Page 102 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“I want you to relax, and if I get undressed, I certainly don’t think either of us will be relaxing tonight, at least not for a while. And you have an appointment to get to.” He turned back to the bathtub and pulled a glass bottle off the edge, dumping a portion into the swiftly filling tub, the scent of lavender blooming. He kissed me, his hand on my neck and his thumb caressing my jaw, before he carefully pulled away.

“Call for me when you’re done.” His eyes slid over me again before he stiffly walked out of the bathroom. A bit disappointed, I slipped out of my undergarments—wishing I’d asked him to help me with the bra because it was not as simple as I thought it would be—and slid into the water. It was delightful and warm, and I almost had to swim by the time the tub was full. I found a bar of soap and sniffed, the smell of rain and earth enveloping me. I grinned and used it to wash, knowing I’d smell like him. After washing my hair, I pulled the small lever in the bottom of the tub to drain it and called for Rainier.

He came walking in, this time stripped of all clothing except those tight undershorts that showed me exactly what he spent his time thinking about. I was standing in the tub, my nakedness on display, and watched a tremor go through him. He turned the spigot back on, and with a flick of his wrist, the water stopped going straight down into the tub, controlled by his divinity. Instead, the hot drops fell from above, like a rainstorm, and I laughed in delight. He climbed into the tub with me, still wearing those shorts, and turned me around roughly, kissing the back of my neck and shoulders while his hands roamed over me, gliding across my wet skin. He put one hand on my waist as he cupped my breast with the other, pulling me backward. He sat on the edge of the tub, and I stumbled, my bare ass landing in his lap. I felt how hard he was and reached back, pulling onto the fabric between us, trying to tear them off. He swatted my hand away, so I grabbed at his muscular thigh instead. Grabbing one of my legs, he pulled it up to rest on the outside wall of the tub, spreading me open. He reached down, sliding his fingertips down past my stomach and the light patch of hair between my legs, straight to the waiting heat. I groaned as I pushed my head back against him.

He leaned down and nipped my ear as he teased, rimming my entrance with the pad of his fingertips. He dipped two fingers into me quickly, and I moaned.

“You’re going to make me come just from touching you. You’re assaulting my senses. Smelling my soap on your body,” he whispered against my neck, inhaling deeply before pushing a soft kiss against my nape and sending delightful warmth through my body. “Tasting you on my lips, feeling your soft skin against mine.” He trailed his free hand across my breast and stomach, fingertips lightly dancing on my pebbled flesh, while his other hand moved to my clit, where he started rubbing forcefully enough to drag a deep, low moan from between my lips. “Hearing you cry out, seeing you spread wide for me . . .” He pulled me against him, arm tight around my waist, as the leg I stood on started to shake. I felt his hard length against my back as he kept touching me, rubbing me, working me, and I already felt like I was about to come. I was completely relaxed in his arms, trusting his every move. He nipped at my neck, and I bit back a moan when he did once more, hard, before pressing a kiss to the wound. My chest was heaving, and my breathing came out rough and wild.

“I want to touch you. Let me touch you.” I slid my hands down his sides, pulling at the clothes he still had on, jerking roughly as his fingers continued, pulling me closer to release.

“Take what I give you, Em.” He let go of my waist and reached up, grabbing one peaked nipple roughly between his fingertips and squeezing. It was enough to send me over the edge, and my body jerked against him erratically as I screamed his name. He grabbed me by the waist again, keeping me upright, as his other hand continued rubbing me until I fell slack against him, twitching under his touch. He helped me turn to face him, and I drew a kiss from his lips like I needed it to survive.

I felt his smile as he pulled away, sliding his hands down my arms.

“I’ll never get tired of watching you fall apart for me. Now let me put you back together.”

