Page 5 of The Sweetest Lies
“Dragons,” Avian echoes on a tired tone. “Ravar made sure they were never seen again.” His voice is still that sweet sound of gentleness.
He isn’t filled with sadness the way his friend is.
They’re different in that way.
“She believes there are still dragons in this world, and she wants them to restore the power she once had,” Roman says, and when he lowers his head, he nuzzles along my neck in the slowest inhale that drives me absolutely insane.
Focus! Focus, Cersia!
“Are there dragons here?” I ask, turning in his arms to try to regain my poor stupid attention span.
“Not here. The High Hell have hunted their kind under Ravar’s rule for centuries. Zilo could tell you about them. But I’ve never seen one.” Roman’s breath kisses my flesh as his long steady fingers trace my lips.
My poor, poor fucking attention span. I mourn the loss of it every time he touches me.
“I haven’t either,” I confess on a weak and wavering sigh.
Why does he do this to me? I’m trying to figure out what kind of danger this psychotic queen is capable of. And all I can think about is how good Roman tasted that one time we gave in to the messy emotions he always gives me.
I’m a mess. This realm is a fucking mess.
Perhaps it is safer than it was when Ravar ruled. But I just want to know for sure.
I have to know! For Nyra’s sake.
“What about—”
“Shhh,” Roman whispers, his lips so close to mine, I can feel the heat of his mouth against mine. “Get some rest, beautiful.”
I roll my eyes, but the moment he says it, pure exhaustion sinks into me.
I am tired. I’m so fucking tired of all the endless questions and concerns I have about Creatchin.
But the heat of Roman’s body feels so good. The safety he presses around me in the form of his strong arms, that feels incredible. He’s strong like Zilo but he’s soft too. Aggressive but comforting. It’s like he knows what it’s like to need someone’s touch just to feel whole.
And with time, my eyes do close as I settle against him.
My thoughts wander as my consciousness slips away.
And I dream of magic, old magic of centuries past. Ancient fae magic, nature magic, dragon magic, all of it. I feel it. The power of it so intense, it’s like waves of pleasure.
Familiar pleasure.
And then with that thought, for some asinine reason, I dream of Roman and Avian as well.
Three
The Queen’s Guard
The following morning,Creatchin is her normal—as close to normal as a hell-fae-Night-Witch-queen-of-hell will ever be—self.
“Zilo, are you enjoying the new flame feast swords I had made for our guards?” she asks, her hand swooped rather intimately in the crook of Zilo’s bulging arm as a small group of us walk the flower garden she had reestablished.
Daisies and pretty carnations bloom with ashen petals that glimmer in the sunlight like fresh dew forever lines the little blossoms. How does she do that? How does she make everything around her look so perfect when I can feel that it’s not?
Something is off with her. Not that I can trust Ravar, but I believed his warning. That’s what happens when someone dies: you instinctively have to know the final words they utter are spoken with importance.
First and final words, those are the ones that count in life...
