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I leaned over and licked down his shaft, and gods, his cry of surrender made the emptiness between my thighs ache with need. How would I ever get enough of this? They’d have to pause their damn war. The Mother would have to find something else to do instead of slaughtering innocent islands of people. I’d be too busy fucking her son for the rest of the year to make time for killing her – too busy making up for a hundred and thirty years of torturous silence.
Weren’t they supposed to … actually apologise? Or was this enough, a hard-won mutual declaration of intent, and had they quietly reached the unspoken agreement that there was no need to push themselves through the embarrassing work of actually speaking the apologies? Were they just planning to save each other’s lives a handful of times, get drunk together once or twice, and consider that enough of a truce? Perhaps that was simply the way all emotionally constipated warriors understood each other, I decided
‘Listen to me. No, I don’t have the faintest idea of where I want to end up in life. Yes, in the past, I spent most of my days being violently unhappy, and yes, I have wondered at times if it was even worth going on. But I’m happier now than I’ve ever been, do you understand? Every morning that I wake up with you in my arms, you change the world all over again, and I want more of that – more of everything you make me see and feel. So I’m not going anywhere – not as long as you’re with me. Do I need to make that any clearer?’
A deafening cheer rose from the crowd the moment we emerged – a cheer, for the gods’ sakes, as if we were the heroes in some triumphant story of human perseverance rather than two generations of fae whores bringing death and destruction.
‘Perhaps I should follow Edored’s advice after all and get mind-numbingly drunk first,’ I said sourly. ‘Might do wonders for my creativity.’ ‘Alternatively,’ he said, face straight, ‘you might wake up from your mead stupor and find you named your sword Creon’s Glorious Biceps, which I would of course approve of, but which would probably not be very happily received by certain alves in particular.’ I huffed a laugh, trailing my eyes down over his torso. ‘Tared would be lucky if your biceps were the first body part I’d think of.’
He shrugged. ‘I once decided in the span of roughly three seconds I was going to drag you home with me, if you recall. I’m not going to be the one to object here.’ Right. That dazzlingly quick fae mind again. ‘A bout of improvised kidnapping that could admittedly have turned out worse,’ I said, aiming for lightness and reaching none of it through the landslides of my thoughts. ‘Best decision of my life,’ he corrected softly.
It was a rather terrible hug. But he’d once been a rather terrible father, too, and even in this dumbfounded state, his arms were strong in a promising, reassuring sort of way; I dared to believe we’d get better at it with a little practice.
Gods have mercy – I should have seen it coming, and yet there was no keeping my voice down at that image, the grand and serene Cobalt Court restored in all its glory, proudly displaying a ten-foot glass phallus straight above its entrance. ‘We are not—’ ‘Think of what Agenor would say, though,’ he interrupted, with a sideways glance suggesting that was a perfectly reasonable argument. ‘Reminding me of my father is not how you convince me to immortalise your cock in our windows, Creon!’
