Page 5 of A Chill in the Flame
“Are you going to drown yourself in there too?”
Ophir popped her head up from beneath the safety of her warm, wet cocoon. She’d survived the night, yes, but she did not feel safe. Her heart was a violent, angry place just as her soul was an empty, silent void. In her conflict, she grasped for the barest semblance of normality.
“Come here, stranger.” She began as a princess commanding a subject, but her tone softened as she looked after the woman. “I just mean… Will you sit with me? You pulled me from the middle of the ocean. You came out of nowhere. I think I deserve to know my rescuer.”
Dwyn arched a brow. “Fortunately for you, I’m rather bored.”
The dark-haired fae leaned against the edge of the bathtub and dangled a hand in the soapy water just to test its temperature. The scent of freshly crushed mint wafted over the honey bubbles as the fae’s unique perfume filled the room. Perhaps Ophir would have noticed it earlier if she hadn’t been on the brink of death. The comfort of her bedchambers just before dawn offered the perfect opportunity to see what else she’d missed about her savior.
She opened her mouth to ask a question, but her breath was stolen. Dwyn gathered handfuls of glossy fabric and slowlypulled the starlit dress over her shape. Legs, hips, stomach, breasts, shoulders, neck, chin. Goddess, she was beautiful.
“What are you…” Ophir stammered. The dress dangled from Dwyn’s arm as she waited for Ophir to finish the sentence. When the princess did not stop her, she let the fabric puddle at her feet. “I…I don’t know if this is common behavior where you’re from, but—”
“Are you asking if my entire kingdom is as comfortable with their bodies as I am based off one interaction? Tell me, Princess, does everyone in Farehold swim into the ocean to die under the moonlight?”
Ophir stared blankly.
Dwyn winked. “Precisely. There are just as many sticks up the asses of my people as there are wills to survive with yours. I am wholly myself, irrespective of kingdom or culture. I suspect the same is true of you.”
Perhaps it would have been polite to look away, but Ophir wasn’t one to turn away from a challenge. Her eyes lingered on an elaborate tattoo that crawled from Dwyn’s left knee up her hip like a vine, ending just beneath her ribs.
“Are you staring at this?” Dwyn gestured to her ink. “Such a waste. My tits are up here.”
Ophir choked on her retort.
Dwyn swung her legs over the edge of the tub opposite the princess and lowered herself into the waters. Her legs intertwined with Ophir’s beneath the suds, which sent a jolt through the princess. Ophir blinked through her confusion as she fought to make sense of the scenario. Perhaps she had, in fact, died under the waves. Maybe these were the final nonsensical thoughts and visions as the mind winked out and relinquished the soul to be with the All Mother. That was easier to believe than accept that a stranger had truly just stripped and invited herself into the bath.
In another life the princess would have savored the wonderful opportunity to share her tub with a beautiful woman. Ophir had known lust, even if love had never fullyshown her its face. On another night, she would have leaned into the legs that interlaced with hers. She would have run her hands along their soft curves, feeling her way along the hips and waist and breasts beneath the bubbles. On another night, another life, their lips would part, their eyes would flutter closed, their gentle tongues would meet with exploratory slowness as they became acquainted. If tonight were any other night, Dwyn’s presence would have been a gasp of pleasure. Their sounds would have been nothing but a harmony to the melody of the sloshing waters.
But this was not another night.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Ophir forced authority into her tone. She was rigid against the farthest edge of the tub. “Wait, no. I’m not sorry.” Ophir gripped the ledge as stress spiked through her. She fought to make sense of things as she demanded, “Who thefuckare you?”
“I’m Dwyn,” she said while playing with the foam, carving shapes into it and making it stand atop itself. “I’ve already introduced myself. Listening is a valuable skill.” She blew a handful of bubbles into the air, watching as they popped. Dwyn sucked one into her mouth and gagged against the bitterness of its unpleasant, chemical flavor.
Ophir’s flash of anger faltered. This person was impossible.
Changing the subject entirely, Dwyn asked, “Do you have anything to drink?”
Ophir looked on incredulously.
The fae stood unceremoniously from the conciliatory bubbles. She splashed all about as she exited the tub, drenching the rugs and floor. Ophir watched her disappear around the door until she returned with a pitcher of drinking water that had been resting on the writing desk. Dwyn drank deeply of it before offering it to Ophir. She wanted to say she’d lost control of the night, but she hadn’t had a drop of control to begin with.
Dwyn rejoined her beneath the suds with a shrug. “I told you, I spend my time on the water.”
“You’re being intentionally vague.”
Dwyn splashed some bathwater onto the princess in an ongoing show of irreverence.
Ophir stared. “Do you even care that you’re in a castle or in the presence of a monarch?”
“Not in the least,” Dwyn replied. From the carefree way she blew the bubbles, Ophir believed it. “But since you insist on bringing up your crown: the royal family is said to have an assortment of gifts. Let me guess…you make flowers grow, or something sweet and soft like that?”
Ophir rolled her eyes. She raised a hand from the water and created a cup with her fingers. A ball of fire sprang to life, hovering in the empty space above her hand, despite how it still dripped water from the bathtub.
Dwyn looked impressed. “Conjuring flame is far cooler than flowers, I’ll give you that. I’ve seen fae speak to an already-burning flame, but I’ve never met someone who can create a fire while dripping.”
“Your turn.”
