Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Fifty

Being mated to Nemeth makes me happier than I ever thought I could be. If I thought being with him was pleasant before, it is utterly joyous now. We spend several days in bed, doing nothing more than touching and learning one another. I learn that if I scrape my teeth on his knot, he will come instantly. He learns that there is a spot behind my knee that, if touched, will make me go mad with need. We learn how to make each other’s bodies sing, and I never tire of his touch.

That in itself is a marvel—I’ve grown weary of every other lover I’ve had in the past. Either they would grow selfish, or the sex would become routine, and I would find myself losing interest. Sometimes those lovers would seem as if they were interested in nothing more than making themselves come instead of giving pleasure to me. I’d feel like an object instead of a person. Or worse—I’d feel like they were fucking the Vestalin princess and not Candra.

It’s different with Nemeth. I love his touch. More than that, I love that I always feel that he sees me. Not Candromeda Vestalin. Not the princess of Lios. Not Erynne Vestalin’s spoiled, useless sister. It’s always Candra with him, the Candra that loves a shoulder rub when she has her period, hates epic poetry, and sometimes drools on her lover’s chest when she falls asleep atop him. It feels like Nemeth loves me and all my flaws, just like I love him. I love that he insists on putting basil into everything because it’s his favorite, even though too much will make his stomach ache. I love that he adores epic war poetry, the longer and more dull the better. I love that he’s fascinated with his mushroom farm, and that he talks to them as he tends to the rapidly-growing fungi.

I adore him, and every day that passes doesn’t feel like torture now. It feels as if we’re in our own cozy little nest, letting the world pass us by as we snuggle under the blankets and kiss.

The weather grows cooler, and as it does, it seems to be colder than the last winter. This strikes me as particularly odd. After all, we’re in the tower to prevent the Golden Moon Goddess from venting her wrath upon the people of our world, and yet this doesn’t feel normal. We conserve our wood and our peat bricks as best we can, and some days we warm my potion with body heat instead of the warmth of a fire.

This winter, the water in the kitchen pump freezes up for over a week. We are more prepared for such an event and have kept several tubs and buckets full of water for just in case, so it isn’t more than a minor inconvenience, but it worries me. “How is it that we are sacrificing seven years of our lives to make the goddess happy and this is what we get?” I ask Nemeth on one particularly cold morning. I gesture at the walls of the tower. “This doesn’t feel happy to me.”

“Perhaps other things displease her.” Nemeth turns a page in his astronomy book.

“Like what?”

“War.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You think the war goes badly?”

“I suppose it depends on who you ask.”

“Well, if the goddess is choosing sides, I hope she realizes that everyone is suffering.” I gesture at our frigid room. “Your skin is dry from the cold and my toes feel like they are icicles. Suffering, everywhere.”

Nemeth chuckles at my pouting. He arches a brow at me and puts his book aside. “You are being dramatic, milettahn.”

I am. I don’t even care. “It’s just rotten that we’re devoting ourselves to the cause and some days I can’t even tell what the cause is.”

“Strange things happen with the eye of the goddess on the world,” Nemeth says. He pats the blankets, indicating I should join him instead of pacing near the cold fireplace. “The books say the weathers can be foul and unpredictable.”

“Because of the goddess,” I agree.

“Because of the moon in the sky,” he says, and then adds, “and the goddess, too. But my point is that we do not know what the gods have in mind. It is not our job to speculate. Our job is to remain here in this tower.” As I crawl into bed next to him, he slides his arm around my shoulders. “It is not so bad being here with me, is it?”

“You know it’s not.” Some of my grumpiness eases and I dramatically drape myself over his lap. “What else does your book say?”

“Mmm. Nothing near as important as this.” His hand slides up my skirt, and when he discovers I have no bloomers on, he arches an eyebrow. It’s become a tease of mine, to only wear bloomers sometimes, just to see his reaction. It never fails to arouse him. “You are letting this pretty cunt freeze to death.”

“You should warm it up.”

He grins, showing his fangs. “I absolutely should.”

Hours later, I’ve forgotten all about the goddess and her theoretical anger. I’ve had Nemeth knotted inside me and he made me come so hard that I wept his name as he played my body like a harp. Now I’m feeling much looser and relaxed, and I watch from my spot in bed as he feeds a log to the fire, preparing my potion. As he hovers near the hearth, he practices his stretches and extends one wing gracefully outward. I wince inwardly as the other stretches out, the flare of it tight and off-center from where I stitched him. It looks uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

Nemeth shrugs. “It is tighter than it should be, like my wing is pinched in one spot. With time and use, I think it could stretch itself out again. The scar tissue just needs to be worked.”

