Bride of the Shadow King

My words hang in the air between us like silvery bells.

Every sense in my body is fixated on the largeness of his hand pressed against my heart. So great, so strong. And he himself, so huge and powerful. He ought to terrify me. Yet I cannot deny the heat coursing through my veins, longing for his hand to move, to draw its warmth across my prickling skin.

I count my breaths. Waiting.

Finally, his hand does move. Slowly, he lifts his palm from my chest and places a finger under my chin, tilting my head up. Quickly I lower my eyelids, knowing full well that whatever other enchantments I wear, my eyes will give me away in an instant. Thus, I cannot see him as I stand there, my body quivering with tension, with anxiety, with eagerness, wondering what he will do.

He draws nearer. The warmth of his breath tickles my face. He smells of the qeiese, a sharp, sweet, smokey scent, more intoxicating than the drink itself. I breathe him in deeply.

Suddenly, his lips are on mine. And something unexpected happens inside me. This is not like the last time I was kissed. Then, the point of contact between me and my would-be lover opened up a channel of overwhelming emotion that struck me like a kick to the gut, leaving me sick and nauseated for days.

This couldn’t be more different. As our lips touch, I feel those doorways of spirit opening as everything inside his head and heart rushes to meet me. But there is no pain. Instead, a spark seems to burn straight to my core where it blooms in a flower of fire. I’m shocked by the sheer brilliance awakening my body to sensations I’ve never before known.

He pulls back a bare half inch. I still feel the shape of those full lips of his, hovering just above mine. I let out a little breath, uncertain what will happen next. I’m frightened—I’d be lying if I say I wasn’t. But I want to feel that spark again, to know how bright it can burn.

I rise on my toes, closing the space between our lips. He meets me, his mouth curving a little in a surprised smile as he kisses me back. The connection of our souls opens once more. He’s eager, hungry, but also oddly restrained. He’s concerned for me. I can feel it. He knows I’m afraid, and he doesn’t want to frighten me further.

Who would have thought in a moment like this, my needs, my comfort, would be uppermost in his mind? It would be pleasant to dwell in this space for a little while. To let him coddle me, keeping his passions carefully in check.

But I can’t. Restraint won’t get me what I need.

I part my lips. Just the barest of invitations, just to see what he will do. He responds at once. Lifting his finger from my chin, he cups my cheeks with both hands, tenderly framing my face. His lips are nimble and warm. Still restrained, though. I feel the hunger in him, burning bright in his spirit and communicating itself to me. But he’s still holding back.

I let my tongue explore, flicking softly across his upper lip, running along the edge of his teeth. The effect is instantaneous. His hands slide from my cheeks to twine his fingers in my hair, drawing me to him with unexpected roughness. Then his tongue moves with mine. A shock of sensation bolts through me like lighting, branching into every part of my body. Suddenly, I’m receiving emotions from him so powerful, they should overwhelm me with his hunger, his desire.

Wary of a sudden onset of pain, I pull back. He yanks his hands out of my hair and holds them out to either side, away from me, as though to show he means no harm. He cannot disguise his ragged breathing, however, nor can he hide the desire roiling in the little sliver of air between us. He wants to continue. I’ve driven him to the point of physical urgency. And yet, at the least resistance from me, he holds himself in check.

Gods on high, he is bound and determined to make me lead! But how can I? I’m so inexperienced, my every move uncertain. The throb of the stone in my palm echoes the throb of heat rushing through my body, pooling in my center where it mounts with increasing pressure. I can use that. Draw on those new and enticing vibrations, channel them.

I take a step toward him, careful to keep my eyelids lowered. His breath pants against my forehead as I study the hollow of his throat. “Will you touch me, my king?” I ask. It takes every ounce of courage I possess to get the words out.

Slowly he reaches for my face again, cupping my cheeks in his hands. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.”

He lowers his mouth, kisses me again. Another one of those achingly tender kisses. “And this? Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

He lets his lips play with mine in a series of short, sweet kisses. None deep, but teasing, provocative. His fingertips trace my cheek, my neck, run lightly down my spine. Every bone he touches sings out in response, like he’s playing an instrument. My back arches, my body naturally bending into his.

