Page 31 of Sereis
He broke the kiss to trail his lips down my throat, finding that spot where neck met shoulder that made me see stars. "Going to take you to bed," he murmured against my skin. "Spread you out on those starlight sheets and worship every inch of you before I claim you. Going to make you come so many times you forget your own name, only remember mine."
"Please," I begged, already lost to the promise in his words.
He stood in one fluid motion, lifting me with him as if I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pressing my wet core against his abdomen, and we both groaned at the contact. He was already moving toward the bedroom, each step deliberate and filled with intent.
We'd made it three steps when the air in the room suddenly crystallized.
Two figures materialized beside the rocking chair—beings of pure cold given form, all sharp angles and fractal patterns that hurt to look at directly. Ice Elementals. Their forms shifted and reformed constantly, like looking at winter through a shattered mirror.
Sereis went rigid, his arms tightening around me possessively. Through the bond, I felt his fury at the interruption warring with the knowledge that they wouldn't manifest without critical cause.
The Elementals spoke in perfect unison, their voices like breaking glaciers: "Lord Sereis. The traders are ready to confess. Now is the time."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Sereis's hands tightened on my body, and I felt the shift in him—the lover giving way to the Dragon Lord, though he didn't put me down.
“My Lady,” Sereis said to me, “take your place by my side. Help me prove my innocence.”
Chapter 7
Thesilkbarelycoveredwhat it needed to cover, and even that felt like too much skin exposed to air that shouldn't have been warm but was. Sereis had chosen it himself—ice-blue fabric that clung to curves I'd never thought about displaying, cut low enough that my collar bones felt naked, short enough that each step threatened to reveal more than I could bear to show. His fingers had been clinical when he'd adjusted the drape, ensuring it would catch the light just so, ensuring the traders would see exactly what he wanted them to see: a prize, a pet, a distraction from their own loosening tongues.
The Amber Parlor contradicted everything about the Frost Veil. Where the rest of the palace celebrated winter's absolute dominion, this room rebelled with warmth that made no sense. Thermal vents had been carved through miles of glacier, channeling heat from the earth's core up through the ice without melting it—an impossibility that Sereis had made real through will and ancient engineering. The walls glowed amber from within, as if sunset had been captured and pressed between sheets of crystallized honey.
Polar bear pelts covered every surface that might be sat upon, their white fur so thick my bare feet sank into them like snow. Silver fox throws draped the divans, and when I brushed against one, the fur felt alive, warm, breathing with retained heat. The contradiction made my head swim—or maybe that was the smoke already thick in the air, sweet narcotic tendrils that made thoughts slow and loose.
The traders had been here for hours. Long enough that their initial terror at being held by the Ice Master had dissolved into something dangerously close to comfort. They sprawled across the seal-leather divans like they owned them, crystal pipes dangling from lazy fingers, cups of Winterheart Wine constantly refilled by my careful hands. The wine was deceptive—it tasted of summer berries, sweet and light, but those berries had been preserved in ice for decades, concentrating their potency until a single cup could dizzy a grown man. These traders were on their fourth refill.
"—and then," the lead trader wheezed through his laughter, gesturing so broadly he nearly dropped his pipe, "then the fool at the gate actually believed we were Ice Lord servants! As if the Frost Veil employs humans for anything but—" He caught sight of me refilling his companion's cup and leered. "Well. For anything but decoration."
His eyes traveled my body with the lazy entitlement of the thoroughly intoxicated. I kept my expression neutral, submissive, empty—exactly what Sereis had instructed. Let them see what they expected to see. Let their assumptions be their weakness.
"Ingenious," Sereis murmured from his throne of living ice. The seat had grown from the floor at his approach, shaped itself to his body, and would dissolve the moment he stood. It never melted despite the room's warmth, because his will was strongerthan physics. "Your employer must be remarkably clever to devise such a strategy."
The trader preened at the compliment, smoke leaking from his nostrils as he drew deep from his pipe. "Lord S—" he caught himself, some vestige of caution still functioning. "Our employer studied with masters of deception. Spent three years in the Eastern Wastes, learning from those Ghost Monks who remember when dragons walked openly among men."
Sereis's expression didn't change, but I felt the temperature drop a fraction despite the thermal vents' constant heat.
"The Eastern Wastes," Sereis mused, swirling his own wine though he never drank. "Such a journey. Such an investment. Your employer must have been planning this for quite some time."
"Years!" Another trader, middle-aged with soft hands that had never known hard work, leaned forward conspiratorially. "He said—we weren't supposed to repeat this, but you've been so generous, Lord Sereis, and clearly you appreciate brilliance when you hear it—he said the dragon lords had grown complacent. Too used to humans fearing them. Too confident in their ancient laws and bonds."
The youngest trader giggled—actually giggled—into his wine. "He paid triple rate for anyone willing to wear your colors, my lord. Triple! For a few days' playacting. We thought him mad to spend so much gold, but look—here we sit in the Ice Lord's own palace, treated as guests rather than prisoners. His plan worked perfectly."
"Indeed," Sereis said, his voice carrying just enough admiration to encourage more revelations. "Though I confess, I'm curious about the ultimate goal. Surely not just theft, however valuable the cargo."
The lead trader's face went crafty, even through the haze of drugs and wine. "Destabilization. Create conflict betweenthe dragon lords. Make them distrust each other, fight among themselves." He tapped his temple with one unsteady finger. "Chaos is profitable if you know how to navigate it. And our employer—he knows every current, every tide."
"Show him the contract," the youngest trader slurred, fumbling with his boot. "Show the Ice Lord how much we were promised. He'll understand then—only someone with real vision would pay such sums."
"Shut up, boy," the middle-aged trader hissed, but it was too late. The young man had already produced a rolled parchment from his boot, waving it like a trophy.
"Look!" He thrust it toward Sereis, who took it with careful fingers. "Fifty thousand silver marks! Just for stealing one girl! And the seal—" he pointed with drunken pride at the wax impression, "—Lord Varek Solmar himself! The Salt Prince!"
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the narcotic smoke seemed to pause in its lazy spirals. The lead trader's face went from flushed to pale so quickly I thought he might faint. The middle-aged trader's cup slipped from nerveless fingers, Winterheart Wine spreading across white fur like blood on snow.
Sereis studied the contract with the patience of winter itself.
"Varek Solmar," he said, each syllable precise as breaking glass. "How fascinating. The same Lord Solmar who recently failed to retrieve his contracted bride from Lord Davoren's territory?"
