Wicked heir, p.5
Wicked Heir, page 5
“I’ve spent the night with worse people,” she said. “You’re hardly a match for them.”
Emrys’s grin faded slowly, and the angles of his face turned hard. Morrigan strike her. She hadn’t realized how her words came across until she heard them.
“That sounded worse than I intended,” she tried to amend. “I just mean I don’t have any hesitance about sharing a room with you.”
He nodded, and his posture relaxed again, but there was still a touch of awkward stiffness to it. Before she could continue to assure him, a dining crew member came by with two plates of dinner and an offer of a bottle of wine. Emrys nodded to them and accepted the offered wine. There was a stretch of silence between him and Saoirse as the crew member filled their glasses with wine and offered their assistance with anything else during their meal.
The two were quiet while they ate, the tinge of awkwardness seeping deeper between them. After their plates were cleared, the sun had completely disappeared and the dim light of the electric chandeliers filled the car with a soft glow. Saoirse yawned and tried to cover it, but it was too strong to be concealed.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Emrys shook his head and stood from his seat. “It’s been a long day of traveling, and it still isn’t finished. Shall we retire for the evening?”
She nodded and stood, following him to the middle compartment. It was a tight space with a small vanity and an upholstered seat on the right, a single bed on the left, and a large window on the opposite wall. Saoirse frowned at the one bed and searched the ceiling for the handle to pull down the second bed.
“Emrys,” she said. He turned from his open suitcase towards her and raised a brow in interest. “Where is the second bed?”
Emrys followed her gaze to the ceiling and reached up, his hand skimming the outline of what had to be an additional bed. He found a notch that his finger could slide into and gave a forceful tug. The bed didn’t budge and after two more attempts, the prince sighed in defeat.
“It seems to be stuck,” he said, turning back to face her. “I could ask Kieran to switch his room with ours.”
“That’s assuming he isn’t already asleep.” Saoirse knew the general slept like the dead, and if he was disturbed, may the gods show favor on anyone who dared to wake him.
“You have a point.” Emrys sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I could try to find that armchair if you’d like the bed to yourself.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re comfortable sharing a bed?” he asked.
“Emrys,” she said, one corner of her lips lifting. “My sensibilities are not that delicate. You don’t need to act so honorable. We both plan to merely sleep tonight, correct?”
“Yes.” He nodded before sighing. “Alright.” He turned back to his suitcase and popped open the lid. “But just so you know, none of this is an act.”
Saoirse opened her mouth to return a cheeky comment, but she stood with her mouth hanging open as she gawked at his backside. He had slid off his jacket, and she could see the muscles under his shirt working as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.
“Well, then I wish you would be a little less honorable.” The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. Heat filled her cheeks, and she could only stand, stunned.
Emrys paused before turning to look at her over his shoulder. She quickly spun around to the vanity and occupied her hands with unbuttoning her blouse and skirt. Her thoughts warred in her mind as she considered leaning into what she insinuated and what she felt was actually appropriate. As she reached the bare layers of her combination and corset, she pulled together the courage to ask what she felt was necessary.
“Emrys,” she said, fidgeting with her fingers.
“Yes, Princess?”
Saoirse forced herself to turn around and face him as she asked her question. She found Emrys’s suspenders hanging from his hips and his shirt gone, exposing his torso. Her assumptions about his physique had been correct all along. She flattened her palms on the vanity behind her and gripped the edge of it as she pressed her thighs together.
“What are our boundaries on this offer?” As she spoke, Emrys slowly stalked towards her, closing the space between them. “I know we should have discussed this last night,”—he placed his hands on the vanity on either side of her and caged her between his arms—“but I suppose now is better than never.”
A slow smile spread on his face as the space between them narrowed. Saoirse’s heart pounded as his gaze roamed down her body. She should put an end to this. Tell him that they should keep their distance until they were officially married, and she was on her way to her own home in the country.
When his emerald eyes returned to meet her hazel ones, Emrys licked his lips. “I hope it’s obvious I’m attracted to you.”
Saoirse nodded, suddenly unable to form words.
“Then I’m not going to lie. If you give me even half a reason, it will be quite difficult to watch you leave without putting up a fight.”
Her ability to speak returned, and Saoirse furrowed her brows. “If I’m that much of a weakness to you, why offer me this bargain?”
Emrys sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’ll admit I was a bit impulsive last night.” He raised his gaze back to her, and something twinkled in the gold flecks around his irises. “I saw you in distress and couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least offer to help.”
“So you offered me this out of pity?”
“No, Saoirse,” he stammered. The prince closed his eyes and sighed again. “I would love nothing more than for you to stay and be my wife. But I know that isn’t my decision to make. All I can do is make the idea of being my wife as appealing as possible.”
“You made this offer knowing you’d possibly get nothing in return?”
“It wouldn’t be the first act of martyrdom I’ve ever done.” He gave her a dry grin. It dropped quickly, and Saoirse glimpsed an emotional mask raise on his face. “So, tell me, what are our boundaries, Princess?”
