Page 166 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Now that there’s only the four of us around the table, the chilling feeling that accompanies Hawkith seems to intensify, until I may as well be staring down a giant spider who plans on devouring me, rather than the neatly presented vegetable starter.
The server pours the wine while I cast a glamour and surreptitiously help myself to a tiny bite of everything on Rose’s plate. Espen’s tongue sorts through the flavours, looking for a hint of anything that doesn’t belong. Many fae poisons are completely tasteless, but a nathair’s tongue is infinitely more sensitive, picking up what others might have missed.
At least in this, I can be useful.
“I can’t believe Cedwyn subjected us to such a boring display of fragile masculinity and poor leadership,” Hawkith complains. “He’s getting worse. Oh, I forgot to ask; I wished to ask a personal favour, in exchange for the warning I brought you.”
“A warning we didn’t need, and that no debt was demanded for.” Drystan raises a single brow. “The Nicnevin owes you nothing, Mother.”
“I merely want her to consider what you should already be focused on, yourself.” Hawkith swirls her wine, and at the reminder, I grab Rose’s crystal goblet and take a deep swig.
Only to still.
There’s something there…
“And what would that be?” Rose asks, taking a bite from her plate.
I gulp the rest of the wine before she can grab for the goblet, praying the contents aren’t meant to induce a painful death.
I could be wrong. It could simply be a strong vintage…
Just in case, I glamour the cup to give the illusion it’s still full as Rose takes the delicate stem between her fingers.
“An heir to the Winter Court, of course.” Hawkith shrugs. “When Cedwyn passes, one simply can’t fathom the throne falling to Ashton, and as Drystan is the last living heir…”
“Mother.” The dullahan’s eyes blaze dangerously.
“He needs to have a child, sooner rather than later.”
Rose has gone stock still; the vessel stopped halfway to her lips. “Having a child in the middle of the war is cruel,” she objects. “Not to mention, there’s no guarantee it would be Drystan’s, and there would be repercussions if the Nicnevin’s own son was the heir to a minor court.”
“I understand not wanting defective Froshtyn blood to dilute Danu’s line,” Hawkith continues, as if Rose hasn’t spoken. “Believe me, conceiving Drystan was enough of a trial. He has the misfortune to look so much like his father, which is a shame, really, but I’m sure with a glamour you could?—”
“This is not—” Drystan tries to talk over his mother as the candles around the room flare dangerously.
It’s hot in here, and that loss of power isn’t helping. I tug at the collar of my jacket, wondering how the temperature got so out of control so quickly.
Hawkith waves a hand to silence him. “Hush, child. The females are talking.”
Rose shakes her head, raises the glass to her lips, and tips it back. I have to give her credit; she doesn’t give away that it’s empty, even going so far as to fake a swallow.
My heartbeat does a little tha-thump at the way her throat bobs with the motion.
What will it look like as she swallows around my dick?
Wait, where did that thought come from?
“Well, we have time.” Rose is still trying to be diplomatic, despite how uncomfortable Hawkith is making her. “My fever just passed.”
Her fever. Just the mention of it has my cock aching. How many times can I force her to the edge and deny her when she’s so needy? Will she cry for me? Beg?
Ordinarily, those thoughts would make me bristle… now… Now they only serve to make me reckless.
My hand lands on her thigh, and I shudder at the contact.
“There are ways around that, Nicnevin.” Hawkith offers a patient smile. “With enough of the right herbs and potions, we females can master our own biology. And in the end, you wouldn’t even have to raise the child. I would gladly take him on. After all, outsiders wouldn’t be able to impart the traditions of our court onto the new king.”
My head is pounding, and my breaths are turning noticeably shallow.
