Page 122 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Percy’s body is set on the mantle above the hearth, while Devi stands in front of the window. She’s fresh out of the bath, wrapped in a soft black robe that hugs the swell of her hips andslips just enough to reveal her collarbone. Her long brown legs shine in the light, and her red curls frame her face like a halo. My pulse swirls. The way her robe hugs her slender waist, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the strength in her posture even in this intimate moment…
Her beauty stings my heart.
I make my way to her and try to wrap my arms around her, but she sidesteps. “Wait.”
My chest is about to burst. She didn’t ask for us to sleep apart, but she seems untouchable just the same.
She points to the bathtub. “Your turn. You’re filthy.”
If that’s the reason she rejected my embrace, I can make peace with it. Her eyes are clear, her posture relaxed, so maybe there’s nothing more to it, but I just can’t shake the feeling that some invisible wall still stands between us.
I’m beginning to understand just how much she loathes her queenly mask. Her independence, as she calls it, is bred out of necessity—from a world that didn’t allow her to show weakness.
I’ve seen her eyes light up under a rainy sky. I’ve seen her smirk when someone underestimates her. She wants a man who sees through the illusion, who won’t back down when she lets him see the hurt, the violence, the parts of her she keeps locked away. And Zeus help me, I want to be that man.
She sees every part of me—the bastard, the outcast, the fuckboy—and prompts me to become more.
Steam rises from the tub, the water crystal clear. I unbutton my torn shirt, pull off my breeches, and step inside. The warm water soothes my aching joints, but it does nothing to ease my troubled mind.
She sits on the nearby ottoman and passes me the soap. The intimacy of it all, the sash of her robe loosening, the slippery soap in my hand… My cock swells under the water. I shift positions, trying to conceal just how aroused I am. This hardlyseems like the appropriate time for sex, but gods, she’s so fucking beautiful.
It’s so quiet. The only sound is the swirl of water in the tub over the furious beats of my heart.
She leans forward and wipes the leftover blood from the biggest and most debilitating lash Alaric’s lightning drew across my chest. Her brows rise—the skin underneath unblemished and untouched. “Luther healed you?”
“Not Luther. Percy.”
Her lids flutter shut, and she shudders.
We ran out of Deiltine while everyone was still trying to figure out who was in charge. There was no time to talk, no time to exchange notes.
“He snuck into my cell and healed me before the arena,” I say softly. “That’s how I was able to fight Alaric. Percy wanted me to save you?—”
She covers my mouth with her hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”
Be still my heart. She drops her robe and climbs in the bath with me. The smooth skin of her bare stomach, breasts, and legs is interrupted only by her original scars. The wounds she suffered in Deiltine have been healed, but the emotional ones, the ones I can’t see, are what worry me.
She straddles me and sinks her nails into my hairline, swallowing my next sentence with a kiss. It’s not soft. Not gentle. It’s desperate, like she’s trying to cut herself on my mouth. Like she wants to bleed out everything she can’t say. It’s a command. A plea. A way to shut me up.
And I almost let her.
Because I want her. Gods, I want her, but I feel…guilty.
“Not like this,” I murmur against her lips, bracing my hands on her shoulders.
“Please. I need it.” She shifts her hips, my crown bumping against her inner thigh.
The water makes for an easy glide, and I grip her waist to avoid accidentally slipping inside her.
“I don’t want to take advantage?—”
She holds my gaze. “Take me, Seth, or don’t—but never treat me like a victim. I’m your queen, or nothing at all.” The heartbreak in her voice stirs something in me, but she quickly shakes it off in favor of a seductive smile. “And I want you to fuck me. From the way your cock is throbbing against my thigh, I’d say you want to fuck me, too.”
Sex is the most efficient way for a Spring Fae to turn the page, and I know what she’s trying to erase. Percy’s death. Alaric’s hands. The lingering bite of lyranthium on her soul. She’s trembling, eager to light a fire big enough to burn the memories of our journey here.
“I’d rather be worshipped at the wrong time than lonely when it hurts the most.” She explores my chest with both hands. Her bite of power drums in wild waves, snapping against my skin. “I need you, Seth. It’s a mercy.”
Mercy. I can give her that—let her bury the pain, let her use my body to silence the screaming inside her head. I’d take it all. I’d carry it for her. I’d break myself a hundred times if it meant she didn’t have to suffer any longer.