Saoirse thought over his words. She was curious to know what exactly Emrys could offer her if she did decide to stay. The only obstacle hindering that decision was sleeping in the compartment next door. Could Emrys alone be enough of a reason to overcome Kieran’s consistent presence in her life? Or was her past with the general too much to appreciate what Emrys had to offer?
“Show me why I should stay,” she said quietly. “Show me what I’d miss if I left and walked away. And I don’t mean ravish me,” she added when she noticed Emrys’s eyes darken. “Anyone could do that. Show me why being with you would be worth it, worth putting up with Kieran.”
Emrys studied her for a long moment before a soft smile pulled at his lips, and he nodded. “Alright,” he said as he lifted a hand to stroke Saoirse’s arm every so gently with the back of his index finger. “But I hope you know this means I won’t be able to stay quiet if you ultimately decide to leave.”
“I can accept that.” Saoirse looked down at the hand stroking her arm, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. They stood in silence for another beat before Emrys dropped his hand and stepped away from her.
“This time would probably be a good time to mention I have a suite with a second bedroom at the estate,” he said. “It’s all yours for as long as you like it.”
“Thank you,” she said with a small smile.
“You’re welcome.” He turned back to organize his discarded belongings, and she caught a glimpse of the bare skin of his back for the first time. She swallowed a gasp at the crisscrossing scars blanketing Emrys’s back. Fae skin didn’t scar normally. With how quickly their bodies healed and the remedies healers possessed, scars were nearly impossible. Saoirse couldn’t even begin to imagine what Emrys must have gone through to earn the scars let alone that many.
She was lost in her horrified thoughts, her gaze was affixed to him, until she registered the waistband of his trousers slipping off his hips. She whirled back to the vanity and tried to busy herself by fumbling with the clips on her garters. Her eyes kept peeking at the mirror, her morbid curiosity getting the better of her.
“They don’t hurt,” Emrys said.
“What?” she asked, flustered. The garter in her hand snapped back, and she hissed from the bite it gave her. When she peeked in the mirror at him, he was looking at her over his shoulder. He must have caught her staring.
“That’s what everyone asks about my scars,” he elaborated. “They’re nearly a century old. The only pain they give me is remembering why I have them.”
“Oh,” Saoirse breathed. She didn’t know what else to say. Did she tell him she was sorry he had lived with them for so long? Her curiosity craved to know how he got them, but she deemed that to be prying too deep.
The floor of their compartment creaked as he stepped closer to her and murmured in her ear, “They look much better with scratch marks, though.”
Saoirse shivered as his breath brushed against her ear, and she bit her bottom lip.
“You asked me to be less honorable.” He hovered behind her, and she could feel the warmth of his body radiating against her. “But to stop short of ravishing you. Is this the fine line you’d like to walk along?”
Saoirse’s body begged her to say no. She yearned to lean into the sexual tension they had been building. But she knew it wasn’t a good decision, and she had made that clear. Damn her and her moment of responsibility.
“Yes,” she whispered. Her gaze met his in the mirror, and his grin was downright feral.
“Good to know.” Emrys leaned even closer to her ear. “I would hate for Lord and Lady of Saint Clewark to learn just how much stamina the Crown Prince has.” He chuckled and reached towards the pinned bun at the crown of her head. “May I?”
Saoirse nodded and watched as he pulled the pins from her hair. Piece by piece, her hair cascaded down. Emrys’s fingers brushed along her neck as he gathered it over one of her shoulders. “You should know I love to touch, and it will be hard to keep my hands to myself with how beautiful you are. But, please, stop me if I cross that line you’ve drawn.”
“I promise I’ll tell you.” Saoirse shivered thinking about the results of the last time she asked a fireann to stop, and how catastrophic that had ended. She pushed the thoughts away as Emrys stepped back, giving her space. Could he sense her thoughts? She looked at herself in the mirror and tried to see if her discomfort was written on her face.
She shook herself and returned to dressing for bed. Having packed all her belongings in her trunk, she would have to settle for sleeping in her combination. Her fingers nimbly loosened the laces of her corset until she could comfortably open the busk. The chill of the night brushed against her skin as she slid her stockings off and plopped them next to her other garments.
Saoirse let out a yawn as she peeked in the mirror to see Emrys in a pair of pyjamas. He was pulling back the layers of bedding on their narrow, single bed. Gooseflesh rose over her skin as she thought about being close to him again. She nimbly braided her hair before turning out the electric light and tiptoeing to the bed in the dark. Even with the amount of care she put into keeping the right amount of space between her and Emrys, the sheets were thin and didn’t trap enough heat to make her comfortable. She writhed towards the only source of warmth she felt until Emrys’s hand wrapped around her waist and pinned her against him.
“Stop,” he rasped in her ear. “Unless you plan to rescind everything you said earlier, I recommend you stop squirming against me.”
Her face heated, and she forced herself to relax against him, the heat of his body seeping through the fabric of her combination. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I promise I don’t mean to.”
“I know.” His hand on her stomach relaxed, and he tried to pull it away.
“No,” Saoirse whispered impulsively. She caught his hand and placed it back over her waist. “It was fine where it was.”
A low chuckle filled her ear, and he gently pulled her closer. “Whatever you say, Princess.”
