Page 72 of The Forgotten Prince

“I warned you. You were too persistent upon waking the dragon.”

Gwendolyn laughed. “I only wonder… what did you… do… when…”

His brows lifted. “I bit you?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

She nodded.

“Hmm,” he said, once more rolling onto his back, pulling her with him. “In this world, perhaps the easiest explanation would be to liken it to the bite of a serpent.” Gwendolyn’s brow furrowed as she caressed his soft flesh beneath her fingertips—not one thread of hair… except on his head… and a bit there.

“So, you injected me with… venom?” She grinned. “Do I need a theriac?”

He chuckled darkly. “Not precisely. But yes, I did. Though it was not venom. It was—”

“A wondrous drogue!” Gwendolyn proclaimed, and indeed, it was.

Not unlike the Hul Gil—a poison, to be sure, though in minute doses, it left the body with a delicious languor. When first they’d introduced it into Gwendolyn’s theriac, it had given her the headiest sensation. However, it always left her with the worst of headaches and a mouth that felt dry and fuzzy. Not this. The aftereffects of Málik’s bite were enduring bliss.

His lips twisting into a boyish grin, he bared his fangs again, and Gwendolyn only then realized how persistently he’d hidden them, because they were exquisitely long. “No drogue like any you know,” he said. “Liquid aether. The essence of life.”

“Aether,” Gwendolyn said, rolling onto her back to stare up at her leafy ceiling. “So… this must be what gives your eyes the odd silver gleam?”

“It is.”

“And your hair?”

“Yes.”

She rolled to face him, smiling mischievously, poking at his bare chest with the pad of a finger. “And the color of this…?”

“Yes,” he whispered, as she inched her finger down… down… down…

She tugged gently at the covers. “I’d see it again,” she told him.

“Look at my head.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, tugging harder.

“You are most… unpredictable.”

Her grin widened. “Insatiable, do you mean?” she offered, unapologetically.

Again, Málik laughed, the sound throaty and full of joy.

Gods knew she had so many questions—some perhaps not so lighthearted.

For one, Gwendolyn wished to know if the aether he’d injected was the reason his father might perceive they were bonded. She suspected it to be true, but she regretted nothing of what they had done within the privacy of this room. In fact, she hoped no one disturbed them—not Esme, and especially not Bryn. She wasn’t yet through with Málik.

And then a sobering thought occurred to her…

Gods. Bryn.

She didn’t know how she would face him again, after all the things she had done with Málik… after discovering at long last what a man’s body was made for. Blushing, she recalled the many times she’d so naively swum with Bryn, never understanding why her father and mother had so heartily disapproved.

And all the times she had so unabashedly exposed herself… and now she understood why Bryn so quickly looked away—thank the gods!

It was not that Gwendolyn was ashamed of her body, nor of the fact that a man should enjoy it. She had simply never given much consideration to how it should be used, nor the fact it might give her so much pleasure in return.

And now she abruptly remembered a conversation she’d had with Málik whilst they were climbing the water shaft… if you offered me your throat… I could be tempted. She sat, tilting him a questioning look. “Did you… take… from me?”

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