Chapter 33

Ashortwhilelater,I was in one of Rainier’s shirts, wrapped soundly in his blankets. He brushed my hair out in the shower, and it felt like one of the more intimate things he’d ever done for me. He was gentle, massaging my scalp while he did it. I was mildly put out when he wouldn’t let me touch him because I wanted him to feel the way I did. He argued that I needed to relax, and though I knew he was right, it didn’t make me less grumpy about it. Rain spoiled me when he pulled out citrus lotion and slathered it over my body before wrapping a fluffy towel around me. Bringing me into his closet, he picked out a shirt for me before ushering me into the bedroom, promising to hold me after he bathed. I lay in his bed for a while, thinking about everything. I did some quick math and realized we would be getting Elora back in just over two weeks. The fact Rainier was so confident, and her captor seemed eager to work with us made me so optimistic the last week, I’d barely allowed myself to fear anything regarding her. My thoughts were more concerned with her well-being afterward. Had Prince Cyran been good to her the entire time she was there? Or did it take time for him to warm to her? What kind of things happened in the meantime before he took on the role as her protector? Did she see what happened to Faxon? I wondered how she'd react to me. Was my omission about the prophecy unforgivable, or would she understand? Would she forgive me for what I did to Faxon? After what the boy prince had said about her anger, I was worried she might not show up tonight.

I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep until I woke up standing in a doorway. My teeth were chattering, and I looked down, realizing I was only in Rainier’s shirt. The thought hadn't even occurred to me that I would need to dress for it.

Shit.

The last time I had worn a nightgown that came down past my knees, and I’d still been cold. I tucked my arms around me as I glanced around, realizing I was in some sort of meeting room. I sat under a low ceiling made of wood with a table below it, a map outstretched on top. It almost seemed like we were on a ship, wooden slats making up the walls and floor beneath my feet. There were no windows, lending to my suspicions, but everything was perfectly steady, too still. There was no light fixture in the room, but everything was still bathed in light, a trick of the illusion. I thanked the gods I was alone as I padded over barefoot to the table, taking a seat on the other side of it to face the door. I waited only a moment before I heard the sounds of footsteps. Two sets, based on the heartbeats. I was surprised my abilities worked within the illusion, but there was no sense in questioning it. Prince Cyran rounded the corner, followed by a woman roughly the same age as him, the resemblance between the two clearly marking them as related despite her jet-black hair compared to his brown. They were both dressed in royal finery all the way down to the exquisite jewelry. Had they slept like that? Prince Cyran was dressed in black with the same chain necklaces and single earring as before, tall boots laced to his knees.

The woman, his sister perhaps, wore a crimson dress cut to the navel, revealing the swell of her breasts before thin wispy fabric billowed downward, fading to black at the bottom. I searched my memory for her name but fell short.

“Lady Emmeline.” Prince Cyran was curt in his nod. “This is my sister, Princess Ismene.” I stayed seated a moment too long before realizing I was expected to curtsy for them. I stood up quickly, knowing how absurd I looked wearing only Rain’s shirt, and gave the weakest curtsy imaginable, ensuring I stayed covered. It was clear I was wearing a man’s shirt, and I balked at the thought of Elora seeing me in it. I watched Ismene’s lip curl as she took in my attire, and a grin flickered over Cyran’s face.

“Did I get the date wrong?” His grin turned into a sneer as he regarded my appearance.

“No. Honestly, I forgot I needed to be dressed. I don’t tend to sleep in such stunning attire. In truth, I don’t even own such finery.” I gave a small smile, hopeful my groveling would ease any offense. I needed these two to work with me, and offending them wasn’t doing anything in my favor. Ismene’s sneer stayed plastered on her lips, but Cyran’s turned into a smirk.

“Here.” He held out his hand, and a cloak appeared in it from thin air before he passed it to me. I was grateful, standing up to pull it around my body.

“Thank you. Is Elora coming?”

“As of now, she is undecided. Ismene is here to help her decide.” I looked at the girl next to him, her sneer turning into a mixture of boredom and contempt. She seemed so close in age to Cyran, and I couldn’t tell if she was an older or younger sister. I studied the two of them before slowly sitting back in my seat.

“Different mothers, born within a month of each other.” Cyran read my curiosity and supplied the answer I never asked, and he grinned at my expression. “I’m older.”

“What is keeping Elora?” I didn’t particularly care about their ages. I wanted to see my daughter.

“Did you know Faxon planned to sell her?” Ismene’s voice was deeper than I anticipated, quiet and sensual by nature, with the tightly clipped accent her brother shared.

“Of course not.” I felt the look of disgust on my face in an instant. “Does she think—are you kidding?” Cyran held up his hand, and I slammed my mouth shut, glaring at him.

“I didn’t think so, but one can never be sure.” Cyran nodded to Ismene, prompting her to continue.

“And did you know she was the Beloved?”

“I’ve never presented her to the Myriad.”

“But you suspected.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

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