“And you need to fly,” I say softly. “And there is nowhere to fly in here.” He’s tried flying downstairs, but he doesn’t have enough room to spread his wingspan to its full breadth. The ceiling is too low, and the stairwells too narrow. It’s something I fret over constantly, because I know how much it must bother him to be stranded here like this, to have an injury to such a vital part of him and not be able to do the proper exercises to mend it.

“It is what it is,” Nemeth replies. He pauses and glances over at me. “Speaking of things we cannot change…we are out of your tea.”

The minty concoction that Riza makes for me? She sent a bag along with our supplies last summer. But if we’re out, we’re out. I shrug. “I’ll just drink your brew.”

His wings flutter as he closes them, a sure sign that he’s nervous about something. “I examined yours to see what was in it, because I knew you were running low. Did you know you have pennyroyal in it?”

“I couldn’t pick pennyroyal out if someone painted a portrait of it,” I reply tartly. “I don’t know plants. What about that one is important?”

“Pennyroyal is an herb that can prevent pregnancy. I never said anything before because I know you drink it for the taste, but now that you are out, I wondered if you wished to try to replace it with something else?” His wings flutter again. “Or shall I not give you my knot anymore?”

I snort. “Are you truly worrying over an herb? I told you, love, I can’t get pregnant. I know you think your cock is impressive—and I do, too—but even you cannot pound the blood curse out of my veins.” I give him an amused look. “Much as I would love to try, of course.”

“You are not worried about conceiving, then?”

“I’m far more worried you’ll stop giving me your knot.”

His eyes gleam with heat. “If my mate demands, who am I to deny her?”

Who indeed.

“Today’s the day,” I say excitedly to Nemeth as I dress one summer morning. “Solstice. Year two! Can you imagine? We’ve made it two years so far.” I give him a cheery look as I slip my dress over my head and then pull the laces of the bodice tight. “I think we should celebrate. Once our food supplies are delivered, we should splurge a little. Work that into the plans for the year. If I’m being perfectly honest, I’d give my left tit for some pie or a scone with cream.”

Nemeth chuckles at my enthusiasm, reaching over and tugging at one of my laces the moment I tighten it. I swat his finger away. Normally I’d take him up on any kind of flirting, because we have nothing but time and bedsport is so very delightful, but today is not just any day.

Today is the solstice, and our food is to be delivered today.

It’s a delivery that is desperately needed. Nemeth has been careful with our supplies this entire year, but we’re out of our wood logs and almost out of peat bricks. My ingredients for my potion are low, and our foodstuffs are looking pathetic. I’m sure we could make it last for another month or two if we had to, but I’m very glad that we don’t.

My mouth waters at the thought of a cup of tea, in the blend that Riza always makes for me. Tea, and a bit of honey. Oh, and fresh bread with jam. Gods, I would love that. Simple, but delicious. “Do you think they’ll send jam again this year? I’ve completely forgotten to ask in my letters. The last jar they sent was delightful. I’m not normally a fan of yellow plums, but that jam was pure bliss on toast.” I cinch my corset up tight and then fluff my tits, adjusting them in the dress. “Oh. My letters. I need to get them! Where are they?”

“Next to mine, milettahn,” Nemeth says in that calm voice of his. My sweet scholar never gets his wings ruffled over anything (except perhaps a knot-licking). “We won’t let them leave without taking the letters, I promise.”

I beam at him, full of anticipation. I know I won’t find out what anyone thought of my letters for a year, but it’s exciting to be able to get to send word out to someone outside, even if I must conceal everything I’ve done in here. I’ve got no mention of Nemeth or our mating in my letters I’ve written to Riza, Nurse, and Erynne. Part of me feels guilty that I’m keeping such a large secret, but then I remember that they deliberately avoided mentioning the war in their letters to me and kept their letters full of fluff and nonsense.

I can do the same.

For the last month, I’ve written and rewritten my letters, obsessing over the messages I’m sending. The one to Riza is twenty pages long, the one to Nurse nearly as lengthy. Erynne’s is five pages. Part of me wanted to be ruthless and send her nothing, because I’m still bitter over her demands that I murder Nemeth. But…she is my sister, and in the end, I know that sending her a chirpy letter full of absolute nonsense will make her mad with frustration. As a sister, I can’t not send such a thing, after all.

I’m equally excited to see what the others have written to me. Even if the letters are full of nothing but recipes and weather predictions, I will savor every word.

