doorway, Moise makes a shooing motion, like he’s coaxing a stubborn cat. “Go on. Put it on.”
“By all means.” Sterling smirks as if he finds my predicament amusing. “Put it on.”
Moise’s smile slips a notch, but he masks it well.
Groaning as he drags himself off the floor, Agnar sweeps bloodshot eyes over the gown. “Queen’s gotta queen. We wear our uniform, and you have to wear yours.”
Realizing I have a handy excuse, I shrug. “Can’t change now. The maids are gone. And this thing looks hazardous.”
“Oh, I can help.” Sterling flashes me an utterly wicked glance. “I have plenty of experience getting you out of your clothes. Don’t see why I couldn’t get you in them.”
Leesa coughs as Agnar rolls his eyes. Moise and Serle don’t seem nearly as amused.
Once our guests are gone, my irritation flares.
“Let’s get this over with.” I yank at the dress I’m already wearing, ready to slip from it like a snake sheds its skin.
Sterling’s deliberately laggard fingers join mine, transforming a simple task into something else entirely. The gown pools at my feet, and his fingers trace the line of my spine.
Tiny shivers trail his touch.
His lips linger on my shoulder blade, a warm contrast to the chamber’s chilly morning air.
I sigh. “Places to be, Sterling. We’re going to be late.”
He glances up, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re the queen. Court won’t start without you.”
The weight of his words sinks in, along with the power and freedom they carry. It’s a heady thought, one that thrills me more than it probably should. My knees give way, and I sag on the edge of the bed.
I’ve always been bound by duties, expectations, and the unwritten rules of nobility. But now, the realization that I can bend those rules to my will intoxicates me.
And as Sterling sinks to his knees before me, I come to terms with the fact that we’re definitely going to be late.
Slowly, so very slowly, his fingers travel up my bare thighs.
I moan. “Sterling.” Not a protest but rather a plea for him to continue. I want him—need him—to touch me. “You’re still healing. I’m worried we’ve already overdone it.”
My face heats at my admission, because I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve made love in the last several days.
