Page 24 of The Myths of Ophelia
She prowled toward me with a damn satisfied smirk I wanted to wipe off her mouth with my own, that dress cinching her waist and accenting every asset she had. All I could think of as she turned her back to me was bending her over here in the middle of the dressing chamber—our friends be damned—and burying myself in her heat. Her neck arched as she swept her hair over one shoulder, and I was ready to fall to my knees.
“Finish tying it for me?” she asked.
I didn’t want to tie the damn corset. I wanted to rip it off her. The silk ribbons were suddenly my mortal enemy. She’d managed to get them mostly laced up. I didn’t know why she hadn’t waited for me, but I didn’t really have enough blood in my head to ask.
Swallowing, I gripped the ends and tugged tightly. Ophelia inhaled, and in the mirror, her chest rose. Her eyes locked to mine, a challenge budding there.
“Rough, Vincienzo?” she asked as I finished lacing.
Ducking my head, I kissed the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her eyes burned, and fucking Spirits, I was dangerously close to not being able to walk out of here.
“Surprised?” I skimmed my lips up her neck, and she inhaled, eyes fluttering closed.
“Intrigued,” she corrected breathily. “Even though I hate this damn dress.” She lifted the piles of skirts for emphasis. Her voice was calm. That wouldn’t do.
“I’ll make you a promise,” I whispered, nipping her ear and tugging the ribbons tighter so her breath hitched. “You wear this dress now, and I’ll help you take it off later.”
Chapter Nine
Ophelia
Tolek’s wordslanded as a knock echoed on the door to our dressing chamber, and everyone’s frolicking voices fell quiet. He stepped back, brows raised expectantly at me in the mirror.
“Going to answer that, Revered?” he purred.
My knees nearly wobbled, his promise still echoing, but I took a steadying breath and strode along the rows of jewel-crusted gowns, embroidered jackets, and Spirits knew what else. Jezebel, Erista, Malakai, Mila, Lyria, Santorina, and Ezalia popped out of the aisles one by one, joining us near the entrance with defensive expressions and warrior blades strapped across their fae clothing. Ezalia even had her bow in hand, the sharpened tips of her arrows peeking over her lace-clad shoulder. Lyria’s sword hung ready at her hip. As the Master of Weapons and Warfare, she took a step ahead of the others, many eyes flashing nervously to Santorina. But our human friend only gave me an encouraging nod.
My sister had clearly found the accessory collection, adorning herself in a number of heavy bracelets that complemented her silver-threaded gown, but nothing gleamed as brightly as the fierce spark in her eye as I marched toward thedoor. The gilded handle was much cooler than my heated blood, the glint of the flickering candlelight across the shining surface a reminder of where we were and who waited beyond these walls—of the act we needed to play.
Wrenching the door open, I raised the mask of Revered. “Hello.”
“Revered Alabath,” the dark-skinned fae flashed a pointed grin. “My, do our styles suit you.”
He leaned against the door jam, his high collar, breeches, and boots not suited to his casual demeanor.
“And you are?” I asked.
“Brystin,” he replied with a cruel twist of his words. “Bry to those I favor.”
“Brystin, then,” I said. Behind me, Tolek laughed, and the fae male’s attention snapped to him.
Something in those light-brown eyes heated as they assessed Tol, who stood patiently at my shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back. A challenge perhaps. A playful but lethal threat.
A growl nearly rumbled up my throat as the male’s secret-shielding smile flashed again. “What are you considering?” I asked.
Brystin did not answer, but his gaze swept back to me, lingering on the tight bodice strangling my ribs. “Of the two of you, you might be the harder one to fight.”
Not a direct answer to my question, but that was expected. The fae couldn’t lie—not outright. Spinning tricks and devising avoidances were their ways around those rules.
“I’d love for you to find out,” I murmured with false sweetness. “But I wouldn’t want to keep your queen waiting.”
Brystin stepped back, extending a hand toward the hall, and when he smiled again, I got the sense that blood could have dripped from the tips of his teeth.
“We are honored to receive you, Revered. And your lovely court.” His stare raked over each of us as we filed into the hall, and my heels sank into the thick emerald rugs resembling jeweled moss creeping across the marble floors. Mora waited beside the candelabras, looking us all over with quiet satisfaction.
As Mora and Brystin led the way to the queen’s audience chamber, Tolek muttered softly to Lyria about not taking any wine we were offered, to which the commander nodded impatiently. Warrior and human bedtime tales alike told of the risks of faerie drinks. I swallowed the reminder and hoped the rest of our party had been forewarned, too.
Malakai and Mila stepped up to Brystin. “Are you a member of the queen’s guard?” Malakai asked.
