Page 43 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
I don’t know what I was expecting. Mytha has never been one to sugarcoat things. I cut my gaze to hers but find unexpected sadness.
“Ssshe will tear our world apart if you’re not careful. You need ssspace to think, to sssee thingsss clearly.”
I open my mouth, an argument brewing within me. Mytha quirks a dark brow. Fuck. She’s right. I run a hand through my hair, scraping it along the sharpened points of my crown. A crown that sits far heavier today. My neck aches from the burden of my circumstance. Immortal Ruler of the Underworld. A title I can’t bear to own most days.
Death is all I’ve ever known. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to Lenore. She’s so full of life, and yet, so compatible with death. How can she be such a perfect match? It torments me. The feeling that she is meant to be mine. But how? The lightsurrounding her is pale. Her natural death is far away. And if I were to reap her out of turn… more consequences.
The scars on my back tingle. Having her the way I want is not an option. Her natural death may take years to arrive. Will she be eighty? Ninety years old when she perishes? A crippled old woman resigned to a star garden. My ribs splinter with the possibility that she may never be mine. That I may never see my bone queen seated on a throne beside me.
Maybe it was always just the fever dream of a lonely immortal.
Chapter 16
Harrow
My trips aboveground are few and far between in the following days. Seeing Lenore doesn’t ease the pain within me. My little raven looks miserable. She strolls through the gardens, surrounded by an entourage of guards. They trample the flowers in their attempts to keep close. Her animal companions scatter when the unknown visitors approach. She looks longingly in the direction of her hidden garden, but with such an audience, she’ll have to wait to visit her precious bones.
She’s alive. Two words that cause such conflict within me.
I keep each visit brief. Paranoia has me dropping back home within minutes of my first return. I’ve grown more confident in my ability to get back before the water drops low enough for another incident to occur. The day the last garden fell I had beengone an entire evening and well into the night. An hour or two won’t hurt me, but being careless again will.
My wings sag as I return home.
I rarely sleep. I have a bed nonetheless. Sometimes I slide between the silken onyx sheets and stare at the ceiling. It’s comforting in some very mortal way. Tonight is one such night.
The vein of Vivianite that runs along my bedroom ceiling glows in the darkness, casting a luminous green light across me as I lie, restless. Lifting my fingers, I sweep them through the beams of emerald light. How beautiful Lenore would look here, her black hair matching the sheets, crystal green light spilling across her pale features. I’d drink in the sight of her, head on my lap, stroking my fingers through her hair as she stared up at me.
Picturing her here but knowing I cannot give life to this daydream, this nighttime desire, pains me. How could Death ever give life to anything?
I’ve been to the surface three times today, but Lenore was deep within the castle walls and out of sight. It should be late enough by now that she’s retired to her bedroom.
She looks for me at night. I know she does. Her bright eyes search the darkness, disappointment crinkling her features when I do not make myself known. Every time I return to her kingdom I pray that her light will have brightened. That by some miracle, one I am undeserving of, she’ll approach her natural death. Only then can we unite our love. My love. A love I hope Lenore feels just as deeply.
From the way her eyes search so longingly for me, I believe she does. Unrequited love was the smarter option. A shared and pure love will serve neither of us when we cannot be together.
Is she standing there now? Waiting for me?
That’s it. I’m heading aboveground. A fourth visit is absurd, but necessary. I need to see her at least once before morning comes. Throwing the sheets off, I rise and dress. My wingsunfurl, stretching wide after being nestled tightly against my back for so long. The scars beneath them tingle. The subtle pain will never let me forget the mistakes I’ve made.
I take to the sky, arrowing up through the clouds, reaching into the blackness that houses the soul stars of my land, and opening the veil between worlds. Traveling to the mortal realm is a blur these days. I’ve barely thought about it and already find myself standing in the garden beneath her room. The tall, arched windows often frame her like a painter’s muse in a portrait.
My little raven is perched on her windowsill, chewing at her fingertips. A habit I’m still working on breaking. One day the swirling emotions within her won’t be so overwhelming. Then, she’ll find another way to work through the anxiety this royal life has brought upon her. Those bloodied nail beds are just a tiny glimpse into her inner struggles.
Her gaze scans back and forth. My chest tightens. She’s looking for me. It gives me such satisfaction that for the briefest moment I make myself visible to her. Her face brightens instantly.
She smiles, palms pressing against the glass. I hide my appearance just as quickly. A sour frown replaces the cheerful grin. She tucks her bottom lip, worrying it with her teeth. I’ve come to realize she does this when she’s thinking deeply about something.
She raises her gaze back to the last place she saw me and smirks.
“What are you up to, little raven?”
Lenore rises, fully facing the window. She’s clad in a hunter-green robe with a cream collar and lacy cuffs. Reaching forward, she drags the fabric up, over her ankles, raising it until it reaches her thighs. Keeping a hold of the bunched-up fabric, she sits on the windowsill and then lies back. Drawing her knees upright, she dips a hand between her thighs.
My blood heats. She’s touching herself. My cock hardens with jarring speed. Lenore’s thighs block my view of the prize between them but the movement of her wrist curving and flexing grants me insight into exactly what she’s doing. Lifting her hips slightly, she meets the pace of her stroking fingers. Gods do I want to be the one between those thighs. My face, fingers, cock plunging as deep as possible, making her scream loud enough to send the guards, which are undoubtably outside her door, into a panic.
Those soft, full lips part. I can almost hear the moan. My shadow gag in the labyrinth was most enjoyable but it did deprive me of hearing those sensuous sounds. Next time her mouth will remain open while I drink in every moan, gasp, groan. Her lips keep my mind swirling at night. Our kiss in the ballroom ended far too quickly.
In the maze, I leaned too far into my monster’s needs. Violent lust and forced pleasure. I never thought to steal a moment for something as simple as a kiss. My mouth yearns for hers. Most nights I lie in bed, fantasizing about those rosy lips wrapped around my cock while her seaglass-blue eyes peer up at me, watery and wide.
