Page 46 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Seth laughs, the sound warm against my cheek. “Anything less would be unworthy of you.”
The waltz is a classic piece, but we take up a little more space than the other dancers and hold each other a little too close. Each sway is an excuse to brush against one another. We’re the most attractive couple in the room, and definitely the only one tangled in unresolved sexual tension.
Everyone’s watching, now. The music cuts off abruptly, the musicians too busy staring to keep track of the melody.
Instead of letting me slip away, Seth wraps an arm around my waist. His eyes are wild and tormented, yet full of life, like waves crashing at the foot of the Zepharion Fortress. I hold my breath when he cups the side of my face with his free hand and bends to kiss me.
The motion is smooth as hell.
I can’t push him off, not with everyone watching. By Eros, I only wish I could keep my eyes open and see the disgust on Freya’s face. The thought fills me with unbridled joy. A sinister yet blinding sense of happiness hums through me, and I deepen the kiss, slipping my tongue in Seth’s mouth.
I truly, madly, deeply hate him, but we’re both Spring royals. The best kissers in the realms. The most beautiful, treacherous lovers in the worlds. The rage coalesces in my blood and spices this interlude with a bittersweet sense of butchered pride and inedible envy.
Tongue fighting.
Hands gripping.
Hearts pounding.
It isn't soft. It isn't sweet. It crashes into me like a natural disaster tearing through brick walls, leaving nothing untouched. It’s a contest: who does it better, who riles the other up a wall, and who knows exactly how to make the other moan the loudest. Breathe the hardest.
From Seth’s heavy hand on the small of my back and the steely ridge of his erection pressing into my hip, I figure I’m winning, which makes the contest even more fun.
“Are you ready to yield, pretty boy?” I taunt him.
Seth drags his nose in the dip between my jaw and ear, inhaling deep. “You pretend to be above this, but you’re the fallen Queen of Hearts. You remember what it’s like to rule, and not suffer the same emptiness every single Spring Fae reckons with. You were the most desired woman in all the worlds, and men would line up for miles just to steal a glance of you. Youlovethis.” He slips an arm around my shoulders and leads me off the dance floor.
I’m in awe of how natural he looks, taking hold of my hand.
“I don’t need you—or any man—to kneel in front of me to feel whole,” I whisper quickly, the sweet edge of victory fading.
A smile colors his rogue, talented mouth. “Maybe it’s your turn to kneel, then.”
My throat bobs, the suggestion rolling off his lips like a promise.
I see Freya half-running toward us, one hand clutching the rumples of her black skirt and the other cramped around her folding fan. Hatred rises in me fast and hot, the kind that never fades, no matter how long it festers.
The black dress and veil look eerie on her. She’s grieving the loss of her lover, but I won’t let that soften my anger. If she’d run off with Thorald Storm when she had the chance—instead of plotting away my crown—we wouldn’t be here.
The rumors Mabel heard were right. Freya is a ghost of her former self, with red, inflamed burns stretching across her cheeks and arms. The many overlapping layers of loose skin indicate that her groomers tried to fix the marks in vain, over and over again. With her skin marred like that, her outside finally matches her rotten soul. She can’t pretend to be the fairest of them all anymore.
“Hello, step-grandmother,” I say.
The sound of my pep-filled voice shocks her, because she stops short, knuckles white, eyes refusing to meet mine. “The nerve! I’ll have your head this time, Devilyne.” Her voice is tight, full of worry and disbelief, like she’s hoping if she keeps it low enough, I’ll just disappear.
Percy zooms over to us and perches on my shoulder, crouching in a defensive stance. “Stay back, old woman.”
Seth adjusts his position so his body creates a slight shield between us. “Mother, please. Let’s be adults about this.”
“I will not stand for this. She’s a criminal.”
The music stops, and Elio hurries to Freya’s side, his hands raised in a calming manner. “We’re in my court, Freya, and I have the final say on who’s welcomed on my lands.”
My smile curls at the edges, all sugar and knives.
Seth raises our linked fingers for Freya and all the Spring delegation to see. “Devi and I… We’ve decided to get married.”
Outraged cries erupt from Freya’s entourage, the same cowards and sheep who stood idly by when my crown was stolen. I bet they’re all shaking in their boots at the mere thought of me returning home.
