Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I swallow my fear and say, “I am to be your queen. And I will not have you suffer so great a loss alone.”
Only now does he look up, a wonder written across his features that does not match the gravity of his words. “You would defy me?”
“I defy anyone to keep me from comforting my beloved.” I fall to my knees beside him. “But I know of only one thing I can provide to alleviate your burden.”
He turns away again.
I glance back to the honey on the table. If I try to persuade him to eat it and he refuses, he will suspect me if I bring it up a second time. I must be sure, but it also has to be now.
“It is past midday, and the plate set out for you is bare and untouched. Have you not eaten?” I ask.
“I have no desire for food at present,” he says boredly. “As I said, I wish to be alone. I will come to you if I need your aid.”
“Of that, I have no doubt. But to put my mind at ease...” I go to the table and pretend to look over the food that is laid out there and grown cold. I pick up the jar as if I’m noticing it for the first time, acting out my part even though he cannot see me, and go to his side again. He’s annoyed with me, and I know I’ve pushed him too far already. “Ah, this will do.”
I lift the lid from the jar, and the ruby eyes of the golden serpent seem to wink at me. I sweep my finger inside. “Just a taste,” Firo instructed. The shining glob on my finger is all it will take to free me.
And, I realize, to get another, less satisfying revenge. Arcus’s death will pay for the one he robbed from me. It will not be as satisfying as killing Cadwyn Thrace, but it will wash away some of my bitterness, knowing that the faery who stole my justice has died at my hands.
“Just a taste,” I murmur, echoing Firo’s words. “Then, I can go back to my chambers and know that you’ve had something to eat, no matter how meager.”
I offer him my finger and the honey that has begun to run down to my hand. His eyes lock with mine and my breath halts painfully. Can he tell? Am I too conspicuous in my urging? Does my intent show on my face? He opens his mouth, and I’m sure his next words will be, “Seize her!”
Instead, his gaze grows hot, and he grabs my wrist, drawing my hand to his mouth. He sucks my finger in and swirls his tongue around it.
My knees buckle with arousal. Though I find him detestable, the relief I feel at watching him slurp his death from my hand is almost strong enough to make me climax where I stand.
When he’s licked my finger clean, he says, “I would rather taste your honey, Cenere.”
I grin down at him, something truly wicked unfurling through me like Luthian’s vines. Arcus has sealed his doom. I do not know how long his death will take, but the thought of it cutting him down while he ruts inside of me is as erotic as my fantasies of tearing Thrace’s wings off.
I want to ride Arcus while he suffers his death throes. I want to whisper that it was me who killed him while he gasps for breath and tries to call for help.
The honey is still on the table. I go to retrieve it, and his hand lingers on mine as I walk away.
I return to him, that jar of his doom glowing beautifully in the fire light. “You are king. You may have both.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Arcus watches, a slow smile curling his lips as I pour a stream of honey onto my breast. A drop falls from my nipple onto my stomach, and he cranes his neck up to catch the next. He pulls me into his lap with a growl.
I gasp, intoxicated by the knowledge that my suffering is finally at an end, and that his is just beginning. His mouth closes over my nipple and I cry out with true pleasure, rolling my hips. His cock rises in his breeches and presses against my thigh.
He takes the honey from me and pours it onto both breasts, devouring it hungrily while I grip his hair and hold him to me. I cry out things like, “Oh yes, my love!” and beg, “more!” He obliges, until the jar is half-emptied, then stands swiftly, lifting me with one arm to take me to the bed.
“The mess!” I cry as he drops my still-sticky body onto the coverlet.
“That’s none of your concern,” he says, pouring a line of the honey down my stomach. “You came here to feed me, remember?”