Page 108 of The Witch Queen

“You canpoofaway your clothes any time,” I huff out before ripping my own pants off. When my length presses into her, Laurel’s eyes darken with a hungry lust. “Put my cock in your dirty mouth, witchling,” I command, and she obeys, moving her body with fae speed to switch our positions and bring her lips to my shaft. She licks up the column, and I moan. When she takes me deep in her throat, I nearly come, but resist, unwilling to finish without her. My hands weave through her tantalizing hair, guiding her up and down in a steady rhythm.

She nips the top of my cock with her teeth, sending shivers through me, and I can’t wait another moment to be inside her. I guide her body to rise and sit on mine, groaning with pleasure when I enter her.

“Fuck, witchling,” I murmur, but she only smiles, devilish with glee. She moves slowly up, letting me inch out of her at an agonizing pace, then slams her body back down with her own moan. Repeating the motion, I crawl closer to release with every dip, knowing she does too. When I get dangerously close, I will my light to stroke her in the hard and fast circling I know she likes, and she lets out a feral scream that undoes me. We roar our climaxes together.

When she drapes her body over mine in satiated bliss, breasts tickling my chest, I harden inside her again. We’re on the balcony suddenly, and plants creep their way over the railing to bind her hands behind her back. Confusion flashes over her features briefly before disappearing as I suck her nipple into my mouth and nip it lightly. We’re exposed here on the balcony, and a fae with particularly strong eyesight could see her naked body from a courtyard or terrace of the castle. The thought makes me irrationally protective. Mist gathers around us, shielding our bodies from view.Thank the aether for Laurel’s magic.Within the hazy fog surrounding us, I take my time worshiping her. I kiss between her breasts, up her throat, nipping her ear in a way that makes her shiver with satisfaction.

“Laurel.” Her name is a sigh. My hands cup her ass as I lift her to me, clinging tightly like I’ll somehow lose her if I let go. Our foreheads touch, and she gives me another of those soft smiles I love so much. “I love you,” I whisper, then gently thrust inside her, slowly, reverently. We find a slower rhythm, hands exploring one another like it’s the first time. “I love you. You’re mine. And I’m yours. And you’re perfect.We’reperfect.” The words are a soothing murmur, the backdrop of my worship of her. I can’t get enough, can’t get close enough to her. Deep within me is somefeelingthat we’ll be parted, but that must be the mating bond. To soothe it, I pull her even closer, wrapping her hair in my hands and gently tugging her head back so I can kiss her deeper.

“Thorne,” she moans. “I…” she trails off, unable to say the words I know she feels.

“Shhhh…” I whisper. “It’s okay.” I trail kisses over every inch of her as we both ease into our climax this time, moans soft and gentle and filled with emotion neither of us can fully express.

When we finish, we make quick work of bathing and dressing for the festival, running late for our meeting time with Fionn and Silene. Laurel wears a soft pink cotton gown that brings out the rosy hues of her skin. The square neckline accentuates her breasts, and the ruching along the bodice has her curves on full display. She starts to braid her hair back.

“Will you leave it down?” I ask, and she smiles. Air swirls around us, wrapping around her hair and leaving it flowing down her back in soft curls.

“Silene taught me that trick,” she says with a smirk, and I chuckle.

“Then I’ll have to thank her, because you look ravishing.” She blushes before slipping on delicate pink shoes.

Laurel didn’t want to go to this festival—she hasn’t gone in over three hundred years. The last time she went was with her parents, and just five years later, her people were slaughtered in the very place where the festival is held. The Battle of Moormyr, named after the valley called Moormyr, is known throughout the Four Kingdoms as being a dark day for Thayaria, regardless of which side of the story you hear. It’s challenging for Laurel to be in that valley without remembering the war that cost her everything. She’d told me all of this in the early light of morning a week ago, wrapped in my arms.

“How are you feeling today about the festival?” I ask as I pull a cream tunic over my head. She shrugs, trying to fake nonchalance. Even with me, after months of letting me in every day in small ways, she still defaults to hiding her emotions. “Really?” The skepticism is apparent in my voice, and she sighs, her shoulders dropping as she releases the tension of keeping her emotions at bay.

“I’m nervous,” she admits. “Not just to be back in Moormyr after all this time, but for the risk of a rebel attack. I know we’ve kept my attendance as secret as possible, and I know there will be as much security as we can possibly provide… But I fear if they know I’ll be there it will lead to more innocents being injured or killed. Aethers, we’re not even sure if the rebels realize yet that you were working with me the whole time. They could attack just to get back at us, especially since you were the one to redirect their attacks away from villages and citizens. I can’t help but feel like this is a terrible idea, and I’m not sure if the pain low in my gut is a premonition of violence to come or simply my deep anxiety.” I pull her into my arms.

“We are the two most powerful fae alive. We’ll keep your people safe.” I keep her firmly pressed into my chest, kissing the top of her head and trying to will some measure of comfort through the kiss. She sighs contentedly.

“I hope you’re right.” I give her a wide, mischievous grin.

