Page 29 of Oracle of Ruin

I pop my hip out, resting my hands on either side as I survey the wall. The crags are jagged and some stones look loose, like if they were to bear any weight, they might crumble into dust entirely. The entire wall is ensconced in shadows, masking my trek but also myself, if I am to actually go through with this.

My eyes scan the rocky surface until I find a path. A few divots allow for a good route with crevices I can jam my fingers and toes into to grip the surface. Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip my fingers into the first crack and pull myself up. One foot remains on the floor while the second searches for a stronghold to rest on. Once it is found, I pull myself up further, the first foot now finding its home in a crevice on the rock face.

A thin sheen of sweat coats my forehead as I pull myself upwards, the muscles in my upper body straining against this obviously bad idea. My shoulders groan and pop in protest as I raise myself a few more inches, but I ignore the hot stretching sensation and focus on the small window at the top of the rock wall. Inside, a light flickers softly, casting a faint glow around the top of my trek. That may provide me with a bit more light, however, there comes the risk that someone will be able to see me.

Oh well, what are they going to do? Kidnap me again?

Only a few feet from the window, I push my fingertips into a jagged crack, the top portion of the digits straining and clinging to the rock even as it bites into my flesh. One of my feet slips and I hear my elbow pop as I hold myself up by one leg and my arms. Aching pain shoots from the joint and down to my shoulder. My muscles bark in pain from disuse.

I bet Kya could scale this wall in fifteen seconds flat.

I use the thought to drive energy into my worn limbs and jam my toes onto another stronghold. My fingers hiss with a slight sting as the stones scrape across the top of them, but I do not allow my body to stop moving.Just don’t stop moving.

Slowly, the warm light at the top begins to grow until I can feel it across my face. My fingers hook over the lip of what feels like a small windowsill and I use the last of my strength to pull myself up and over the edge. My body moans in relief, invisible tension dispersing before ultimately disappearing from my body.

The room I have entered is small, and upon further inspection, I find it to be a study. A sturdy wooden desk sits in the dead center of the room, a rather inconvenient spot, I note, as I move around it. My finger traces along its worn edges, every ridge and splinter scraping against the pad. Sparsely decorated bookshelves line the walls, and much to my disappointment, they are filled with only droll documents and biographies. The brilliant glow that guided me up the stone wall comes from behind a barely ajar door and scatters across the threadbare rug that covers most of the stone floor.

I push the wooden door aside, and to my pleasant surprise, the hinges do not squeak. For as worn as the room appeared to be, it has been notably well kept. Stepping beyond the study, I stop in a hall much larger than the one I just exited.

Rows upon rows of books line the walls, the space between walls, and then the space between those shelves too. A winding staircase decorates the furthest corner of the room, leading up to what I can only hope is another room similar to this one. Ornate and plush rugs cover the polished floors, and if my feet weren’t guiding me towards the nearest shelf, I think I might have laid down right there. My thumb brushes across the pristine and unbroken spine of the first book within my reach. Its teal cover is soft and decorated with the most intricate artwork I have ever seen. The one beside it is a deep crimson, the detail much the same.

I stare at the titles, all fiction and wondrously enticing. I glance over my shoulder to find myself alone. Surely it won’t hurt if I borrow a few.

My hand reaches out of its own accord and my fingers wrap around a thicker novel, this cover made of leather and etched with an exquisite gold font. The first page promises tales of love, magic, pirates, and monsters. I tuck the book beneath my arm and continue to peruse the shelves, picking up about four more books of similar content before I find myself standing before that elegant staircase.

I grip my newfound treasures with one hand while the other goes to the railing. The steps creak slightly as I walk, but I pay them no mind, far too enraptured by the thrill of what may lay at the top of the staircase.

The room above exceeds my wildest expectations.

I knew that Mavis’s compound is etched into the side of a mountain, but I suppose I always figured we were at the base of the mountain, not the tip. My eyes are met with twinkling stars as I stare directly at the glass ceiling, the moon boasting a full figure tonight. The steady snowfall obscures my sight only slightly, the fresh mountain wind blowing most of it away from my window to the outside world. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. When was the last time I saw the stars?

Like an invisible weight has been lifted from my chest, I breathe deeply, then exhale and breathe in once more. I had almost forgotten how beautiful the world could be, trapped in dank caverns, no matter how luxurious the compound actually is.

The viewing room I have found myself in is no less ornately decorated or stunning. Hand-painted wallpaper lines the walls with large, green plants spiraling up the support beams towards the sunlight promised by the glass ceiling. Tiny purple and white flowers bloom from them, standing stark in contrast to the snowstorm raging outside. Four plush chairs, all jewel-toned and velvet, sit in a semi-circle in a corner near an ornate fireplace that flickers with golden flame. I find my feet moving towards the largest chair, curling my knees up the side, and resting my head on the arm of the chair as I open one of the books.

* * *

My eyes arebleary as I flip to the next page. The first book is exactly as promised—pirates, monsters, love, and magic—and yet I turn the final page unsatisfied. So I start into the second book, hardly noticing how the moon has long since disappeared from the sky.

The second novel is a quicker read, the plot promising and the love interest charming. Before long, I flip to one of the last chapters, though my finger stills on the page.

I need you.

The words mark the page with promise and heat, and I feel my cheeks warm. A small voice in my head warns me to close the book or skip this chapter, especially as my eyes skim lower on the page, only to find toe-curling sin. Irene would have burned a book like this before she would allow me to read it. The thought makes me turn to the next page.

His lips are on her,tracing from her jaw to the slender column of her neck. Her voice is low and heady, his own equally thick with desire as he whispers her name against her skin.

His name is a forgotten prayer upon her lips as he trails lower, daring to pull the neckline of her dress even lower still. Every touch is electric and sends a pleasant ache through her core. Heat spreads between her thighs and she clenches them together, desperate to hide the evidence of her desire even as his presses against her thigh.

Then his mouth closes over her aching breast, the slightest flick of his tongue causing her back to arch off the bookshelves. He worships her with teeth and tongue, showing equal affection to the other.

She stiffens. This is improper for a lady of her title—any lady, really. And yet, she mentally begs him to continue.

“Anyone could walk in,” she warns, pushing against his shoulders.

A low rumble of a laugh is all she receives in response against her skin. She doesn’t need to bite back the whimper the action elicits, he can already tell the effect his actions have on her.

“All they will see is me worshipping you like a fucking goddess.” His voice is low, smooth, and so goddamn filthy. It shouldn’t excite her, it shouldn’t make her feel anything. And yet as he pulls the top of her dress back up to conceal his handiwork, she can’t help but feel disappointment.

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