Page 192 of A Dance of Water

Luella looked to Tharen as if for instruction, and the mage held up a hand. "Don’t look at me." He bared his teeth. "I’m only here because I have to be. Pretend I’m not." He settled back into thearmchair, the high back of the leather wrapping around him as he rested a crooked leg over his knee.

How could she pretend he wasn’t in the room when she felt his attention so acutely?

Her hands fumbled before her nervously, and Tharen tracked the motion like a predator. "Or not… I know I can be hard to ignore."

Bastian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Only your mouth. While you’re here, you’re quiet, Tharen."

Cautiously, she leaned down to remove her slippers, her white hair falling over her shoulder like a curtain as she peeked up at them from her bent position.

Tharen ran a hand over his jaw. "You can’t blame me for being curious. I’ve never seen the Advisor give a lesson before."

Blood drained from her face at the mage’s words. She finished tugging off her slippers, curling her toes in the plush rug as she stood.

"You’ve done this before," Luella realized aloud.

Thick emotion curdled in her gut like spoiled milk. How many have seen his rumpled sheets and dark canopy? How many have traced patterns in the fibers of his rugs with their steps?

Bastian’s stare pinned her to her spot. She watched as he situated a wooden stool on one side of the sheet and sat. She noticed an identical stool on the other side, closest to her. One of the vampire’s feet tapped on the leg of the stool as he watched her.

"Are you jealous?"

The golden flicker of the flames cast his body as an imposing shadow on the sheet.

She shook her head. "Of c-course not."

Don’t lie,he crooned in her mind.I’m inside you. I feel you. That simmering unease in your stomach—that’s jealousy, pet.

Her mouth went dry as he started to unbutton his overcoat, deft fingers removing it from his body as he threw it behind him to fall on the rug at his feet—leaving him in a tight, silken shirt.

"If you must know, you are the only Chosen I’ve ever allowed into my room." Bastian’s words made the unfounded anger inside her fizzle, and her feet carried her to the stool. "I never find pleasurein teaching the Chosen. It is expected of me." He gestured to the stool on the other side of the hanging sheet. "Tradition."

She perched on the edge, feeling the uncomfortable wood on her backside. The white sheet hung between them, candles flickering. She could no longer see him, but his silhouette was cast onto the sheet.

Tharen sat in the corner, out of sight. He could not see her, just the shadow of her body made by the sheet; and she could not see him.

She felt alone. Similar to being blindfolded. She found she liked it—the freedom of being unseen and unable to see.

Luella’s words were bolder. "What about Vale? How does he feel about the Solstice?"

She watched as the shadows on the white sheet shifted, an arm coming up as she envisioned Bastian running a hand through his silky hair. The line of his thighs was strong, shoulders firm. Her eyes dipped to the taper of his waist.

She wondered how she looked behind the sheet. Did the shadows convey her trepidation and… curiosity?

"Much the same, I imagine. The Solstice tradition started centuries ago to honor the gods. It is expected. And needed now more than ever, to grant normalcy." Bastian huffed. "I have a feeling we will not be afforded such indulgences in time to come."

Her feet dangled over the ground, unable to touch from the height of the stool. "You mean… he does not enjoyit?"

Bastian laughed. The sound made goosebumps skitter across her flesh.

"Well, it would be impossible not to enjoy fucking someone, but it is his duty, nothing more." His words left nothing to the imagination, even to someone as naive as her. "But not with you. You, pet, are much more than a duty. And I can promise you, he and I both will enjoy what we will do to you."

Her temperature rose, matching the crackling heat of the flames that danced along the wick of the candles. "Oh," she managed.

Dotome.

"I thought"—she swallowed—"I was to remain untouchedfor t-the King…"

"That is what this is for," Bastian muttered. A shadowed finger pressed against the sheet, making it flutter. She wanted to rip it away and see his face; wrap herself up in it and hide. "To preserve your modesty. Tonight, you can remain clothed, but tomorrow, for your final lesson, you will be required to disrobe to your underclothing." A pause. "I’m sure your maids supplied you with sufficient garments."

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