Page 51 of Heir of Autumn
“Stuck with magic,” he said. “It’ll need help staying while I ravage you tonight.”
“Hold on.” I looked into his reflection’s eyes and gulped. “I think you meant to say ‘ravish.’”
Sylvain held my gaze. “I said what I said, oh summoner.”
21
Sylvain took my hand,leading me away from the mirror in his bedchambers. “Come. Let me show you the garden.”
“But it’s private, right?” I tripped over myself as I followed, hesitant, excited, afraid, all at once. “It’s private? Sylvain? Hello?”
“Of course it is,” he said, pushing the glass door open. “And it hardly matters either way. I can always afford us more privacy. We stand on my earth, on ancestral ground. If I ask the trees to stand guard, the branches to close in, the leaves to shroud us from prying eyes, they have no choice but to obey.”
He led me into the garden. My breath left me as it had so many times since we’d entered the Verdance. Even this private pocket behind Sylvain’s chambers was so perfect and lovely. The trees and bushes were mostly untended, permitted to grow wild and run free. Much like their prince, of course.
Little lights glowed at hip level, what I assumed were candles, but turned out to be flowers glowing with their own bioluminescence. In place of garden furniture were enormous blossoms, their petals so plush I could imagine falling asleep on them, as Sylvain had probably done a thousand times before.
“Sylvain? I know I’ve said this again and again. But this is magical.”
“This is only the start.” He smiled and squeezed my hand. “Allow me to show you all the pleasures of the Verdance.”
He guided me through the garden and toward the giant blossoms. I was surprised to find everything so warm and toasty, expecting the cool and crisp air of autumn. I held my hand out toward one of the glowing flowers, savoring the heat radiated by their petals. Every flower in this garden offered both form and function, whether as furniture, lighting, or outdoor heating. Amazing.
Sylvain curled his fingers, whispering a command. The greatest of the giant blossoms unfurled, every petal like a pillow, the bloom itself large enough to accommodate two grown men. And here I thought that the petals he’d summoned for my crown were meant for scattering over the bed in his chambers.
Not good enough for a fae prince’s tryst, apparently. No, these huge petalswerethe bed, soft, velvety, luxurious. I approached the flowerbed, but Sylvain held on to my wrist tight, shaking his head.
“All of you, Lochlann. I’d like to see all of you.”
No excuses, then. Not for the cold, and certainly not for want of privacy. Sylvain noticed my hesitation and curled his fingers again, beckoning. The trees and shrubs around the garden bent closer with a rustle and a whisper, sealing any remaining gaps where anyone might think to snoop.
I unbuttoned my shirt, my cheeks burning. We’d done this dozens of times before, and I’d always heard nothing but fervent praise and reassurance from Sylvain. There was nothing to be self-conscious about, and yet I felt so precious about it, so fragile.
Maybe it was the atmosphere doing things to my body and my brain. I hated to be so damn sappy about it, but could anyone really blame me?
The sights and scents of the Verdance, the fragrance of all these flowers. The gentle golden glow of bioluminescence embracing the curves and ridges of Sylvain’s body, the inviting softness of the flowerbed that awaited us.
And then it hit me. This was the fulfillment of a fantasy I never even knew I had, a vacation getaway to a place so foreign and yet so very familiar. Screw Evander Skink and his beach resort villa up in the Wispwood Canopy. This was everything and more.
The rough pads of Sylvain’s fingertips ran down the peaks of my shoulders, so gentle as he helped me undress. This was beautiful, and perfect, but the greediest parts of me wondered about everything else there was to see and experience in the Verdance.
Would we somehow make it into the Court of Summer someday, explore the glimmering white sands and crystalline waters of their beaches? And what of the Spring Court with all its flowers in full bloom?
I did always think it strange how Sylvain preferred verdant leaves and fresh flowers when he was supposed to be the Prince of the Autumn Court. Yvette had her thorns and brambles, and the queen’s wicked blades still evoked the gold and brown of dying leaves. But was this really the time to question all that, when he’d already tugged my pants down to my ankles?
“Let me help you with that,” I said, chuckling as I sat on the edge of the bed so he could pull them all the way off. I moaned almost instantly at the contact, the petals somehow even softer than I’d imagined.
“Wonderful,” Sylvain said, grinning, satisfied that I was completely naked. He shoved me onto the bed, the unbelievable softness of it cushioning my fall. I laughed at his roughness, but the sound caught in my throat when I saw what was above me.
More flowers, dangling and cascading from the treetops in clusters and garlands. They reminded me of wisteria, only the blooms were larger, their color deeper. Everything seemed so heightened in the Verdance, the beauty of things, the smell and taste of them.
Excitement stirred at the base of my spine, and yes, between my legs, too. Maybe it was only my imagination, but what if the same sweetness applied to other, more carnal sensations? The bed dipped. Sylvain straddled my hips with his powerful thighs.
It looked like I was about to find out.
He clicked his fingers, every last leaf that granted him modesty dispersing, returning to their brethren among the branches. Again I laughed, hoarse and dry this time, choked by my nerves, perhaps, or eager to slake my thirst by drinking deeply of him, his body, his cock.
“Does this please you, oh summoner?” Sylvain gestured around us, at his glamorous garden. “The view, the venue?”
