I sense the question hanging in the air. Tell me your secrets, Romeria.
The relief that I feel with Wendeline knowing is staggering, but I can’t assume the reception of my news will be as welcomed by the king, nor will the glaring proof that yet another of his trusted people have lied to him.
“You have a cut,” I whisper, stalling a moment to study a thin red line across the ball of his shoulder.
“It’s already healing.”
I slip my hand below the waterline to travel over his abdomen, the ripple of muscle against my palm mesmerizing. I’m exploring far more than is probably smart. His body tenses as I lean forward to reach even farther. “You really should wear armor when you swing around that sword of yours.”
He seizes my hand, halting it, his chest heaving with each breath. “We’ve played this game before, haven’t we?”
“I don’t know. Have we?” I lock gazes with him. Now that I know what I am, I can never step foot near the nymphaeum on the blood moon, which means I’m never leaving these lands, a reality that has not yet sunk in. What will happen to me? Wendeline thinks I have an important path to take, and it involves this man.
This king, who believes himself under some spell.
Maybe he is.
But how then do I explain what I’m feeling for him?
“Maybe this time, it isn’t a game,” I whisper.
His shallow exhale skates across my cheek. “Should we find out?” He pauses a few beats and then guides my hand downward, along his abdomen, farther, releasing it just shy of the assumed target, his gaze fixed on mine as he waits for me to make the next move.
Beneath my palm, his taut muscles tense with anticipation. But it’s in his bright eyes that I see the truth—he’s as confused and conflicted as I am, but he wants it to happen just as badly as I do.
My blood races as I curl my fingers around the hard length of him, the skin velvety soft against my palm. Whatever else he is with me—angry, resentful, frustrated—he cannot hide his attraction.
His head falls back against the tub, a pained look on his face. “I did not think you would do it.”
“Did you not want me to?” I slide my hand down as I touch him thoroughly, memorizing the feel and weight of him against my palm. “Should I stop?”
His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “What I want right now is for you to climb into this tub.”
“With you?”
He smirks. “If you dare.”
I call his bluff, but not in the way he expects.
Kicking off my shoes, I climb into the warm water. Zander’s eyes flash wide as he shifts, his legs slipping between mine to make room for me. Water splashes over the sides and onto the marble tile as I settle onto his lap, my violet dress billowing for a second before sinking beneath the surface.
The surprise fades quickly as our mouths crash into each other in a tangle of lips and tongue and teeth and our hands frantically wander as if attempting to touch every inch of each other all at once. I can’t help myself. The tip of my tongue slides over his teeth.
With a deep chuckle—he knows what I’m searching for—he yanks off the capelet with a jerk of his fist, tossing it aside. “Those are annoying,” he whispers, burying his face in my neck while his hands tug at the top of my dress, slipping the capped sleeves off and dragging the bodice down to my waist.
He pulls me flush against his body, his deft hands gripping my thighs tightly. Mounds of sopping silk bunch between us, but I can still feel him there, pressing against my thigh.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back, and I revel in the feel of Zander’s hands searching the material as his lips trace the curves of my breasts with slow, precious sweeps of his tongue.
Releasing a curse laced with annoyance, he grabs hold of my skirt and pulls. A tearing sound fills the dark, heady bath chamber. Beneath the water, his hands explore my bare thighs, then between them, his touch oddly gentle compared to his frustration a moment ago as he caresses and teases and probes. His eyes burn as he watches the enjoyment unfold over my face. “Does this help with your dissatisfaction from last night?” he quips softly.
I rummage for words between shallow breaths. “Yes. Though do you know what would help more?” I roll my hips against his hand, earning his guttural groan.
Tearing the front of my dress the rest of the way, he grasps my thighs and pulls me forward.
My body tenses with anticipation.
“Your Highness!” comes Boaz’s deep voice from the sitting room, startling us.
Zander’s lips part with a long, slow draw of air, as if he’s struggling to regain his composure. “What is it?” he snaps.
Heavy footfalls approach, and my arms instinctively curl around my exposed chest.
“Lord Stoll is eager to speak with you. He’s received a message from—” Boaz’s words falter when he rounds the corner.
“A message from …” Zander prompts, as if the two of us aren’t in the tub together. There’s nowhere to hide, and he isn’t the type to duck.
Boaz’s eyes flicker to me before shifting away. “From his steward in Hawkrest. There have been cases of poisonings. Six of them.”
Zander’s head falls back. “So, it has begun.”
“The tributaries were caught while trying to run. They are being held, but he needs guidance on how to punish them accordingly, given they are mortal. His people are terrified. Word is spreading.”
“I guess that ends that.” Zander gently eases me back from his lap and pulls himself out of the tub, giving me an impressive eyeful before he steps out. He leisurely wraps a towel around his waist and exits to dress in the adjacent room.
Boaz scowls at me, my arms still wrapped around my bare chest. “He has not learned his folly,” he mutters under his breath before disappearing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“This is the library?” My mouth hangs as my eyes rake over the lush conservatory, alive with mossy trees and weeping vines. Countless lanterns cast a moody glow despite the afternoon sun streaming in from the glass dome above. A stream trickles along next to our stone path, providing just enough space for a few iridescent fish to pass.
“The aisles for books are around the outside,” Elisaf explains in a whisper, pointing out the multiple levels above us. “The core is where people come to read, and sometimes to talk.”
Several people look up from their books and turn from hushed conversations. A few rise to bow as I pass, their seats in alcoves cocooned by vines and in stylish high-backed chairs that remind me more of a club lounge. They gape as if the last place they expect the soon-to-be queen is in a library.
Four ornate black-iron spiral staircases lead up, one to each floor.
“All these books, and you guys couldn’t bring me even one when I was locked up and begging?” I offer Elisaf a flat look.
“Evil Romeria did not deserve entertainment,” he whispers, humor lacing his voice. “Was there something in particular you are looking for?”
“Yes.” If I’m stuck here, I need to arm myself with as much information as I can, rather than waiting for everyone else to feed it to me. “Anything on the history of Islor and the fates.”
Elisaf bows and gestures toward the tallest staircase. “I believe we can find something that way.”