Page 52 of Heart of Night
And I don’t want to escape.
“I assume you’re attending, my dear guest?” Erina’s voice pierces through the cloud in my head as I stare at the open balcony doors flanked by guards in blue and black uniforms.
Blue and black. Not sepia like the palace guards. Those are military like Katrijanov.
“I’d be offended if I wasn’t invited.” Thank the centuries of keeping control over my Crow urges that I manage a response—and one that makes King Erina’s smile falter for a beat.
“And what do you think about my bride? Isn’t she the sweetest thing Tavras has to offer?”
Ayna’s lips twitch in a grimace while my own curve upward in the first real smile since I woke from the dead as I direct it at Ayna, taking in every detail of her features, the soft, silvery blonde of her hair, the way her breasts strain against her dress with every shallow breath she takes. How it hitches when she notices where my gaze has drifted.
“The very sweetest indeed, Your Majesty.” Before Erina can put on a self-satisfied grin, I amend, “And I would know. I’ve tasted her.”
Herinor’s mouth presses into a tight line as if he’s having a hard time keeping his face straight while Ephegos throws me a deadly glare from where he is chatting with Odja near the dais. Katrijanov’s hand tightens on his sword, and Erina… Well, Erina’s face has gone blank, every false smile wiped with one little line.
I must admit, it’s a dangerous game—even more dangerous than Ayna’s foot drifting higher toward my knee or the frenzy raging in my chest, threatening to take out all reason. But it’s a game I will enjoy until Erina lets someone drive a blade into my chest. Because now that I’ve learned that the King of Tavras’s weak point is his pride, I will do whatever is in my power to take him down piece by piece.
Twenty-Six
Ayna
Erina’s hand clutches mine like a vise, his gaze on Myron turning cold as ice while my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.
He didn’t just say that in front of everyone. Myron didn’t just tell the King of Tavras, whose prisoner he is and who is using him to make me pliant, that he’s put his mouth on me.
There’s no point in hiding the blush rising from my neckline all the way to my cheeks. No one but the people at this table heard him, and they all know how close Myron and I are—were. We are no longer if Erina has anything to say about it.
My mouth went dry a while ago when I decided that, if I can’t reach for Myron with my hands, I’ll at least touch him with some part of my body. My toes are the only option I’m able to hide beneath the long white tablecloth as I sweep them along his boot. I wish I could reach high enough to touch the fabric of his pants. The heat in his gaze is almost overwhelming, like a physical touch, only more intense, piercing through my skin, my flesh, to the very core of me.
A small voice in my head—probably what’s left of my reason—keeps reminding me there’s something massively wrong with being turned on by that small, forbidden touch, by the effect it seems to have on the male bound in his chair. The majority of me, however, doesn’t care. The pain in my shoulder has turned into a hum, and the warmth spreading through my body originates in the inked outline of the crow.
“You will watch your tongue,” Erina hisses at Myron, keeping his posture straight and composing his features into those of the King of Tavras when I can tell he is struggling to keep ahold of his temper.
Myron inclines his head at Erina, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’d rather our Ayna here would watch my tongue.”
I don’t know if it’s the best idea to push the King of Tavras when he has a soldier ready to stab Myron at a wave of his hand, but I can’t help it. My eyes are glued to Myron’s lips as his tongue flicks across his lower lip as if to remind me of all the things he can do with it.
Pressing my thighs together, I drop my foot and keep my fingers from tracing my own mouth as the memory of his kisses makes my heart race.
More than one of the guests is staring, but I don’t care. I care about nothing as long as Myron is here.
I should care. Making a spectacle out of myself won’t help either of us.
“About time you understood that.” The voice enters my mind so unexpectedly that I drop the fork I picked up to keep my hand busy.
“Over here,” the voice directs my gaze across the room, “by the servant entrance.”
It takes me a moment to spot a familiar face in the line of servants standing in front of the hidden door at the side, but when I do, I know it’s her.
Kaira’s uniform is sepia and white like that of the other servants, but unlike the men and women who are actually part of the palace staff, the part-Flame sticks out like a sore thumb. Her posture is too straight, too proud, her gaze defiant and directed right at me instead of scanning the tables for plates they can pick up and deliver back to the kitchens. Where the others are clearly making sure they don’t miss the moment they are needed, Kaira is merely waiting for me to catch onto what’s happening.
As if in answer, her voice climbs into my head. “Exactly.”
Well, fuck the Guardians—how is this even possible?
Kaira’s brows lift. “I didn’t know Crow queens could curse like sailors.”
“That’s probably because you didn’t know I used to be a sailor of sorts,” I shoot back in my head, testing out if I can communicate the same way she can.