“Reznick?” The Queen calls from the other room. It takes me a beat to recognize my given name.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Come to me.”
I spare a glance at Casteel, who is well aware he’s not been invited to the inner chamber. He smirks, as though it may be my final act. It could be, but I don’t think so. He’s unaware of our relationship. How we work.
The Queen is still in bed, her cheeks unusually flushed. A sheen of sweat covers her overheated forehead and there’s a look of hunger in her eyes. She grimaces as if a bitter taste is on her tongue. I have little doubt what caused the reaction. I too felt the echo of pleasure rattle across my bones. Even across realms, we’re connected. Something happened with Morgan, something that increased her strength. I assume she mated with Dylan, just as she has every other day since I tore the Guardians away from her.
In this realm, the Queen pushes back the heavy, midnight blue covers draped over the bed. She swings her slim but muscular legs over the edge. She pauses, taking a moment to catch her breath. The pause implies an expectation.
I step forward and offer my hand. “Please, let me.”
She smiles, white teeth against too-pale skin. Without the flush on her cheeks, she’d look like one of the hordes of dead that roam the Wastelands. “So sweet,” she says, allowing me to help her off the mattress. “Tell me, Reznick, tell me about your dreams.”
It’s a trick question. If I tell her I don’t have any, she’ll know I’m lying. If I tell her that I do, she’ll want my head for confirming Morgan’s strength and Dylan’s virility. I hold her eye and declare, “I don’t sleep, my Queen.”
My words hold the truth, but not the reality that I feel the heat between Morgan and her Raven lovers regardless of where I am. It’s a double-edged sword. I’ve never been able to contain my jealousy over her connection to the others, but I accept the flow of energy through our bond. It makes me stronger. It keeps my hands warm and my powers alert. From the way the Queen looks at me, I suspect she hasn’t a clue to the lengths in which our bond travels.
The Morrigan passes me, entering the bathing room. The slave nods, encouraging me to follow. I step inside the room of marble and brass, observing her splash cold water on her face. The slave stands quietly in the corner, waiting for instruction. They’re to wait. To predict. Never to speak.
I watch the Queen’s reflection in the mirror, pretending not to see her flinch as she takes in the dark shadows under her eyes or the fine lines crossing her forehead. She hasn’t aged like this in over a millennium, not since she took on the mantle of her reign, which implies something has changed.
I am not sure why she allows me to see her in such intimate moments. Her mind works in twisted and depraved ways. I stay alert while giving the air of innocence. She sighs, tugging at a wiry gray hair spiraling out of the thick, dark mane near her temple. She yanks out the offending hair without a hint of the sting of pain, dropping it into the sink.
“Tell me,” she says, holding out her hand in the direction of the slave. The girl steps forward, a silver vial ready and uncorked. “Have you completed the next stage of our plan?”
“Almost. I just need a few more days.”
She tips the vial into her mouth, swallowing in one gulp. Her tongue flicks out to get the final drop before tossing the vial back to her slave. She saunters past me, slipping her robe off her shoulders. The slave lunges for the robe but I catch it single-handed before it hits the floor. The Morrigan arches her eyebrow, either in amusement or displeasure that I’d interfered with the girl’s work. It’s impossible to know. I force myself to stare at the Queen’s naked body as she lowers herself into the ice bath. It’s expected. Looking away…it would suggest I don’t find her attractive—a deadly move.
Do I find her attractive? I should, but despite my actions, my heart belongs to one woman. I don’t find the Morrigan arousing, regardless of her beauty. I can’t help but notice the wrinkles and sagging lines. Her hair hangs to the middle of her back, just above the twin dimples dotting the smooth flesh of her backside. Sinking into the porcelain tub, she exhales, clearly invigorated by cold. I know, and she knows that I know, that even from another realm, Morgan brings a fire through our conduit. The fire of lust that brags of her power, of the emotions that build against her flesh. She knows as well as I do exactly what Dylan does to Morgan, and it disgusts her.
The Queen will do anything to extinguish the heat, including submerging her body in ice.
She leans her head back against the pillow, the slave holding it between two hands. She cuts her dark eyes in my direction. “I need the gate reopened.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t make me wait much longer, Reznick, or your brothers will pay for your ineptitude.”
I swallow. “Soon. I promise.”
She waves me away with her hand and I bow before leaving the bathing chamber. Casteel waits for me, no doubt having heard every word exchanged between us.
I pass him, heading back to the hall. Casteel may know the Queen’s commands but he does not know her wants, her pains. She’s weaker than I thought, and I fight a smile as we walk back to my tower where I will continue my work.
Chapter 7
Morgan
Cool air wafts across my face and I snuggle against the warmth next to me, warding off the chill. I only want a few more minutes of peace before the day begins and I wrap my arms around Dylan, feeling something has shifted between us. We’ve broken part of the curse that the Morrigan chained us with when she stole my guardians.
Dylan rolls into me, tightening his arms. I feel the heat of his kisses across my shoulder, the hard length between his legs. I push back and raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Good morning to you, too,” he says with a smile. A bit of the angst he usually carries is gone for the moment.