“Is this what you want, my queen?” he asks. The words tickle my ear.

“Yes!” I loop my arms around his neck. My right hand is still clenched around the stone, but my left hand wanders up, fingers twirling through locks of his hair. I can’t say if I draw his mouth back to mine or not, but suddenly he’s there. I sink into the depths of another, longer kiss. Though the room is dim and full of shadows, my head bursts with light, whirling with colors hitherto unimagined.

I become aware of his hands moving at my waist. One slides down over my hips, caressing my curves. The other slips up to my abdomen. His thumb traces below my breast, tentative, like a question. “Is this what you want?” he asks.

I whimper. He starts to pull away, uncertain how to interpret that sound. “Yes, yes!” I gasp hastily. I can’t let this moment end. Not now.

And the truth is, something has changed inside me. As each step of this slow dance progresses, I cease to be the substitute bride and become more and more myself. Present here in this secret, private moment. My needs are mine alone, my desires selfishly overshadowing the cause of duty and kingdom. I did not know I could feel this way until now, in this darkened room, with this man who is nearly a stranger. My husband.

Vor’s lips move from my mouth to my jaw to my ear, sparking small fires with each deft touch. His hand glides up my arm, raising gooseflesh. He toys with the strap of my gown. He seems to be fingering the jewels there, counting them one by one. He’s so patient, so slow, so careful. It’s maddening.

I roll my shoulder, maneuvering the strap until it falls. The gathered fabric of my bodice drops dangerously low. He chuckles softly. “Clever queen.” His hand, deprived of the strap to play with, warms the curve of my shoulder, my throat. His thumb dances along my collarbone.

Suddenly, he takes hold of my hips, pivots me to the side. I bleat with surprise as he backs me up a step. My knees hit the bed, but he continues pressing so that I fall onto the soft mattress. I prop onto my elbows, draw up one leg. The split of my skirt opens, revealing the whole of my leg to view.

His hand finds my bent knee, slips softly up my outer thigh. So warm and strong. It travels further up, under the gown to my hipbone. His touch is caressing but eager. I close my eyes, my head falling back. He takes this as an invitation, lunging forward to kiss my exposed throat before catching hold of my chin and pulling my lips down to be claimed by his. I open my mouth to his kiss, letting the touch, the connection fill me.

My right hand unclenches. My crystal drops, rolls away. Falls with a light clatter to the floor.

I grasp the back of his head with both hands, draw him closer to me. Vor’s kisses move in a line of fire down my neck to my collarbone. “Is this what you want?” he asks.

“Yes!”

With a sudden growl, he turns me around, pulling me up on my knees. His strong arm presses me against his muscled chest. He brushes my hair out of his way and begins to kiss the back of my neck and shoulder, eliciting new shocks of sensation throughout my body. I close my eyes. A shivering sigh escapes my lips. Who knew that skin could be made to sing like this? He slips the other strap from my shoulder and begins kissing that side as well. His hand reaches around me, caressing my throat, then down lower and lower, until his fingers trail across the bit of flimsy fabric only just clinging to the peaks of my breasts.

“You’re very quiet,” he murmurs even as he nips playfully at my earlobe. “Is there nothing you would say to me?” He kisses me again, just in that little patch of skin behind my ear. Another flower of fire blooms inside me. “We can talk, you know.” Another kiss, another blossoming. “I’m happy to make conversation with you until lusterling.” Another kiss. I moan softly and feel his smile against my shoulder. “You’ll find I’m an excellent conversationalist.”

I’m dizzy, drunk. Absolutely mad with desire. Turning sharply, I catch his lips in a kiss that’s almost vicious. Then I wrap my arms around his neck and shoulders and pull him down on top of me, opening my thighs so that he can fit between them. If I was in any doubt of his passion before, that doubt is now fled. His need is all too evident, both frightening and exhilarating. I twine my legs with his, only to realize he’s still wearing trousers, while my legs are bare. This strikes me as grossly unfair. I reach down, pulling at his belt.

Vor chuckles against my lips. “Patience, my bride. There’s time enough for that.”

