Page 31 of All the Chaos of Constellations
“Oh, I am quite sorry.” She sat up, straightening her spine, ensuring her lower back curved so her bottom rubbed against the stiffening bulge in his pants. Glancing back at him once more, she tossed him her best smile. “Better?”
“Do not play innocent with me, my lady.” Prince Drake’s glare was icy, and he captured her chin with his thumb and forefinger, holding her in check. “You’re flirting with death.”
Novalise laughed, though it was forced and lacking her previous confidence. “Unlikely.”
She couldn’t be certain, but he might’ve growled.
“Let’s be honest, Your Highness.” She gave him another coy smile. “When it comes to mild flirtations, I win.”
Prince Drake released her then and Svartos tucked in his wings, diving straight down. They streaked through the clouds while the land beneath them morphed into nothing more than a smear of messy watercolors.
Novalise’s heart shot into her throat. Svartos loosed an ear-splitting screech as the world careened past her, so fast she couldn’t seem to breathe. She dragged the reins to her chest, clutching them, urging the beast upward, but he continued plummeting toward the ground in a sickening spiral. She knew those damned reins wouldn’t make a difference.
“Stop!” she cried, tears streaming from her eyes. She shook her head violently as fear coursed through her. “Please, stop!”
Prince Drake wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and even through the gloves his touch was cold, like death. He angled her back to face him, his lips less than a breath from her own. “Are you frightened,kearsta?”
Her head bobbed, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. His evergreen eyes held her captive.
Slowly, Svartos leveled out. Spreading his wings wide, he flew upward toward the mountains once more, effortlessly gliding through the late afternoon sky as though he hadn’t terrified her beyond belief.
“Good. Now, let’s make one thing perfectly clear.” The shadow prince nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, tugging firmly. “I never lose.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
Queen Elowyn’s palace was southwest of Emberspire, along the border of Terensel and right at the edge of the Chycarlin Forest. It was rumored the queen was once a druid, and since she favored the fae of earth magic, she built her palace at the base of a small mountain range.
Spires from the palace rose higher than the mountain’s steepest peak and the forest bloomed around its lowest point. The rooftops were varied in color from deep green to dark slate, blending seamlessly with the scenery of its backdrop. Stained glass windows depicting images from the five houses of Aeramere lined the outer walls of almost all the corridors, reflecting history in the form of artisanal glass. Each scene was handcrafted by fae from Terensel, who used their magic to bend each pane of glass to their will before painting them with lavish designs. Within the palace walls, turquoise pools were filled with rainbow-hued fish and waterlilies, each of them interconnected with small ivory bridges that led from one area of grandeur to another.
Though beautiful, it was also well protected. Guards patrolled the grounds, from the forest to the bustling city surrounding the palace, while archers manned the many balustrades and balconies.
Asher was fortunate enough that as a councilor to the queen, his access to her was easily granted. As opposed to the other fae he passed lining the small street leading up to the palace, waiting to see her. He supposed most of them were local citizens, but others were definitely visiting from neighboring lands, no doubt to ask for her favor for some ill-suited marriage. During the height of the Season, it seemed the queen’s energy was focused on blessings and weddings. Everything else was shoved aside to be dealt with another day.
The doors to the queen’s sitting room opened, and Asher was greeted with the scent of rosewater and ferns.
Queen Elowyn sat primly on a dark blue velvet sofa with her hands folded in her lap, her gown of emerald silk unfurling around her. She wore no crown today, but her hair was piled high on top of her head in a series of intricate braids tugged so tightly, her brows looked permanently raised. Though her movements were austere, the pale glow of her magic softened her severity. Her rich brown gaze flicked over to the decadent windows along the far wall of the room. There stood her son, Prince Aspen, with his hand tucked behind his back, his cold gaze fixated on something far beyond the horizon.
“Lord Firebane.” The queen lifted one hand in greeting. “What an unexpected surprise.”
Asher bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, I must apologize for my unannounced visit.”
“Nonsense. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” She dismissed his regrets with a wave of her hand. “Please, sit.”
He obliged her by sitting in one of the high-back chairs across from her. The cushions were stiff, nearly as hard as stone, and he wondered if anyone had ever actually used them before. Her fingers flitted through the air once more, except this time a servant scurried over carrying a silver tray with a glass teapot and two porcelain cups. She quickly poured the steaming amber liquid for both of them, and the lovely scent of freshly brewed herbs filled the space.
The queen accepted her cup, then took a sip, holding Asher’s gaze the entire time. She inclined her head the barest of angles. “How are things at House Emberspire?”
“As well as can be expected.” Asher held his teacup, silently debating asking for cream, then thought better of it. “My sister finds herself in want of a husband, so I will be assisting her in her endeavor.”
Again, the queen’s keen gaze flitted over to her son. “Is that so?”
Asher’s entire body went on alert. There was no way the queen could be considering Cyra as a bride for her son. Not that his sister lacked any of the necessary qualifications, because she was most decidedly accomplished, but Prince Aspen…there was something about him that set Asher’s teeth on edge. It was a constant prodding at the back of his mind. There was something oddly peculiar about the prince, about his overall nature, but Asher hadn’t been able to place it.
“Yes,” he agreed, withholding all interest from his tone. “Apparently, she fancies herself finding a love match.”
The lie coated his tongue with a bitter tang, but it was done out of necessity. He had no problem helping Cyra find a mate, but her husband would require his approval, and as far as Asher was concerned, the Prince of Aeramere did not meet those expectations.
Not that he would ever say as much in front of his queen.
