Page 203 of A Dance of Water

Tharen merely rolled his eyes, fingers curling around the silk as he gave one harsh tug, forcing her to stumble into him. His grip was possessive as he caught her, and Bastian watched with curiosity… The mage held her shoulders tightly, yet she did not wince or try to pull away. He was surprisingly gentle with her. Maybe Bastian had gotten through to him, after all, with his talks of treating her with care instead of being such a bastard.

The Prima hooked the toe of his boot under the leg of one of the stools, dragging it across the floor with a low squeak. He sat down heavily, using the ribbon between them as a leash, urging her toward the other stool.

Stumbling, she was forced to sit. And only when the air was quiet for a moment that bordered on too long, did she peer up at Bastian, watching as he raked his eyes over her. The simplicity of her gown was tantalizing as it clung to her soft curves, but he wanted more—wanted to see what secrets the fabric covered. Plus, clothing wouldn’t be of any benefit for this evening’s lesson.

"Take off your gown," Bastian purred.

Her pulse thundered—music to his ears. She suddenly grew interested in the silk ribbon tied around her wrist, distracting herself by attempting to undo the knot.

Tharen grabbed her other wrist and held it away from the ribbon. "I don’t think so, little lamb. Can’t have you getting all worked up, and poof—you’re gone." The stool groaned as he leaned forward and said, "This is to keep you tethered to me. So your lessons won’t be cut short. Bastian was right, you know. The gods wait for no one," he nearly sang the words.

Her eyes grew wide, and Bastian sent a thought to the mage:stop riling her up.

But it’s just so fun,he replied.

The vampire shook his head and pointed a pale finger at the mage in warning. "Turn around, Tharen. Youknow you aren’t permitted to watch." To Luella, Bastian said, "He won’t look at you. He’ll keep his back to you at all times. And neither will I see you—except your shadow." He inclined his head to the fluttering white sheet.

The orange warmth of the flames made her skin appear to glow from within. As though the moon and the sun simmered under her skin, dying to be let free.

The words of the prophecy flickered in his mind like flames:

A splintered lineage, to bring together the kingdoms. She will be one over all elements, the sun, and the stars… to defeat the malevolence.

The Princess’s splintered lineage had been revealed, her glamor had been ripped away, and the truth of her magic come to light. But that left one part yet fulfilled—to defeat the malevolence.

Bastian watched her, so small and delicate. Could she truly defeat the Tenebrae?

Even now, Luella’s storm roiled outside the castle walls. A soft, ever-present rumble of thunder that ebbed and flowed with her intense, unchecked emotions. No rain. But the air was thick and charged with anticipation. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not—was she learning how to control it? Or was it—wasshe—simply too much to be contained by storm clouds alone?

After the night’s end, when her lesson was through and she was carried into dreams in the night, would it, once more, be a tempest that shook through the sky?

What else could she do?

Bastian cleared his throat. "I will sit behind the curtain, and Tharen will keep his back to you," he repeated. "Take off your gown. Allow yourself to feel, to give in, pet. After all, it’s not like you can lie." He made his tone gentle and calming, but that didn’t stop anger from falling over her face.

"If you look at me, I will… I will let roots drag you out to sea," she warned quietly.

Bastian smiled. "And I will let you."

"I’d like to see you try." Tharen’s lip curled.

Luella looked between them, and Bastian let the curtain drift from his clutches, falling to conceal her from him. Her shadow was astrange shape with Tharen so close to her; he could barely discern her form from his. It was a lewd image; he could trick himself into thinking their bodies were entwined, that perhaps there was no distance between them at all.

This whole night would be a lesson in restraint for him. His cock strained in his tight pants, and he angled his arm just so, allowing his shadow to reflect his actions as he reached down to palm himself. Not enough pressure. He gripped harder, releasing a deep, strangled moan.

"What are—" Her voice carried to him through the thin barrier of the sheet.

"I’m sure you remember my words from last night, pet. Disrobe to your undergarments. I will not tell you again. Even with that ribbon tying you to Tharen, it won’t be difficult with the shape of your dress." As he spoke, he imagined the simple white material pooling to her feet, unhindered by the lack of straps. Her bare collarbones and lithe neck, the soft dip of her young curves.

He was achingly hard for her.

He reached up and tugged off his coat, folding it carefully and laying it by his feet. His shirt underneath was simple silk, the laces already half undone, so it was easy to pull the remainder free. It billowed open, allowing cool air to tickle his chest as he let his shirt slip from his arms and fall to the ground. His silver belt buckle clinked as he undid it, letting it snake away from his pants as he dropped them to the ground, leaving him in nothing save for his black briefs. Bastian sat on the stool, feeling the hardness of it under him as he spread his legs.

Her shadow shifted, as did the larger one behind her, as Tharen moved a bit to the side, revealing the soft, slim shape of her silhouette in its entirety. As the mage moved, Bastian saw a flashing sliver of light in the corner of his eye.

Pale skin, a white gown slowly, too slowly, dropping from her shoulders, hitching at her waist, before sliding down her legs and pooling to the carpet under her feet.

A mirror.

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