Moving to Nemeth’s writing table, I push aside his books and hunt down my letters. They’re not sealed—I’ve got no wax to seal them with—so I’ve tied them with ribbons from my least favorite dress. Nemeth’s stack of letters is twice as big as mine. He spends a great deal of time writing to his family and friends back in Darkfell. Letters are something he has sent frequently in the past, since he spent his time locked away in the Alabaster Citadel.

I think of Meryliese, and how I never wrote her a single letter, and feel just a smidge of guilt.

“Who do you think will be here first?” I ask Nemeth, picking up my stack of letters and turning to regard him. “Darkfell’s suppliers or Lios?” I gasp as a new thought occurs to me. “Oh, I hope they don’t run into each other. That will be quite ugly.” I get a terrifying mental image of the two parties warring on the beach, and our supplies abandoned mere steps away from the tower. “We have to keep them apart.”

“Do not borrow trouble, milettahn. They will avoid each other. Darkfell will make certain of that.” Nemeth rises from the bed and puts on his favorite kilt. “They are familiar with how this works.”

“Yes, but if they both come on the same day…” I pause, realizing what he’s saying without being obvious. “More magic, then?”

He nods. “There are simple spells to observe others. Darkfell will ensure they do not run into Lios’s contingent.”

I eye my mate, leaning against the table. I never ask about magic, because other than lighting a candle or two, he avoids doing it in my presence, as if it’ll frighten me. Which is just plain silly, because I don’t understand magic, but that doesn’t mean I’m scared of it. Most of the spells he’s mentioned seem to have a practical use of some kind. “You’re going to have to teach me some of these simple spells.”

He gives me a fanged grin, eyeing my half-laced breasts. “They only work if you’ve got magic in your blood, I’m afraid.”

I sigh dramatically, toying with the laces, because I do so love to flirt. “And here I am with cursed blood, alas.”

“Alas,” Nemeth murmurs, watching me as I tease a finger over my cleavage. “Magic requires intensive studying, and you are too busy anyhow.”

“Too busy?” I laugh. “Too busy doing what?”

He rumbles low in his chest as he slinks to my side, all dark wings and big slabs of gray muscle. Nemeth reaches for my laces, brushing a finger over my breasts as he does. “Busy with kissing your mate…taking his knot…licking his knot…”

“Truly, a packed schedule,” I agree, fluttering my lashes. Then I mock-pout. “But I have had no knot today.”

“Because with my luck, I will be balls deep inside you and they will come knocking at our door.” He slides a finger into the front of my dress, finding my nipple and teasing it. “And how shall I explain that I am knotted inside a human princess?”

“Perhaps I’m a particularly wicked human that seduced you. After years of me begging you for sex, you finally gave in. It’s not so very far from the truth.” I lean back, giving him full access to my breasts.

But Nemeth frowns at my words. “I would not have you slander yourself to my people.”

Aw. “Is it slander if it all sounds wonderfully naughty?”

He pinches my nipple, sending ripples of heat through my body. “You are my mate,” he chastises. “I would have you respected.”

It’s getting dreadfully hard to concentrate when he’s teasing me like that. “Nemeth, they can’t know I’m your mate.”

“Even so. I do not like the thought of anyone thinking poorly of you.” He frowns at the thought. “You are a Vestalin and a princess, and you deserve respect, even if it’s the respect of Fellians.” With that, he pulls his hand from my bodice and reaches for the laces, this time to tie them. “And that means we must save our playing for later.”

I want to pout again, but I know he’s right. If we want to keep receiving food from our respective peoples, it’s best that no one looks too closely at our relationship. That we be seen as enemies, separate and co-existing in the tower in our own spaces. It sounds like it should be easy to do, and yet I find that the more time passes, the more intertwined we become. Denying that feels wrong.

Nemeth finishes lacing my corset and I reach in, adjusting my breasts as I always do so they look optimal. “Will you braid my hair for me? I want to look perfect. Maybe a crown looping around my head? The men Lios sent last year were absolute beasts, and I want them to remember that I’m a princess when they talk to me.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I can do that for you, of course.”

Chapter

Fifty-One

Ashort time later, my hair is braided perfection, my dress sleeves are laced and puffed artfully, and I feel every bit the princess I am. Nemeth has dressed more casually, wearing only his kilt and a knife at his waist. I’m full of excitement as I slip my shoes on, picking up one of the lamps. “Do you suppose the dead men are still out on the shore? Their presence is a little horrifying, but at the same time, I feel they’re an excellent deterrent for others that might want to rob us. Still, I don’t want anyone scared away at the sight of a couple of bodies upon our doorstep.”

“They know their duty to us,” Nemeth replies. “They will not be frightened away.”

