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She’d called him Armiger; not Lord or Lady, but a neutral title he felt was more in keeping with who he was. She hadn’t mocked him like so many others had. The bar for empathy was on the ground as far as the nobility was concerned, but when you were used to eating dirt, being thrown a bone felt like kindness.
He did not want to meet with the Duchess of Astonbury. There were things that had made a more lasting impression on him than she had. It was not her beautiful face or the way her mouth kissed his or how her slender hands had felt on him that recalled her to his memory, but the four hundred and ninety-seven tiles on her bedroom ceiling. They were the four hundred and ninety-seven reasons he’d been able to control his panic that first time, focusing on them instead of the weight of her on his body, pretending that she was gasping, moving, doing all of that to someone who was not him. Time had
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Twice the bounties and none of the credit. Story of his life.
Remy had little impetus to be grateful. The women were using him just as vindictively as he was using them.
He spent the rest of the night occupied in the Duchess of Astonbury’s library instead, reading and sulking at equal intervals. He then took out some of his frustrations on Giselle after he’d been summoned to her bedchambers, much to the woman’s delight. Only afterward, satiated and breathless in bed beside him, did she finally provide the information he’d been waiting for.
Yes, I’d talked to the Fourth Court vampiress after leaving the ball. Yes, I’d tupped the duchess after that. No, I didn’t kill the duke because I wanted her for myself.
“Abuse? But she wasn’t—” And here, Remy took another pause. “It wasn’t—it’s not—” “How old were you when the affair started, Remy?” “I—” He’d treated it as a simple matter of exchanging favors, like bearing equal responsibility had meant he’d never been taken advantage of. But that was his excuse now, as a twenty-three-year-old who’d grown cynical over the years. Xiaodan was treating him like he was still the scared fifteen-year-old he’d been when the affair had started. And maybe that was the point. “Young,” he finally said. “Perhaps it was younger than I should have—” “Younger than she
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“You have a very good fiancé, Xiaodan,” the queen said approvingly. “Were he human and unclaimed, I would have married him off to one of my daughters by now.” “Very fortunate, then, that he is neither of those,” Xiaodan responded glibly. The queen’s wandering eyes rested on Remy. “I’m sure there are others who have served Aluria nobly who would be just as qualified for such an honor.” “I’m sure you will find many of those even beyond this throne room.” Xiaodan’s reply was much more acidic in tone this time, but Queen Ophelia only laughed, looking oddly pleased with herself.
“I thought you didn’t want me along,” Remy muttered. “I never said that I didn’t want you.”
“I’ll go where you both go,” he found himself saying, feeling strangely at peace with the words.
Outside the carriage, scenery fled past, far too swiftly to appreciate whatever view they might have offered, because holy hell of a fucking Light, these helhests were fast.
It wasn’t fair for them both to be this attractive, he thought sourly; one was his ideal woman if she wasn’t spoken for, the other a Lightdamned shitpouch even if he was the best-looking man Remy had ever seen.
You were pointed out to me once before—you were quite young then, perhaps only thirteen summers. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. No one should have had to. It wasn’t right of your father, and I was glad to hear of you flourishing even after everything he brought down on you.” “I didn’t realize people outside of the capital knew about it.” Remy was uncomfortably aware of the two pairs of eyes now trained on his back. Xiaodan would certainly be curious. And Malekh—he never really knew what Malekh thought.
The Sixth Court appeals to those seeking an immortality of mind rather than just of the body, through meditation and pacifism. The Seventh Court has a military bent, while the Eighth seeks to bring back the allure and glitter of the older courts.” Xiaodan leaned back against her seat. “Zidan’s court accepts all who ask, offers them sanctuary. The others do not approve. They are equally as contemptuous that he would saddle himself with a young vampiress who could bring out the sun and endanger his own existence, much less everyone else’s.” “They call my clan ‘the Court of Wanderers, the
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The beautiful girl in Malekh’s arms trembled, her lips leaving his neck briefly. “Yes,” she groaned, eager and filled with need. “Yes. I want him, too.”
Oversexed, he thought. I’ve been bloody oversexed for so long that anyone I find even remotely attractive gets me off quick. Fuck Giselle. No. That’s what started this whole damn mess in the first place.
“Neither Xiaodan nor I had intentions of pursuing anyone else while we remain committed to each other. She has always been honest with me, and I with her. And when we both realized the hunter she’d been enchanted with in Elouve was the same one I’d fought…”
“Fuck you,” Remy said. “Perhaps one day, Pendergast. Now, shut up and strike me.”