“But I want you,” I answer, breathless, greedy. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

“Well, in that case . . .” He shrugs out of his loose shirt, tosses it carelessly to one side.

I stare. I cannot help it, cannot even remember to hide my telltale eyes. The dim lorst light gleams off his sculpted physique, catching the breadth of his shoulders, the chiseled contours of his torso. So strange and wonderous and beautiful. And mine. All mine.

I sit upright, my lips parted as though eager to take a sip. Almost of their own volition, my hands smooth across his chest, down his front, slowly exploring every muscled plain. Scars lace his body, some of which feel fresh, the healed wounds puckered and knotted. Somehow, they only add to his magnificence.

I can’t seem to help myself from leaning in and kissing that warm skin, just in that shining place over his heart where the dust from our ceremony gleams in a sacred sigil. One kiss, soft, tentative, but hungry. He groans. I glance up to find his eyes closed, a look of pleasure on his face. So I kiss him again, and again, searching for places that might provoke more of that same sound. I’m shy, though. Uncertain and hesitant.

He doesn’t seem to mind. His teeth flashing white in a smile, he catches one of my hands, kisses my palm. “Let me teach you,” he says, his voice husky and low. “Let me learn you.”

It’s easy to surrender to him. He lays me down once more, nuzzling into my neck. His body is heavy on top of me, and his scent overwhelms me until I can no longer tell where the physical sensations end and the pulsing power of our souls begin. It’s all one and glorious and new. I wrap my arms around his neck and shoulders, thirsty for his skin, drinking in the splendor of him through my palms.

His kisses venture lower, his lips and tongue featherlight and teasing. I moan, my longing for his touch intensifying with every passing moment. His fingers start to peel away what little of my bodice remains. I want to burst with yearning to be free of this flimsy garment. For my husband to take me, to taste me. To lay claim to every inch of me.

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ilsevel?”

Ilsevel.

A stabbing pain shoots through my heart. Sharp enough to make me gasp.

Ilsevel.

Not me.

This is not my wedding night.

These delights do not belong to me.

Every caress, every word, every blissful sensation . . .

Stolen.

False.

A sob wells up in my throat, threatening to choke me. The brilliance of light which had surrounded me dims, dies, falls into shadow. All that glory, all that beauty, gone in a flash.

But no! I cannot let this opportunity be lost. I’m here for a purpose. I have one job to do. I was wrong to lose sight of it, wrong to forget the real and terrible reason I’m here in this bed, right now. It’s not too late. I can salvage this. I can push down everything I’m feeling, turn myself into something numb and small that knows neither this pain nor this pleasure.

One duty. For crown and country.

“Ilsevel?” Vor says again, his lips still hot against my skin.

My throat swells so tight, for a moment I fear I won’t be able to answer. “Yes!” I manage, nearly choking on the word. “Yes!”

But I feel it. That jolt passing through his heart. His muscles stiffen, and the singing in his soul turns to a sudden clamor. Then stillness.

“You’re not happy,” he says. He drags in a breath, releases it in a gust. Once, twice, three times. His fingers tighten in the blankets on either side of me, his knuckles standing out white. His mouth still hovers just above my breast. For a moment, he lowers his head, kisses me softly. Tasting sweet temptation.

His lips pull back in a grimace. “I won’t take a weeping bride.” The words grind through his teeth like a growl. He wrenches upright, backs off the bed, and stands there, staring down at me. I lie exposed and small before him, my mouth open, unable to form words. His ragged breathing fills my ears as his fists clench and unclench. Then with an angry, “Gods!” he covers his face and starts toward the door.

I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything.

“No! Wait!” I sit up hastily, pulling the straps of my gown back onto my shoulders as I scramble off the bed, nearly falling in my haste. I reach out, catch his arm, draw him back to me. “Please, Vor, I didn’t mean—”

The moment I touch him, I realize my mistake. In that unguarded moment, I forgot to disguise my voice. I spoke as myself.

Vor whirls on me. I’m not fast enough. I don’t look away in time. He meets my eyes, locks onto my gaze so hard I cannot retreat. I watch his expression in the dim crystal glow transform from shock to horror. To rage.

“Who are you?” he snarls.