I know he’s right. It’s just that I’m so very excited for the influx of food and supplies. It’s like a Feastday celebration, and we have so little to celebrate or to change the monotonous passage of time that this feels momentous. Even so, I’m surprised when Nemeth moves toward the hearth and picks up his favorite stool. “Where are you taking that?”

“Downstairs.” His mouth curves into a knowing smile. “I imagine you standing by the doors waiting, listening for our supplies, and I thought a seat might serve you better.”

“Bend down so I can give you a kiss,” I tell him, beaming. “You clever, delightful man.”

He’s not wrong, though. I’m fluttering with anticipation, my heart beating rapidly as we head down the stairs and toward the double doors that are the only way in and out of this tower. Will we be given more supplies this time? Will it be different than last year’s batch? Will there be new letters to read and pore over? I clutch my stack of letters to my chest, wondering how we’ll be greeted this time. Rude soldiers or polite ones? What will we tell them if they want to know about the bodies outside?

I ponder all of this as Nemeth sets the stool near the door and then approaches the entrance. He carefully unwinds the ropes around the handles and removes the broom-stick. I pull the knives out and kick aside the wedges we’ve lodged in place.

“Want to look outside?” Nemeth asks.

Do I? The idea feels downright naughty, as if we’re children up to no good. But there’s no rules against opening the doors—we simply cannot cross through them. I nod at him. “I’d love to get some fresh air, even if just for the day.”

“Just for the day,” he agrees. We both know we can open the doors any time we like, but there’s something about keeping them tightly sealed that reminds us of our duty. That reminds us just how dire things would be if we chose to leave…which is why we cannot.

Nemeth pulls the doors open and steps back, regarding the space outside.

It’s raining. Not a noisy, thunderous storm, because we would have heard that through the tower walls. This is a gentle, dreary rain, the skies gray and unpleasant, the water equally so. I move to Nemeth’s side, peering over his shoulder as humid, fresh air slides inside, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes at the feel of the breeze.

My throat tightens with yearning. In this moment, I want nothing more than to race outside and feel the rain on my skin. Tears threaten, but I swallow them down. I’ll cry over it when we’re free.

We stare out at the beach in silence.

“I wish it was sunny,” I say after a moment. “Just so I could glimpse the sun. Rain almost feels like we’re being cheated.”

Nemeth stares out, and his wings flick. I touch his arm, knowing how hard this must be for him. Twice as hard as it is for me, because he cannot fly here in the tower. He’s doubly trapped. “I suppose we should be grateful the weather is unpleasant. It makes it that much easier to stay inside.”

“Mmm,” I agree, though secretly I would still race out into that dreary rain if it wouldn’t cost the world everything. I scan the shore. “I don’t see boats or rafts anywhere. They must yet be on their way.”

“My people will fly in,” Nemeth says absently, his gaze still on the stormy-looking skies. “But yes, I do not see them, either.”

“Then we’re early,” I say, making my tone bright to distract him. “I suppose we have time to waste.”

“I suppose we do.” Reluctantly, he pulls his gaze away from the outdoors and focuses on me again. I hold my hand out to him, and he squeezes my fingers tightly. My heart aches for him. “Shall I fetch you a cup of tea? Do you need to sit?”

I shake my head, reluctant to move away from the doors. If I stand just so, there’s a drizzle of rain that brushes inward and feels lovely against my skin. “Do you see our attackers anywhere? Their bodies? Surely they must still be on the beach.”

He squints out at the sands, then gestures. “A bit of weathered clothing there. And some bones. I imagine that whatever the elements did not finish off, the sea birds did.”

Wrinkling my nose, I try not to picture that. “Horrid. Just horrid.”

“It’s what they deserved.” His unearthly eyes gleam with remembered anger. “I will not waste a moment lamenting their fates.”

Me either. But I still don’t think I’d like to be left in the sands for the birds to pick at. I hold his hand tightly and lean on his arm. “Well,” I say with a sigh. “I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait.”

“They will be here soon enough,” Nemeth reminds me. “Patience, my greedy princess.”

Right. Patience.

We stand near the doors for a time, and when my feet begin to ache, I move to the stool and sit, arranging my skirts like I’m a queen and this is my throne room. Nemeth paces, moving in and out of the shadows, his gaze constantly straying to the wide open doors. I pick at my nails, and then pick at threads on my gown as the gentle rain eases off, and the long, gray afternoon stretches. My stomach growls but I can’t find it in me to get up and go to the kitchens for food. Some small part of my mind worries that if I leave my spot by the door, I’ll miss them and nothing will be delivered.

