pulling hard. She shuddered and narrowed her eyes at me. “Why in the name of all the gods do you find it so perversely arousing to discuss politics while making love?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “But you want me inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Gods, yes!”
It had been this way between us since the beginning, and neither of us could say why. The desire between us was like an oil-soaked rag, ready to ignite at a single spark. And yet it was more than that, too. We reflected one another, the bright mirror and the dark. Sidonie sat back on her heels, undoing the laces of my breeches. I pushed her skirts up around her hips, tugged her underdrawers down. She took my throbbing phallus in hand, fit me to her slick opening. I pushed.
We fit.
She sank onto me, sighing. I filled her.
“So it was a good talk,” I said.
“Yes.” Sidonie rocked atop me, her eyelids flickering as I dug my fingernails into her buttocks. “I think . . . I think mayhap the truth of it is she was waiting to see if you would tell me on your own. About your mother and the Unseen Guild.”
I jerked my hips upward. “And I did.”
“You did,” she agreed. “Eventually.”
“You were the one who didn’t want to face the cost of winning your mother’s blessing until we had to,” I reminded her.
“True.” Her pace quickened. “I need to not talk for a moment.”
A moment; many moments. I watched her face transformed with pleasure, alight and incandescent. It never failed to shock and thrill me, how utterly and thoroughly my cool, collected cousin was willing to surrender to complete abandonment. We hadn’t even begun to test the limits of it. I watched her ride me to climax, again and again, waiting a long time to join her.
“Mmm.” Sidonie collapsed on my chest. “Also a good talk.”
I ran a few strands of her hair through my fingers, watching her blurred, black gaze sharpen, coming back from wherever pleasure took her. “Do you suppose it will always be like this between us?”
Her lips curved. “Always?”
I nodded. “Always and always.”
Sidonie kissed me. “Gods, I hope so.”
Five
T he months that followed were among the best of my life.
They weren’t perfect; Elua knows, nothing ever is. Not in my life, anyway. But this came close.
I’d won the respite I’d prayed for. The Queen had made her pronouncement; the gauntlet had been cast. I had countered. My letter to Hyacinthe was dispatched by courier; the Master of the Straits made a prompt reply. There was a debt of honor between us, he wrote. I had played a crucial part in Phèdre’s quest to find the Name of God and free him from his curse. I had ventured into the depths of distant Vralia to avenge his wife’s niece. Of course he would search for Melisande in his sea-mirror.
Word was leaked. The adepts of the Night Court were more than happy to comply. Gossip whispered in the bedchambers of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers made its way to the Palace Court and out into Terre d’Ange. The Master of the Straits himself was aiding my quest.
For now the realm was content to watch and wait.
And I was content to be with Sidonie.
We spent the better portion of our days apart. After their long talk, Ysandre didn’t exactly relent, but she thawed considerably. Sidonie had duties, many of them tiresome. Whenever Ysandre was otherwise committed, she stood in her mother’s stead, hearing suits brought by foreign dignitaries, the quarrels of members of the noble Houses, the complaints of the citizenry.
She had a good head for it. Although she was young—only nineteen, a year past gaining her majority—Sidonie had spent her entire life learning statecraft. She had an acute memory and the ability to recall in a heartbeat the most obscure detail of any legal or historical precedent she’d ever read—and she had read extensively. Supplicants thinking they stood a better chance of swaying the Queen’s young, untried heir
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “But you want me inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Gods, yes!”
It had been this way between us since the beginning, and neither of us could say why. The desire between us was like an oil-soaked rag, ready to ignite at a single spark. And yet it was more than that, too. We reflected one another, the bright mirror and the dark. Sidonie sat back on her heels, undoing the laces of my breeches. I pushed her skirts up around her hips, tugged her underdrawers down. She took my throbbing phallus in hand, fit me to her slick opening. I pushed.
We fit.
She sank onto me, sighing. I filled her.
“So it was a good talk,” I said.
“Yes.” Sidonie rocked atop me, her eyelids flickering as I dug my fingernails into her buttocks. “I think . . . I think mayhap the truth of it is she was waiting to see if you would tell me on your own. About your mother and the Unseen Guild.”
I jerked my hips upward. “And I did.”
“You did,” she agreed. “Eventually.”
“You were the one who didn’t want to face the cost of winning your mother’s blessing until we had to,” I reminded her.
“True.” Her pace quickened. “I need to not talk for a moment.”
A moment; many moments. I watched her face transformed with pleasure, alight and incandescent. It never failed to shock and thrill me, how utterly and thoroughly my cool, collected cousin was willing to surrender to complete abandonment. We hadn’t even begun to test the limits of it. I watched her ride me to climax, again and again, waiting a long time to join her.
“Mmm.” Sidonie collapsed on my chest. “Also a good talk.”
I ran a few strands of her hair through my fingers, watching her blurred, black gaze sharpen, coming back from wherever pleasure took her. “Do you suppose it will always be like this between us?”
Her lips curved. “Always?”
I nodded. “Always and always.”
Sidonie kissed me. “Gods, I hope so.”
Five
T he months that followed were among the best of my life.
They weren’t perfect; Elua knows, nothing ever is. Not in my life, anyway. But this came close.
I’d won the respite I’d prayed for. The Queen had made her pronouncement; the gauntlet had been cast. I had countered. My letter to Hyacinthe was dispatched by courier; the Master of the Straits made a prompt reply. There was a debt of honor between us, he wrote. I had played a crucial part in Phèdre’s quest to find the Name of God and free him from his curse. I had ventured into the depths of distant Vralia to avenge his wife’s niece. Of course he would search for Melisande in his sea-mirror.
Word was leaked. The adepts of the Night Court were more than happy to comply. Gossip whispered in the bedchambers of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers made its way to the Palace Court and out into Terre d’Ange. The Master of the Straits himself was aiding my quest.
For now the realm was content to watch and wait.
And I was content to be with Sidonie.
We spent the better portion of our days apart. After their long talk, Ysandre didn’t exactly relent, but she thawed considerably. Sidonie had duties, many of them tiresome. Whenever Ysandre was otherwise committed, she stood in her mother’s stead, hearing suits brought by foreign dignitaries, the quarrels of members of the noble Houses, the complaints of the citizenry.
She had a good head for it. Although she was young—only nineteen, a year past gaining her majority—Sidonie had spent her entire life learning statecraft. She had an acute memory and the ability to recall in a heartbeat the most obscure detail of any legal or historical precedent she’d ever read—and she had read extensively. Supplicants thinking they stood a better chance of swaying the Queen’s young, untried heir
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