Page 92 of The Bound Mage
He took her hand, his fingers threading through hers with an easy confidence that sent a warm flush creeping up her neck. Loren led her along the edges of the crowd with exaggerated care, sliding along its edges like one of his own shadows.
Araya stifled a giggle, half afraid the musicians—or worse, the Small Council—might notice their king and queen sneaking off like unruly children. The melody followed them, light and lilting, intertwining with the rhythmic hum of laughter and clinking glasses.
Loren’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her past a group of rowdy elders loudly toasting his reign at one of the long tables. “You’re drawing attention.” He glanced back at her, his bright grin sparkling with mischief. “Stop looking so suspicious.”
“Me—?” Araya clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as he tugged her forward again, catching her in his arms. “You’re terrible at sneaking,” she hissed as they crossed the last stretch of cobblestones to the Silver Lantern.
“A king doesn’tsneak,” Loren said so haughtily that Araya couldn’t hold back her giggles. Loren wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his solid warmth. They crossed the last stretch of cobblestones to the Silver Lantern together, its doors flung open and wooden sign swinging in the breeze.
“Your Majesties!”
The cheerful, round-faced male Loren had been speaking to earlier jumped to his feet, beaming. He bowed deeply to Loren, and then—to Araya’s shock—fell to his knees at her feet.
“Lady Starwind,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “My family can never repay you for what you’ve done for us. Ihope you will accept our humble offer of a room tonight—and any night you may find yourself in need of lodgings in Lumaria.”
“I—” Araya froze, words fleeing her entirely as she stared down at the male kneeling before her. “That is very kind,” she managed at last, her voice faltering as she glanced helplessly at Loren for guidance.
But Loren just grinned at her, his eyes dancing as if her sheer inability to process what was happening here was entirely endearing.
The innkeeper’s voice broke slightly as he continued. “My son… he was born in the shadows. This is the first time he has been able to feel the sun on his face, to see the stars without a veil of mist…” His throat worked visibly as he struggled to steady himself, his words trembling with raw, unfiltered emotion.
Araya’s chest tightened, her heart aching for the child who had grown up in darkness. She opened her mouth, knowing she should say something—anything—but the words tangled on her tongue, refusing to come.
Loren stepped in with practiced ease, his hand tightening gently around hers. “Thank you,” he said warmly, placing his free hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder and drawing him back to his feet. “It means everything to us to know that you and your family can enjoy this freedom.”
The innkeeper wiped his eyes quickly, turning his face away as he steadied himself. When he turned back, his expression was bright again. He stepped to the board behind the desk, retrieving a bronze key.
“I’ve made sure the room is perfect,” he said, his tone regaining its earlier cheer. “The fire’s lit, the sheets are fresh, and there’s even a small decanter of wine waiting for you. A room fit for a king and his queen!”
Loren chuckled, his smile warm and easy. “Thank you,” he said, taking the offered key. “We are deeply honored by your kindness.”
The innkeeper beamed, bowing low again. “May your stay be restful, Your Majesties,” he said with a playful wink that had heat blooming in Araya’s cheeks. The blush crept all the way up to the tips of her scarred ears as Loren pulled her forward, practically racing her up the staircase.
“Loren!” Her laugh turned into a gasp as they reached the landing and he caught her in his arms, pressing her against the wall in one fluid movement. His body molded against hers, one hand braced on the wall beside her head and the other slid low over her hip, tracing maddening circles against the gossamer fabric of her gown.
“Loren,” she said again, her voice a breathless whisper as his thigh pressed between hers. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard for balance—or maybe just to stay upright.
“Hm?” he murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“We’re in the middle of the staircase,” she protested, but her voice faltered as he gathered the gossamer fabric of her gown in his fist, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her thigh before slipping higher.
“And?” His mouth curved into a grin she could feel against her skin.
She sucked in a breath as his knuckles brushed the molten heat between her legs—a maddening tease that had her hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic, her knees suddenly weak.
“Loren—” her protest came out as a moan, her legs shaking as his thumb pressed just hard enough to make her gasp. “People might see?—”
“They’ll look away.” He laughed.
Araya narrowed her eyes at him—but her hips betrayed her, rolling into the pressure of his touch with a gasp she couldn’t swallow. Gods, she was burning—already wrecked for him. He knew it too, a wicked grin curving his mouth as he leaned in, his sharp canines grazing her skin with just enough pressure to make her tremble as his hand worked her. His name tumbled from her lips—half-moan, half-warning, useless against the fire he was stoking in her veins.
Enough.
She grabbed a fistful of his silk, dragging his face to hers. He groaned into her mouth, his grip faltering when she bit his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. She twisted under his arm, leaving him gaping after her.
“Race you,” she whispered, bolting up the stairs.
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