Page 60 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“I’m sorry, I messed up.”
I used to be annoyed at hand-signing my sorrys and thankyous in Elphyne to avoid a Well-enforced debt. But now I understand why the Well does this. Words are empty. For an apology or gratitude to mean something, actions are needed.
“Messed up?” Confusion flickers over his face. Is that a dark blush staining his cheeks?
“Not us,” I clarify. “I’m sorry that I started a fight. Sorry I hurt people. Sorry I forgot to hunt for stones we can use as charms. I messed up.”
He takes me by the shoulders and pins me with his dark gaze.
“No matter what I do,” I whisper. “I keep hurting people. Life just feels like . . .” My mind reaches for an appropriate explanation, but I come up short.
He grazes his knuckles against my cheek. “We are all wisps, floating aimlessly?—”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Exactly. The moment I think I’ve figured things out, meaning either darts away from me or it slams into me with insanity.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he scolds. “I was going to say, searching for a home. You did nothing wrong tonight.”
“But Styx . . .”
“Is more wounded than you will know.” A small smile touches his lips as his knuckles move to caress the old scars on my face. “What you did tonight was . . . no one haseverfought for us like that. I feel that truth in my bones, even if I can’t remember. Knowledge that deep, that right . . . let’s just say, if you call that hurt, then I will wish upon the stars for it nightly.”
“Lies,” I accuse, despite my lips curving. “What do you really wish for?”
“I wish for you to get warm and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’re back at the Nexus.” He places a vial in my hand. Folds my fingers over it.
“What’s this?” I ask, but when I look, I recognize the pink elixir. It must be from Cait. “I guess this means you’re not firing me as your mate?”
“No, Calamity.” His eyes heat. “We’re keeping you.”
Chapter 26
Puck
When I emerge from Titania’s chambers, dawn brightens the sky—even the Baleful Hunt slumbers within me. Today, I did not force the chambers weeded. I stood there and watched them choke her, only to remember that nature gives her power. Eventually, the scent of chalk and smoke caused the Keepers to force me out.
I claim a paltry hour of sleep before the page boy wakes me for the day ahead.
The pretty, young male attending me bustles about my chamber, setting down the breakfast tray and laying out my outfit for the day. I admire his delicate beauty for a moment—the sweep of glossy black hair over his forehead, the blush painted on his cheeks, the berry stain on his lips.
His mouth and tight ass provide the perfect relief while my beloved slumbers, and I am denied yet another night without release. I stroke myself beneath the thick blanket and moan as pleasure teases me. But I am late as it is.
Groaning at denying myself, I toss the blankets off and slide my legs over the edge of the bed. The boy rushes to my side and kneels. As he glides a slipper onto my foot, I fail to resist the magnetic pull of his silken hair and slide my fingers through. He gasps as my fist clenches, and I yank down, drawing his face up. Those berry-stained lips part, but the thick swaths of black brows shadowing his wide eyes make my heart flutter.
I see multicolored eyebrows flinging from the ladies-in-waiting and landing like slugs. They will rue the day they called me an imposter. I tug down my waistband and release my aching member. The page boy’s lips part to receive me.
“You aim too low,”the dragon quips in my mind.“Aim higher.”
“Sir?”
“Shut up and let me—” I aim higher, rub my tip on his silken brows, and groan. Feels so good. So much softer than the queen’s inner walls. “Suck my balls,” I gasp and pump my length. Like a good little page boy, he does as he’s told. The more his saliva wets me, the more I slip and glide along his soft, velvety face. Each time my tip hits his brows, I am closer to climax. When he grips my behind and rubs his face along my length like a cat, I come hard. Thick squirts of sticky white paint his luscious brows, and I groan triumphantly. Everything pales in comparison to this moment. Never has my queen wrung such pleasure from deep within my soul.
I tip his chin up and gently smear my release, styling his brows into wispy shapes, wondering why this simple act fills me with such satisfaction.
“It is power,”the dragon answers in my mind.“You were not born to serve. You were born to dominate.”
“Changed your tune, now?” I mock.
“Pardon?” the boy asks.
