Page 22 of A Frozen Pyre
Ophir clutched her glass, and Ceneth was quick to follow.
“To tomorrow,” she said.
“To unity,” he concurred.
Eight
“You were sensational! Your speech? It was so honest, sosimple. You’ve won them all.” Dwyn preened, giggling as she kicked her heels off. They’d scarcely gotten through her bedroom door before the siren had begun undressing. “Firi, help me with this, would you? The buttons are at the worst spot. It’s almost as if—”
“Almost as if servants are supposed to help you with it before bedtime, rather than you stripping nude all hours of the day?” Ophir finished the thought as her fingers began to work on the buttons of Dwyn’s pretty blue dress. After, Ophir turned and offered her back without being asked, knowing it was her turn to step out of her blush gown. The servants knew enough by now to expect that the women would not be clothed unless they were given proper forewarning.
Dwyn needed very little encouragement to have her hands on Ophir. Her fingers worked against the buttons as she planted hot, light kisses on the soft place where Ophir’s neck met her shoulder.
“I wanted to get you out of this the moment I saw you in it,” Dwyn said.
Ophir smiled, back still to the siren. “Yes, but you say thatregardless of what I’m wearing.”
Dwyn’s fingers stopped.
“What?”
Dwyn rounded her slowly, a mischievous smirk tugging her lips up at the corner. “I have a wonderful idea.”
“Again, you say that regardless—”
“Yes, because all my ideas are good. Hush, Firi. Believe me, you’ll like this.”
Dwyn took her hand and led her to the enormous full-length mirror mounted beside the armoire. The wooden frame had been carved with elaborate twisting designs. Some looked like they could have been crows; others serpents or lions, but most were just the miscellaneous twists of the fantastical.
Dwyn stood behind her and said, “Look at yourself.”
Ophir fidgeted. “Yes, I’ve seen myself. It’s a very pretty dress.”
“No,” Dwyn corrected, “don’t look at the dress, look atyourself. Look at those golden eyes of yours. Your irises are brighter and more royal than any crown they could put on your head. Look at the slope of your nose, Ophir. Look how it curves up ever so slightly at the end. Count your freckles. See how your teeth are sharp enough to tear out a man’s throat. Look at your—”
Ophir tried to turn. “I don’t want to—”
“I said:look,” Dwyn insisted.
At first, Ophir looked only at the siren. She looked at Dwyn’s coffee-dark eyes, the gilded undercurrent of her skin, her full, pink mouth, her cascading hair. She described Ophir’s shoulders, the pink blush of her soft cheeks, the sharp line of her collarbones, the gentle curves of her breasts, the cinch of her waist. She relinquished control at last, ceding to the siren’s instructions. Dwyn watched in the mirror as Ophir’s eyes obediently traced every feature Dwyn listed. Dwyn urged them closer to the mirror, an arm’s length from its glassy surface.
“Make me a promise?” Dwyn said.
“What?”
“For the next fifteen minutes, don’t break eye contact with yourself.”
Ophir blinked rapidly. Her heart rate spiked, cheeks flushing with heat. “What?” she demanded, spinning toward Dwyn.
“We’ll restart the clock now, since you’ve already lost. Now, look yourself in the eye,” Dwyn said as she slowly lowered to her knees.
“Dwyn, what are you—”
Dwyn disappeared beneath the blush chiffon of Ophir’s skirt and stole the words from her mouth.
No teasing, no tantalizing, no foreplay.
Ophir suddenly understood why they’d needed to be closer to the mirror as she collapsed against the cool, silver surface. She braced herself with her forearms as her knees buckled, a moan escaping her lips. She leaned her forehead to rest against the mirror, but at the last second, she caught her reflection.
