Page 38 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
A touch of mugwort… and—my breath caught,chasteberry.
I knew these herbs. I had picked them with Mother, hands stained green from crushing leaves. They weren’t just plants—they were secrets, tucked in glass jars alongside beeswax candles and cherry wine bottles in our cupboard.
A memory flickered—Mother’s careful voice:“These blends aren’t for everyone. They stir desire, or bring fertility, depending on what’s asked of them. Handle them with respect, Elara. Herbs listen.”
I set the empty cup on the bench, panic buzzing in my chest like one of her bees in a jar. These weren’t innocent tea herbs. They were purposeful. Deliberate.
I repeated the names again in my head,Angelica. Raspberry. Mugwort. Chasteberry…
My thoughts spiraled as my body tingled in places it shouldn’t be. These were herbs Mother gave to women who came to her quietly—wives, healers, even nobles in disguise. They were the herbs used to help women conceiveand get them in the mood for sex—unimaginable desire.
Oh, fuck.
“Oh, good, you enjoyed your tea.” Her smile was beautiful but held a hidden agenda. “Would you like some more?” The Queen asked. I shook my head ‘no’ as her voice trailed off.
A memory flickered—Mother’s careful hands, her quiet instructions, the way she never wasted a single leaf of those blends. I sat frozen, eyes wide with realization, the bitterness still curling in my mouth like a secret finally remembered.
I needed to get out of here. Needed to be touched.
The bitterness of the tea lingered, but it was no longer the only thing I tasted. Warmth spread through my chest, down my limbs, curling low in my belly with a slow, heavy ache. It was subtle at first—a hum beneath my skin—but it built quickly, pulsing in waves that made my breath catch and my fingers twitch against my lap.
I shifted again in my chair, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on the Queen’s voice droning on about court matters and taking her son as a husband—but the words no longer made sense. My mind felt clouded, like honey poured over my thoughts, sweet and thick and impossible to think clearly.
And then the craving really came.
Not for food. Not for air.
For him.
My body buzzed with heat, my skin oversensitive, my thoughts drawn to his strong arms, his voice, the way his eyes lingered on me. My heart pounded, flush rising to my cheeks, my thighs tightening beneath my dress as the ache deepened even more into need.
I stood abruptly, barely hearing the Queen call after me. I couldn’t stay here another second.
I ran through the entryway, back into the castle, and ran down the corridor. I didn’t look back.
My steps were quick, almost silent through the corridor, my magic buzzing beneath my skin like it too had been stirred awake. Every breath I took was filled with lust, every beat of my pulse whispering his name.
I neededhim.
Now.
However, he wasn’t here. So instead, I knocked on the Prince’s door, breathless and sweaty, I practically panted like a bitch in heat.
Fintan opened the door.
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.
The moment I saw him, heat surged through me—ravenous, overwhelming. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I leapt into his arms, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, clutching fistfuls of his tunic as I crashed my lips to his.
Fintan stumbled back a step, clearly caught off guard, but the second his arms locked around me, everything shifted. Surprise melted into something far darker—hungrier. He kissed me back with a force that stole my breath, his lips parting mine like a promise he fully intended to keep.
His hands gripped me firmly, one at my back, the other sliding beneath my thigh, holding me effortlessly as he turned and pressed me against the nearest wall. The cold stone at my back was a stark contrast to the fire surging through my veins, but it only made me want him more.
I was burning—utterly, wildly burning.
The tea.
