Page 52 of The Surrender

Next are the angel bloodstones. The rarest and most powerful gems of the race of angels. These are far tinier, but Eyn-Amaru strategically seals them like shimmering teardrops, following the lower curves of my eyes. A final jewel, a large ten-pointed star, Eyn-Amaru binds to my brow with a scintillating gold and silver spiraling circlet.

What I love most about the thick layers of seraph silk and feathers forming the skirts is how they are slit up the center to show my thighs. So heavy on the sides, I’m grateful for the breathing room. Especially if Kyan or any of the Kings, for that matter, decide to chase me around the grounds of the Court of Storms after the ball. Considering how little they’ve touched me over the past two days, I expect them to make up for it tonight.

“You lovvve the gowwwn, my ladyyy,” she squawks softly while spreading the abundant sides of the gown. Then, she double-checks my legs where she’d first used the gold and silver quill to outline my whorls. One of the shoulder swathes, the wing-like attachments, skirts her cheek, but she flings it away.

“Of course! I love everything you’ve done,” I lower my hands to clasp hers, not hesitating to peck her cheek on the half bird-skull. She even curled my bone-straight hair and wove it into exquisite braids to crown my head.

“My Ladyyy...” she pauses, tilting her head, lifting one side of her mouth.

“Ama,” my voice cracks from the emotion in my throat when I notice the glistening tear at the corner of her eye, “are you...?”

“Oh, my feathers!” She throws up her hands with a ripple of annoyed squawking breaths. “No time. No time. The Kings are cominggg.”

Before she can fuss over me more, I brush my hand along her wing. She tenses, sucking a deep hiss. Daring to fold my fingers into the feathers, I take advantage of her stunned pause and wrap my arms around her. At first, she stiffens, but the next thing I know, a rolling, soprano purr issues from her throat, vibrating into my chest. I recognize the affectionate warble.

“So, this is the reason for the delay,” Kyan’s familiar rich tenor resonates behind me.

Releasing the Stewardess, I spin on my heel.

With a beam of a smile and the heated glow in my chest growing, I pick up the skirts and scurry toward him in a fluster of feathers, lace, and gems. The sight of Kyan is almost enough to have me freeze mid-scamper and fall to my knees, but I quicken my steps and lunge for him instead. Eyn-Amaru squawks behind me, but I spring into the air, knowing he will catch me.

“Now, now, Quinny,” he scolds after I’ve coiled my legs around his waist. “I won’t have you overexerting yourself.”

I give him a pouty look as he slowly lowers my legs back to the floor. “I’m carrying a baby, Kyan. Not an egg.” Alarm jolts up my spine, and I widen my eyes. “It’s not an egg, right?”

He rolls his eyes, but the fallen angel doesn’t respond. I’m almost surprised Shadow doesn’t pop to the surface as I admire Kyan in his well-tailored white tunic that seals to his broad chest and stomach, and splits into a V-cut at his lower thighs. Everything he wears is white—apart from the gold filigree along his chest and sleeves. And the armored epaulets covering his shoulders.

The high collar of his tunic can’t disguise the noble tower of his neck. He’s bound his dark waves into a low knot to accentuate his deep-seated eyes of deep crystalline blue. My lips part at his regal jaw, shadowed in stubble, the strong and sculpted nose, and full, stately lips. Most of all, I gush at his wings. Grand, black, and polished, their tips tinged in gold luster.

A mischievous smile forms on his mouth as he curves them toward me, prompting me to blush from the protective gesture.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, our little queen fawns over the fallen angel when she has a far-worthier vessel in the room.”

I peek beyond Kyan’s wing, jaw dropping as Mayce sweeps into the suite. My mouth waters from the swoon-worthy royal blue robes spangled with golden stardust shimmer to complement his hazel eyes. His hair is also bound in a masculine half-bun, leaving his pale gold strands cascading down his chest. Enough to show his sculpted godly beauty. Charisma thickens around the beautiful Fae.

“I believe you’re referring to me, your royal prettiness,” adds Drago, coming in hot on his trails.

Any more dangerous masculinity, and I might combust. Kyan doesn’t protest when I part from him to scamper toward the Fae and dragon.

Mayce lifts a cunning brow when I stop before him with a deeper heat reddening my cheeks. After all, he was the last to give me undivided attention. Two days of nothing but the Kings fussing over me, serving me. They’ve accompanied to and from the village and every inch of the castle. Massaging and bathing me—even reading to me.

But nothing more.

If they intend to carry on this way for the next two months, I’m going to break something. Like a bone. On one of them.

“I meant your lovely reflection, little dear,” Mayce corrects me with a simpering tease of a grin.

“With an even lovelier glow than usual,” Drago confirms with that devilish glint in his eye while flexing his muscles. Muscles on full display thanks to the black long coat with the ends falling to the floor. Open to exhibit his scaled and muscled chest.

I open my mouth, but any words die in my throat as Drago circles behind me and draws me into his arms until my back hits his lower chest. “I’d say one worthy of hmm...dragon-fire.” He palms the swell of my belly, fingers gliding across the amethysts. I whimper from the possessive touch of his smoldering palm.

Kyan growls a low warning, advancing toward the dragon shifter. I frown at them. They’ve been insufferable the past few days with their chronic squabbles over whose child I am more likely to be carrying.

At least Merikh breaks up their heated tension with his icy reminder of how he could also be the father. The vampire, despite all his brooding and brutality, is a welcome relief. At least he doesn’t playfully pull away from me when I try to kiss him. No, he always fists my hair and forces me back so he may initiate any touch.

“If we were bonded, little dove, there would be no question,” he reminds me, voice dark with a razored edge as if indicating he will be next.

“I suppose it will remain a mystery for now. Much like you,” I tease but can’t resist exploring him in the sinful three-piece suit.

---