So I remain where I am, watching as the sun briefly peeks out from behind the clouds only to disappear below the horizon. It grows dark outside, and no one comes. Not the Fellians. Not the Liosians.

I chew on my nail. “Perhaps we have the wrong day? Perhaps today isn’t the solstice after all?”

But I know it is. I checked with my knife, and I’ve been keeping careful records of the days that pass, and Nemeth does, too. We both know today is the solstice. As the sun disappears below the horizon, the great golden moon of the goddess rises in the sky, the surface milky and clouded like a child’s marble. It feels as if the goddess is glaring down at us, and I flinch at the sight.

“They must be delayed,” is all Nemeth says. “They will be here soon enough.”

We wait for longer, neither of us speaking as the stars come out and the air grows chilly with a night breeze.

“Perhaps the weather,” I begin.

“Perhaps,” Nemeth agrees. He looks over at me, and his expression is weary. Mine must be, too. “Go upstairs and get your potion ready, love. If they arrive, I’ll come get you.”

I hesitate, and then nod. I’m tired, and yet it doesn’t feel right to leave him here. But even if his people arrive, I can’t be seen with him. And if mine arrive first, he can do that weird shadow thing and slip to my side faster than a blink. “Promise you’ll wake me the instant they get here.”

“I promise, love.” He holds a hand out to me.

I move into his embrace and press against his chest. He wraps his wings around me, holding me close, and before I can blink, he has me upstairs and in our room, the shadows receding as I blink in surprise. Well now, that was a neat trick. “How did you do that?”

“Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you,” he says with a chuckle. Nemeth bends down and kisses my upturned face. “I’ll come wake you the moment they arrive.”

He disappears in another swirl of shadows, and I absently go and tap the light in the corner, dimming it. I’m too uneasy to sleep, but sitting by the door is just making me anxious. It must be making Nemeth anxious as well, and that’s why he’s sent me up here. I kick my shoes off and lie atop the blankets, fretting. I tell myself I’m not going to sleep. I’m just going to lie here to satisfy Nemeth if he checks on me.

It seems an eye-blink of time passes. I jerk awake, wiping the corners of my mouth in surprise. Turns out I was able to sleep after all. I scramble out of bed, excited and terrified all at once.

Nemeth didn’t come and wake me. Maybe I didn’t sleep for long? Maybe even now his people are depositing food at our doorstep and he’s been so busy he hasn’t come to alert me? I put on my shoes as I race for the stairs.

When I get to the first floor, my heart sinks.

There, in front of the wide-open doors, sits Nemeth. He’s a few paces away from the entrance, still carefully inside. His back is to me, his face turned towards the dawn of a new day.

No one came all night.

Dragon shite.

“Nothing?” I ask as I approach. I know the answer already, though. It’s evident in the slump of Nemeth’s broad, strong shoulders. It’s evident in the empty first floor. It’s evident in the stack of letters at Nemeth’s feet.

No one has come.

“It is a delay, nothing more,” Nemeth says. When I get to his side, he pulls me into his arms, seating me on his lap. “They’ll come today. It doesn’t have to be on the solstice, after all. Perhaps the weather delayed the shipment.”

“That must be it,” I reply brightly, sliding an arm around his neck. “They’ll be here today.”

They have to.

I didn’t think there was a day that could be worse than the first day I arrived here in the tower.

I was wrong.

Waiting endlessly for supplies that never arrive is the worst kind of torture. Watching the beach—full of sunshine this day—remain empty and seeing no one on the horizon? It feels awful. Worse than awful. I don’t know what this means for the future.

Surely we haven’t been forgotten…have we?

Nemeth remains near the front entrance even after the sun sets on the second day.

“Please go sleep,” I beg him. “You can’t stay awake for days on end.”

“The moment I close my eyes, they will arrive,” he jokes, weariness etched on his hard face. “Is that not how these things work?”

“Then go and close your eyes!” I grab his hand and haul him to his feet. He must be tired, because he doesn’t resist. He lets me drag him toward the stairs. “I’ll keep watch. The moment there’s even a sniff of a boat, I’ll come get you. There’s just been a delay, nothing more. They’re still coming for us.”

It turns out that I’m a liar. No one comes that night, or the next day. It’s hard to eat, or to take my medicine, because each time we’re faced with our dwindling supplies. When Nemeth goes to sit by the door again and it’s my turn to sleep, I head upstairs and pull out my knife instead. I cradle it in my grasp, terrified of the answer it’s going to give me, but knowing I have to ask anyhow.

“Is anyone coming?” I ask. “Anyone at all?”

The knife’s silence feels like betrayal.