“When have I ever been wrong, especially about you and me? And ourmagic?”She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the way the comment makes her cheeks flush with desire, even after weeks of fucking at every opportunity we get. “Let’s go dance in the field with children and pick flowers and whatever else we do at this festival.” Now she laughs, and warm male satisfaction spreads through my body. I love making her laugh, love easing her worry. She takes my arm in hers and aersteps us to pick up Silene and Fionn. When we reach the apartment, they’re ready, giving us knowing smirks when we mutter our excuse for being late. Then Laurel aersteps all four of us to the valley and festival.

We stand at the top of a hill, looking down on the celebration below. Laurel tenses for just a moment, eyes unfocused, likely recalling another day standing in this exact spot. I watch as her eyes find every single Royal Guard stationed around the valley, assuring herself of the security of the event. While I wait for her to be satisfied there are enough guards, I look out at the breathtaking sight before me. Snow-capped mountain peaks surround the valley on all sides, sharp ridges eventually softening to rolling green hills. The ground is thickly carpeted in thayar flower, the crimson petals swaying gently in the breeze. There are tents set up along the entire perimeter of the valley, and fae and humans alike enjoy the warm spring air. Children chase one another through the fields of flowers, their mothers’ calls to be careful ignored. A large tent at the farthest end of the valley appears to be hosting a Skran tournament, and music filters through the air, mingling with the sounds of the revelers.

“It’s so beautiful,” Silene says, eyes wide with wonder, and Laurel smiles. Arm in arm, the two of them make their way down the small hill to Moormyr, Fionn and me in tow. When we reach the floor of the valley, it’s easier to see that the tents circling it belong to merchants and vendors of all kinds, selling everything from steaming and fragrant food to jewelry, clothing, and artwork. Silene and Laurel have already pranced away, and I’m happy they’re spending quality time together, even if being away from Laurel makes my skin itch.

“I guess it’s just you and me today, brother,” I say to Fionn, who laughs before leading me to a stall selling what looks like Thayarian street food. The smell is divine as we approach, and Fionn orders one of everything on the menu, insisting I’ll love it all. Apparently, he’s tried them all in Arberly these last months while I’ve been preoccupied with Laurel. When the food arrives, I nearly groan at the look of roasted meats skewered on sticks and fried stuffed dough. Fionn murmurs anI told you soas my jaw drops open, mouth watering. Food in hand, we find a makeshift tavern, where tables sit amongst the flowers. Seated and with ale in our hands, we dig in, both of us groaning at the taste of Thayaria’s rich and unique food.

When I’ve eaten so much I can barely even sip my ale, I survey the festival and bathe in the warm spring air, the sun beating down on me and making my magic feel alive. There’s an area for dancing, with live musicians playing an upbeat jig. Revelers swing one another around with abandon, not worried about knowing the right steps. The people seem happy and carefree. There are several competitions set up across the valley as well—arm wrestling, axe throwing, and even basket weaving. There’s something here for everyone. And even though they’re very subtle, I also spot the groups of Royal Guards that walk the perimeter in plain clothes, eyes scanning while they pretend to make conversation with their companions. Despite what I told Laurel, todayisa risk, and I’m as nervous as she is, but for her sake. I desperately want today to be perfect for her, want her to make new memories in the location she once told me was the most beautiful place she’s seen in all the Four Kingdoms.

When we finish our food and drink, Fionn is unsurprisingly interested in the axe throwing contest, and he unfairly uses his magic to make every axe land in the exact bullseye, delighting the spectators and winning the grand prize—a laurel wreath. I can’t help but chuckle at his massive form preening around the festival with a crown of laurel on his head.

Eventually, Silene and Laurel find us. Silene is breathless with excitement as she shows us everything the two of them have bought—rings, necklaces, gowns, slippers, makeup, trinkets—it’s an impressive haul. Their arms are full of bags that hold their treasures, and I take as many of them as I can, offering to carry the weight so they don’t have to. Silene has even had a small child braid her dark curly hair and weave thayar blossoms throughout it. She’s the epitome of a spring goddess, delighted by the festival and its attendees.

Laurel pulls out a small package and hands it to me. I have to drop the many bags in my hands to accept it.

“What’s this?” I ask, and she grins.

“I felt bad taking your necklace from you. I thought I should replace it.”

I open the package and inside is a ring made of a dark green substance, with thayar flowers and lightning bolts engraved all around it. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, given by a beautiful female. I take it out of its box, and Laurel places it on my second finger.

“Are you proposing, witchling?” I ask with a dazzling grin I know shows my dimple and drives Laurel mad. She blushes deeply.

“I—No, it’s a gift. I mean, not that I wouldn’t—I would marry you, in the future. If you wanted. I mean, when we’re ready…” she trails off, and I laugh deeply.

“Relax, witchling,” I say, taking her out of her misery. “I’m only teasing. But when you’re ready to ask the question, I know what my answer will be.” I place a quick kiss on her temple, and her blush deepens.

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