What would they be like together? What would they be like together withher?
Rixxis’s mind wandered to the filthiest fantasy her mind could conjure, the same one that perhaps she had entertained too many times, especially when she’d had to endure her husband’s poor attempts at lovemaking. Back then, they were faceless men who came to worship her body, to kiss and lick, touch and caress all her most intimate places.
Yet that night, as she slid her hand under the blanket, they had names and faces and she knew them all too well.
She palmed her breast, thinking of them, teased the nipple to attention the way they might have. When she slid her fingers lower, gliding them through the wetness between her legs, she imagined it wasn’t her fingers, but theirs.
It was Rowan’s cock in her mouth, not the two fingers on her right hand, and Ieduin’s tongue rubbing against that sweet spot, not the middle finger on her left hand. It was their fingers she rode and not her own, their panting breaths in the dark answering her own instead of silence, them her body clenched around as she brought herself to climax instead of hers.
Hollow silence thrummed in her ears after, and creeping guilt grew in her chest like a weed. What would Ieduin think of her if he knew the things she thought about, the things she wanted? He had put her on a pedestal as if she were some perfect woman, but she wasn’t. She was so far from perfect.
If he knew the truth about her, it would only hurt him.
Rixxis rolled over onto her side, staring at the wall, bathed in shadow and shame. She wished she could be more like him, brazen and honest about who he was. That would be so freeing. So weightless. It just wasn’t in her. That’s not who she was. At least, that’s what she told herself as she drifted off to sleep with the growl of thunder for a lullaby.
Twelve
“Youshouldn’tgo,”Emmanthesaid to Aryn, sipping her tea.
He adjusted the jacket he’d selected to go over his more traditional tunic and loose-fitting pants. The jacket was long, going down to his knees, and dark blue.
At least it’s not black, Mercia thought, though he did look good in black.
Actually, he looked good in everything. Or maybe that was just her frustration speaking. It’d been some time since she and Aryn had slept together. Well, they slept next to each other every night, but they hadn’t had sex in weeks. Not since leaving Brucia. At first, she had chalked it up to stress and lack of privacy. Roadside camps were hardly romantic, and Aryn hadn’t been sleeping well for some time now. His nightmares were back, triggered perhaps by their journey. He would often wake in a rage and have to go spend time alone to cool off.
Before, she’d always been able to get through to him, to calm the storm raging in his soul, but things had been different.
Everything had only gotten worse since they arrived in D’thallanar. By day, Aryn worked with Ruith, meeting important people and trying to forge alliances with powerful clans, and by night he went out into the city, trying to find secrets. He was exhausted, and it showed.
When he returned that morning and kissed her feverishly, she’d hoped… But then he just fell into a shallow sleep until the messenger arrived with a coded letter for him.
And now they were dressing to attend some high society elvish party he’d somehow managed to get an invitation to.
“I know,” he said. “You’ve said that already. So far, however, you’ve failed to present a convincing argument for why.”
“Because such gatherings are rarely as straightforward as they seem,” Emmanthe replied, lowering her tea. “Alliances are rarely born on the assembly floor. These secret events are where careers are born and die. It is no mereparty.” She gave Mercia a glance before sipping from her tea.
“Aryn can handle himself,” Mercia assured Emmanthe as she finished pinning up her hair.
Emmanthe frowned. “It isn’t Aryn I’m worried about, dear.”
Mercia spun, narrowing her eyes. “I might not look like much, but I can hold my own.” She turned back to the mirror and tugged the neckline of her dress a little lower.
Maybe this outing was exactly what they needed. Aryn had a possessive streak a mile wide. Nothing made him want her more than when she was flirting with someone else, and this masked gathering was the perfect opportunity to exploit that. If that didn’t work, she didn’t know what would.
Emmanthe stood, bringing Mercia the black lace mask she’d selected for the evening and holding it out to her. “I don’t doubt that you can handle yourself among humans, dear, but you are not in Brucia. Elvish politics are a different game entirely.”
“Relax,” Mercia said lightly, plucking the mask from Emmanthe’s delicate fingers. “As the only human in attendance that’s not a slave, I’m sure everyone will be more focused on the novelty of meeting me than anything else. All I have to do is play the role of the foolish human girl out of her depth, and you’ll be amazed what some men will let spill in conversation, especially when you show a little cleavage. And that’s true the world over. Elves, men… Cocks are a weakness I fully intend to exploit tonight.”
Aryn let out an irritated huff and twisted his hair with his fingers before letting it fall around his shoulders. Mercia’s heart fluttered at the sight of him like that. It wasn’t often she got to see him with his hair down like that. Without the braids, it naturally fell in shoulder length waves that made him look like a different person. From a distance, and in those clothes, it was impossible to tell if he was male or female. The feathered black mask he affixed to the top half of his face only further obscured that, which Mercia found strangely alluring.
He frowned at her after putting on the mask. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just haven’t seen you like this before.”
“You’ve seen me with my hair down before,” he huffed, mild irritation coloring his voice.
“Yes, but not in those clothes. Not like this. It’s almost as if…” She flushed slightly and turned away. She’d been about to tell him he looked beautiful, but he might take offense to that. It wasn’t a word most men liked to hear associated with their appearance, but handsome didn’t quite fit. Not when he was dressed like that. “You look nice. Just take the compliment.”