Saoirse melted against him as she surrendered to his embrace, and her eyes drifted closed, sleep finally pulling her under.
4
Emrys felt the sting of ripped flesh before he heard the crack of leather. The smell of dirt and grass mocked him. The smell that he had embraced in the spring and summer. The smell that meant renewal and fresh life. A heinous, oily laugh filled the air, but he didn’t dare turn to look at who had uttered it. He didn’t need to.
His head swam, and his vision blurred, the blades of grass melding into a single color of green. He slumped to his knees, his chest bent over his lap. His breathing became shallower with each breath, and Emrys pleaded silently with the gods to end it. He had endured enough, he had concluded, and was ready to meet the fate of the gods.
His vision went black, and a cry came from his body until all the pain was released. He became aware again and carefully checked himself. But it wasn’t his body anymore. It was a vessel that carried his soul. When Emrys lifted his head to examine his new, blank surroundings, his vessel turned numb.
Figures stood before him, each less familiar than the next. They looked neither fae nor human. They were made up mostly of light with an abstract form that resembled a body and a few defining features arranged to look like a face. Emrys stared at them in awe. Were these the gods of the Heavenly Realm?
They stared down at him with unreadable expressions, and he had the sudden urge to beg them. But he had little control over the workings of his vessel. His tongue didn’t feel like his own, and his feet refused to obey him. One of the gods stepped towards him and examined him as if he could scan through to the soul the vessel held. Burning gold eyes met Emrys’s, and fear engulfed him to the point he felt as if he were physically shrinking.
This was his judgement, his final verdict to determine where in the otherworld he would settle for the rest of eternity. He’d have to confront all he had done in his life and the ultimate consequence of his actions over the last several decades. He wasn’t ready to. He wasn’t prepared to face the awful truth of his actions.
* * *
Emrys woke with a start, a gasp escaping him before he could stop it. He took a moment to study his surroundings. It wasn’t the Heavenly Realm, but his private compartment on the train. The sweet scent of vanilla and sandalwood pulled him back to his reality, and he realized Saoirse was snuggled against his chest. She must have turned over in her sleep and now had her face buried in his pyjama top.
He relaxed into the narrow mattress and studied her features in the dim light. Her lips were slightly parted, and her face held no emotion, just blissful sleep. He had the urge to trace her features with his thumb but thought better of it, remembering that he had no idea how light or heavy of a sleeper she was.
Once again, Emrys found himself sending a silent, overly grateful prayer up to the gods. Last night, Saoirse had been a few packed petticoats away from fleeing into the night, and there was no telling if he would have found her if he waited longer than he did.
He had already planned to bargain for their marriage arrangement before he arrived. Kieran was an obstacle Emrys knew he’d have a hard time overcoming. When he witnessed Saoirse running out of the drawing room, he knew he had to offer up anything he could to appease her. A marriage in name only wasn’t ideal, but he could work with it.
The gods were proving their grace today. He had hoped for an appropriate opening at some point before the wedding to bargain again with her to stay. But Saoirse had bargained for it first. She wanted him to prove staying was worth the headache of marrying into a family that included Kieran. It didn’t seem like it would be hard. Emrys would woo her with his charm, and the gods would do the rest.
Saoirse sighed in her sleep, drawing Emrys’s attention. He had learned bits about her throughout the day, but there was still just as much—if not more—that he didn’t know. What were her favorite meals? What was the color she looked best in? What did those luscious lips taste like? His thoughts spiraled into territory that he shouldn’t entertain with her in the same bed, but it was hard to resist them with her so physically close. The heat of her body was as soothing as warm tea on a chilly fall morning, and he fought the regret of giving her the second bedroom in his suite.
Emrys’s arm was still around her waist, and he risked disturbing her as he gently stroked her spine. She made a small noise and stirred but didn’t wake. Her hand came up and pressed against his chest. Earlier when she had touched him, he just about dissolved under her palm. Now, he could have sworn the heat from her hand was going to burn a hole in his pyjama top, and it had nothing to do with her magic. Her body became heavier in his arms, and his eyes drooped as that magical sense of calm blanketed him. The last glimpse he saw was her peaceful, sleeping face before he joined her in sleep once more.
Gray morning light spilled in from the large square window next to the bed, and Saoirse slowly came aware of her surroundings. Shadows danced around the room and a metallic sound outside told her their train was once again moving. She wasn’t sure how far they had gone, but she hoped a porter would come through and announce what the next station would be.
Her attention was then caught by the feel of Emrys’s chest rising and falling with his breath under the palm of her hand. Her first instinct was to pull away, but her limbs refused to move. As much as she had relished having her own bed to spread out as wide as she could for many years, there was something about being held that felt even better.
Emrys stirred, and he inhaled deeply before his eyes cracked open. “Good morning, Princess.” His gravelly voice and sleepy grin made that spark zip down her spine again.
“Good morning,” she said quietly. “I must have tossed around in my sleep.”
He chuckled, and his thumb mindlessly traced circles on her back. “It’s alright. You didn’t elbow me in the throat or eye, so there’s no harm done.” The amused grin on his face seemed to be frozen there.
