A Queen of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 4)

“Dirty book?” I asked as he lowered me onto our lounger in the back corner, mostly obscured from view of the rest of the library by a huge tapestry that hung in front of it. A large bust sat on the small table behind it, and the plant next to it was large enough to block from sight anyone sitting on the lounger in the nook. Still, there were enough gaps to allow that person to peek through it and spy on others in the library. “Should I pick one?”

“No. Let that joy be mine. I know just the one.”

When he came back from the secret room in the corner, a room that no longer needed to remain secret now that the mad king was gone, he sat behind me, putting his legs to either side of me so I could curl up onto his chest.

“Should I read from the beginning, or just skip to the first steamy scene?” he asked, reaching the book around me and opening it so he could hold me and read at the same time.

“Maybe read a bit until I get impatient to touch you, and then we’ll skip ahead.”

“Right.” With that, he turned the first page and got to work.

His reading voice was rich and expressive, his cadence ebbing and flowing as he read, changing his voice just slightly for each character. I sat in rapture, utterly sucked in, not wanting him to skip ahead at all—not even wanting him to get to the steamy parts where I knew I would feel compelled to take off his pants, distracting him and interrupting this magical moment.

I was just about to suggest we change books when he bristled, pausing in the middle of a sentence. One of his hands came away from the book and drifted toward my arm, grabbing it as though anchoring me to the spot. He looked to the side, bending up a little to see through or around the plant.

“Weston has entered,” he said softly, and I turned to see the alpha wolf stop in the opening to the library. He walked forward, eyeing the couches and looking around the corner. When he didn’t see anyone, he tilted his head downward a bit, pausing. Even from here I could tell he was sniffing, and then he turned in our direction.

“Wolves’ sense of smell is better than ours,” I whispered, wondering about their hearing as well. “Or at least that’s so for wolves of his caliber.”

“Highnesses, I wished to have a word,” Weston called out, not taking a step closer. “I heard you were in here. I can see that you’re secluded. Should I come back another time?”

Nyfain pulled in a breath, lowering the book slightly, his hand sliding down my arm. “I’m sorry, princess,” he mumbled. “We’ll have to pause here for a moment.” He raised his voice. “Back here. Bring a chair.”

I lost sight of Weston for a moment, and then I heard footsteps coming our way. He appeared in our secluded little area with one of the chairs from the round table in the far side of the library. Once near us, he placed it just off the foot of our lounger and walked around to sit.

I pushed off Nyfain to sit on my own, since we weren’t exactly in an official-looking pose, but Weston put up his hand.

“Don’t worry, highness—”

“Please, call me Finley,” I told him.

“Finley, then.” He held my gaze for a beat, and it seemed poignant in some way. “Please don’t move on my account. I’m a wolf. I’ve seen my fair share of imprinted mates. Some of them never unglue themselves from their partners.”

I gave him a sheepish smile and leaned back, not cuddling like before but still using Nyfain for a chair. He snaked his arm around my waist, holding me tightly to him.

“What can we do for you, alpha?” Nyfain asked.

“Call me Weston.”

Nyfain inclined his head.

“There are a few things I’d like to discuss,” Weston began, “and I thought you’d be amenable to a casual setting instead of a formal dinner.”

I knew he’d heard about my loathing of those dinners.

“Of course,” Nyfain said.

“First, let me be frank. I have more than half of your kingdom’s wolves patched into my pack.”

He paused, his eyes boring into Nyfain’s.

“Please don’t tell me you came here to interrupt our reading time with a challenge.” I groaned. “Because that is unforgivable, and I’ll have to kill you myself. I like you, Weston. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

His gaze darted to me, his eyes widening. A flash of humor stole over his expression before he threw his head back, exposing his throat, and laughed in a deep, rich tone.

“That’s not what he was doing, sweetheart,” Nyfain murmured into my ear, laughter riding his words. “But at least now he knows where he stands when it comes to you and your reading.”