“Are you all right, Xiaodan?” Her head snapped up. “No! I mean, yes. If Zidan bothers you again, please let me know immediately. I’ll speak to him.” The idea of looking weak to Malekh by having Xiaodan talk to him in Remy’s stead was unforgivable. “There’s no need for you to intervene. He can do whatever the hell he wants. I can take it.” “Oh,” Xiaodan said, somewhat faintly. “Oh.”
“You are an infuriating human who constantly tries my patience,” Malekh said, “but I’ve never pretended.” And slowly, without breaking eye contact, the man pressed his fingers against the small wound, tongue briefly flicking out, and Remy’s breaths spilled out of him in soft, jittery waves.
Her gaze hardened. “He brainwashed them into thinking he cared. It’s a… a twatty thing to do.” “Xiaodan,” Remy said wearily, “that is not how you use that word.”
“Why do you keep turning someone else’s compassion into a favor that you owe, instead of accepting that you are worthy of it?”
She sank down hard on him with no warning, sheathing him to the hilt inside of her. He could not stifle the loud, desperate groan he made at the searing fire, the gripping tightness of her.
“Forgive him,” Xiaodan said. “He’s been looking after Mother since he arrived. He’s only been kindred for five years, and immaturity hasn’t quite left him yet.” “Five years? I thought he was Malekh’s younger brother.” “Adopted younger brother,” Malekh said. “I killed all my biological siblings some hundreds of years ago.” “Right. As one does.”
Remy stared at them, then back at Xiaodan. “Did I bloody win?” he asked again.
“Please,” he could hear himself begging. “Please, please…” He heard whispers; Xiaodan’s tormented, aching voice. “We can’t leave him like this.”
“I’m not going up there on your back,” Remy said stubbornly. “And you can’t bloody make me.” “FUCKING HELL,” Remy said not five minutes later, clinging on to Malekh’s back for dear life.
“Where are you going?” Remy took a deep breath and focused on the palace above them, majestic against the waterfall behind it. A rainbow arched its way over its many roofs, disappearing into some clouds. “Probably to try and get laid.” Naji didn’t protest, merely looked him over and sniffed, almost approvingly despite his next words. “Zidan has good taste in women,” he said, “but not much else. His clothes look nice enough on you, though.”
“AHH,” REMY panted into the pillows much, much later. “Aaaah, fuck. Ah, shit.”
Another hard hit sent Remy stumbling, though this time he didn’t fall. He wiped at his mouth, noted that there wasn’t any blood on his sleeve this time, and grinned. “Again,” he said, and charged. “AGAIN,” REMY groaned much later, his hands making fists against the ground, bringing up soil. “Patience,” Malekh whispered,
“Again,” he still managed to say. “Again, a—” “AGAIN,” REMY moaned, gripping at Xiaodan’s hair as she knelt before him. She hummed, and he was ready to burst from that alone, the worry that he would spend in her mouth too soon the only thing reining him in.
“I love your mouth. Ahhh, fuck, again—” “AGAIN,” XIAODAN squealed, her hands wrapped around his neck as he plunged furiously into her, slamming them both against the wall. Her legs locked around him, his strength the only thing holding her up. The vampire heiress was just as ornery as her fiancé in that outdoor sex, too, turned her on.
I love her, Remy thought, surprised by the realization, insignificant amid everything else. Her and Malekh. “Don’t stop,” Xiaodan pleaded against his ear, as he resumed his quick, punishing, hard thrusts. “Again—” “AGAIN,” MALEKH said, and Remy winced at the telltale prick of the syringe against his skin, the vampire slowly drawing more blood. The noble had probably taken more out of him than any other undead creatures combined had ever managed, and Remy was willingly letting him do it.
“AGAIN,” REMY rasped, his hands filled with Xiaodan. “You’re greedy, Pendergast,”
Did he send you here to spy on us? Or did Astonbury use the rivalry with your father as a cover, order you to earn our trust? Is this all a plan to weaken Aluria long enough to seize power from Ophelia? You’ve fucked people for information before, so what makes this any different—”
“And when were you planning on telling me this?” Elke’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is it Lady Song? Or… Lord Malekh?” Remy cleared his throat, pushed the horses to go faster so he could pretend to ignore Elke’s gleeful shout. “You tupped them both? Remington Adrian Pendergast, you sly dog!”
“Eat shit, you foddle-swapped coxcomb,” she said before the sun’s fury blasted from her fingers.
Honfa sidled close to Remy. “Cào nĭ mā,” he said helpfully. “Not căonímă. That’s an alpaca.” “Xiaodan’s frustration with certain aspects of the Alurian language is clearer to me now,” Remy said.
XIAODAN’S HANDS on his hips. