Red lands and black flam.., p.40
Red Lands and Black Flames, page 40
“Thank you.” Marai swept away her tears with the back of her hand.
Ruenen nodded, cleared his throat, then strummed back and forth, setting his face into a cocky smirk. Marai laughed, grateful for the distraction from her sorrow. He sang “Road to the Red Lands” with an ironic swagger, then “The Lady Butcher,” making Marai narrow her eyes, for show. She’d long since stopped caring about the song depicting her. Now, she genuinely enjoyed its epic and boisterous tune. The mysterious mercenary he sang of was no longer her identity. The Lady Butcher had indeed become a mere legend.
“There’s no reason why you cannot perform regularly for your court,” Marai said as Ruenen took a pause to swig his wine. “You’ll be known as the Bard King. All royalty will want to visit, then. Meetings will boast politics and music.”
Ruenen rolled his eyes. “If I find the time. I’d love to have an hour to play every day.”
“You need to make time for the things you love, Ruen. That’s what will make this life sustainable.”
“Since when did you become so wise, Sassafras?” Ruenen asked, and Marai snorted, making him laugh. “I love when you snort like that. Like an angry boar. It’s endearing.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
It was so easy to be around him. To sit on the rug in front of the hearth, laughing and playing. Marai ate the moment up like a tart grape, bursting with brightness in her heart. She savored the affection in his gaze, the sincerity in his voice, the soothing nature of his presence.
“Will you come tomorrow? To the coronation?” he asked while plucking out another song. Marai remembered Ruenen playing this song before. The ballad didn’t have words, but it sounded melancholy, wistful, and romantic.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s a big day—ceremony, then a feast with dancing . . . I don’t want to wear you out.”
Before Ruenen, Marai wouldn’t have dared to attend such an opulent, crowded event. Yet sitting there on the rug in her white nightgown, hair billowing down her back, she didn’t feel the same. Certainly not at all like the woman who had recently turned hundreds of men to dust, and slit so many throats . . .
“I’m fine. A little tired, but growing stronger every minute. I’ll be there,” she said. Marai had to be there. For him.
The smile that Ruenen gave her then took her breath away. It was so achingly beautiful and raw and real that Marai knew. She knew that even though she was terrified, there was no place else she’d rather be. No one else she’d rather open her heart to and reveal all those dark, twisted, shameful things. Because he saw those parts of her and embraced them. Cherished them. Because he also saw the good in her, too. Good that no one else before him had dared to search for.
Marai took another sip of wine. Better that than crawl into his lap and lick the corners of that dimpled smile, which is what she wanted to do. “What about your wounds? Have they healed?” She’d noticed the slight winces he made whenever he moved too jerkily.
“Getting there. Thora healed me well enough on the field, but she emptied of magic before she could finish. I’ve been letting the rest of the wound heal on its own. I can manage the pain, but I keep making it worse when I fight off the Tacornians.”
Always sacrificing.
The food and wine had been consumed. There were no other distractions. It was just them, staring at each other in the twilight blue of night.
The room suddenly grew airless and close. Marai couldn’t find her breath. She stood and padded to the open window. Shining beams of silver light illuminated her face as she stared up at the full moon. The stars were out in full, dotting the inky blackness like burning diamonds, making her feel small and one, both at once.
“If I could gaze upon you for the rest of my life, that would be a life well-lived,” came Ruenen’s breathy voice from the fireplace.
Marai glanced back to see him watching her, eyes shimmering pools of starlight.
A blush seared her face as Ruenen stood and walked to her. With aching tenderness, he swept aside her hair. His gentle thumb stroked her cheek, sending an electric tingle across her skin. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. An old fear bubbled up inside, shouting that she was unworthy of this affection, of this love. But once his lips brushed against hers, the voice was silenced. Her arms became vines as they wrapped around his neck. Up on her tiptoes, she kissed him so freely she thought she might fall into everlasting oblivion from the joy of it.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered against her lips, hands stalling on her hips.
She reassured him by kissing him again.
Ruenen’s fingers untied the string at the top of her nightgown. He pushed the sleeves down to her forearms, exposing her pale sternum, razor-edged collarbones, and the slight swell of her breasts.
Marai pulled him away from the window and towards the bed. He planted soft kisses on her shoulders, and down her back to the sharp wings of bone. Marai let out a gasp before clamping her lips on his neck.
Her fingers did what they’d been aching to do for weeks. They untucked his tunic and inched up the muscle beneath. Ruenen shivered against the calloused pads of her fingers as they traced his abdominals and pectorals, mapping out the landscape of his body. He yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it on the ground. Marai’s eyes dipped to the lean, defined torso, and the jagged red scar on his side.
Immediately, horror filled her to see the wound that nearly took his life up close. Her fingers hovered over it. She was afraid she might hurt him.
“I’m alright,” he said against her ear. “You could never hurt me.”
Then he pulled Marai’s nightgown down farther, revealing her breasts, the smooth planes of her stomach. The nightgown fell to the floor in a pool around Marai’s feet. She stood, wholly exposed to him, vulnerable.
“Lirr’s bones,” he uttered, shaking his head, gazing at her as if he could hardly believe she was real. He caressed a hand down the length of her side, taking in her curves and edges. All the things she tried to hide.
She kissed him again, needy and desperate for the taste of him.
Ruenen gently pressed her backwards until her legs hit the mattress. Without a second thought, Marai lifted her hips onto the bed and lay back. Ruenen climbed over her, planting kisses along the way, starting at her stomach and working up to her mouth.
I could die from this. Her heart could give out right now and Marai wouldn’t care, so long as he kept touching her in this reverent way.
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his trousers, but soon she guided them down over his hips and Ruenen quickly stepped out of them.
The sight of him, all lean, smooth muscle. He placed a hand on either side of her, steadying himself. She couldn’t stop her body’s reaction to him. She was lightning waiting to strike. Marai knew that the moment he was inside her, she would explode with power and light.
Ruenen hesitated, watching her expression for any sign of discomfort. He still relived the moment in the alley when she’d run from his touch.
Not this time.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered, she begged.
Ruenen didn’t hesitate again.
One thrust and Marai shouted with pleasure. He filled her so perfectly; she’d never known this kind of intimacy could feel so good.
Slowly, his hips undulated and circled, making Marai writhe with pleasure beneath him. Ruenen was giving. He studied her reactions, noticed what she responded to, worshiped her with kisses and caresses in places that made her moan and gasp.
Her body was on fire, heart thundering. White and gold and starlight and sunlight and crashing waves . . .
The world exploded around her in a cosmic display of colors and stars. The sound that escaped her throat was one she’d never made before—guttural ecstasy and joy.
Ruenen called out her name.
And Marai swore then that she’d never heard a more heavenly sound than her name upon his lips.
Chapter 39
Marai
A symphony of birds sung in the birch tree outside the window.
Golden sunbeams splayed across white sheets.
Strong arms tugged her closer with a groan-like sigh. He tossed a leg over her. His stubbly chin burrowed into the crook of her neck.
I don’t want this to end.
“You’re not going to like this, but I have to go,” Ruenen whispered.
Marai’s heart sunk, but she knew why he needed to leave. His coronation was in a few hours. Already, Marai heard servants dashing back and forth outside in the hallway. They were probably searching for him . . .
What would happen if they were discovered? Kings often did whatever they wanted with women, but Marai was different. This whole situation was different. Marai could already hear the scolding from Holfast, Fenir, and Vorae: the king shouldn’t dally with a faerie.
Ruenen groaned as he turned over onto his back. Marai felt immediately chilled from the absence of his body.
“I need coffee,” he said with a rasp, scrubbing a hand across his jaw.
They hadn’t gotten much sleep, spending hours exploring each other. It had been a night Marai would never forget. She traced a finger across his lips. Ruenen closed his eyes at the touch. When he opened them again, he tucked her wild hair behind her ear, as Marai so often watched Raife do with Thora.
“I’m in love with you, you know,” he whispered. “I have been since the moment you told me your name. I think even before that, when I saw you single-handedly take down those thieves in Grelta.”
Ruenen’s confession swirled around in the chambers of her heart. The words burst within her, warm and rosy and bright; Marai was surprised she wasn’t glowing.
Those words shattered the last hurdle between this new Marai and the Lady Butcher. She’d said those words before to Slate, and they’d been a lie, something forced upon her.
“You don’t have to say anything,” continued Ruenen, “but I wanted you to know—”
“I do, too,” Marai blurted, then felt her cheeks flush. “Love you, that is.”
Ruenen beamed as if he’d eaten the sun. His lips met hers. Marai was where she always wanted to be—home in his arms. Lost and found again in his kiss.
The birds outside the window chirped with more persistence. Ruenen groaned.
“Time’s up, I’m afraid,” he said with a pout.
Ruenen clamored out of bed with all the grace of a toddler, and Marai studied his glorious form in the morning sun. The red scar was more prominent in daylight. A symbol of his bravery. A symbol of his sacrifice. She hoped it never faded, like the sunburst mark on his wrist.
As he bent over to fetch his trousers, she admired the taut muscles in his rear and thighs.
“Careful, Lady Marai. You’re drooling,” Ruenen said, winking. She threw a pillow at him. He caught it with an expression of mock alarm. “Pardon me, but I think it’s bad form to abuse the king on his coronation day.” He then released a melodic laugh as Marai made a face.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Oh, I’ll have something sent up for you,” Ruenen replied lightly with an air of playfulness that made Marai instantly suspicious. “As long as you leave the black cloak behind for the day.” Fully dressed, Ruenen leaned across the bed and smacked her lips with an unabashed kiss. “Duty calls.”
Marai trailed her fingers once more through his soft hair. Ruenen closed his eyes, leaning into her hand, and shivered a sigh. Then, he strode with peacock swagger from the room.
Insufferable, she thought with a laugh, remaining wrapped within the warm sheets that smelled of Ruenen.
Not long after his exit, Harmona appeared. Horrified, Marai realized she was completely naked underneath the sheets—her nightgown still on the floor. If Harmona noticed, she didn’t show any sign. Instead, she placed a bowl of porridge on the table and scampered into the hallway. Marai quickly stepped into her nightgown and tied the string at the top. She wolfed down her porridge as Harmona came back into the room with another servant carrying green fabric in her arms.
The servant draped a dress across the bed, and as Marai approached, she fought back a gasp.
The bodice was rich forest green velvet that plunged to a low v, trimmed with braided gold and aureate jewels. The back was bare, save for gold necklace-like strands that hung from one side to the other. On each shoulder, green gauzy fabric floated down like a cape, but didn’t cover the low open back. The dress had no sleeves, save for a sliver. The green silk skirt hugged a body’s curves, ending in a long train smattered with gold ivy vines.
It was a gown made for presentation, for highlighting the beauty of a woman’s figure. It was the most arresting, most beautiful dress Marai had ever seen.
How could she wear this? It didn’t suit her. The dress would show off too much skin. It was too eye-catching. Too rich. Marai had hoped to blend in with the crowd during the celebrations, another face . . . this gown wouldn’t allow for that.
“Where did this come from?” she asked Harmona, fingers gliding over the fine fabric.
“His Grace had it altered for you days ago. It belonged to the late Queen Larissa.”
Marai’s hand stilled. This was a queen’s gown?
Before she’d even recovered, Ruenen had picked this gown for her specifically for his coronation. If Marai wasn’t already overcome with love for him, she would’ve fallen for him right then and there.
I should at least try it on. It probably won’t fit, anyways . . .
Harmona helped Marai into the delicate, complex dress. If Marai pulled or twisted the wrong way, one of the gold chains could snap. Then Harmona sat her on the stool at the vanity, and wove green and gold ribbon through Marai’s hair in an elegant updo which accentuated the back of the dress. Harmona topped off the hairstyle with a gold jeweled headpiece that matched the chains on the gown, obviously also from Queen Larissa’s personal effects.
Without asking, Harmona quickly dabbed rouge upon Marai’s cheeks. She swiped red paint across her lips and lined Marai’s eyes lightly with kohl. Lastly, Harmona handed Marai two gold-chained pieces that slid onto Marai’s hands like gloves. They latched at the wrists and draped across the top of her hands.
“Why go through all this trouble?” Marai asked, staring at the stranger in the mirror.
Who was this woman? She looked powerful. Feminine. Royal. A part deep inside of Marai delighted in gazing upon this woman. She was so different from the surly face she usually saw in the mirror. For once, Marai saw her human mother, and she didn’t shy away from the reflection. But this woman was a stronger version, not so delicate and docile. This woman was flame and magic. Marai’s body changed—she held her head higher, shoulders back, in a regal stance.
I suppose I am Queen of the Fae . . . for the first time, Marai felt the rightness in knowing her ancestry.
“His Grace and Lord Holfast agreed that you must dress your best. There are noblemen from all across Astye here, and you are an honored guest.” Harmona said all this to the floor, as usual.
“Thank you, Harmona.”
For the first time, Harmona looked up and met Marai’s eyes. There was still fear shining in them, but the maid gave a weak nod in return, a small tight-lipped smile. Perhaps Marai might win her over yet.
“It’s time, my lady.”
Marai was aware of every single pair of eyes that tracked her.
She stood at the doorway to the vast hall of the monastery, a place in the castle she’d yet to explore. It was a sparse room, as most monasteries were. No gilded colors in sight. No jewels. Enormous windows lined the walls. Vaulted ceilings displayed paintings of Lirr and Laimoen. Hundreds of candles covered the front of the hall on wrought-iron pillars and stands. The only decorations were the large, vivid bouquets of native flowers lining the aisle, and the Nevandian sunburst banners and flags hanging from the walls.
Hundreds of people lined the rows within. Thousands more stood outside in the courtyard behind her, and in the Kellesar streets. Through the open archways, Marai spotted children tossing flower petals into the air, coating the cobblestones in pink, purple, and yellow. Women jingled belled bracelets to drive away evil spirits. Music floated on the breeze. People danced in the streets. A city alive with celebration.
Heads followed Marai as she ventured down the green carpeted aisle. Representatives from most of the Nine Kingdoms were there: dark skinned nobles from the Southern countries of Ain and Henig, shorter tanned diplomats from Ehle and Beniel in the West. Marai spotted fashionable men and women from the Empire of Syoto. Princess Eriu, Rhia’s sister and the singular representative of Varana, stood demurely near the front of the hall with the servant who’d rescued her.
Then there was Nieve with her retinue, taking up the majority of the front right side of the hall. The Northern Queen was the most prominent person in the room. If people weren’t staring at Marai, they were gawking at Nieve, who preened at the attention. She shot Marai a slow, arrogant smile, one of the few in the room to actually hold her gaze.
Heads leaned together to whisper, not too quietly, about the faerie who had single-handedly destroyed a third of the Tacornian army. Many regarded her with genuine terror as she passed. Others grimaced and scowled. Others avoided eye contact at all costs. Marai tried to ignore them, and kept her focus centered.
Halfway up the aisle, Thora waved to Marai from the end of a row. She wore a nice, simple blue dress; nothing near as flashy as Marai, but clearly new for the occasion. Her hair had been styled prettily atop her head with sprigs of heather and gorse. Tarik and the other two surviving werewolves, Brass and Yovel, stood next to her in the row. Hazel-eyed Yovel lost his arm in the battle.
“Good to see you, Lady Marai,” Tarik said.
“I’m glad to see you all well.” A heaviness settled within her. Three of Tarik’s compatriots had not survived. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
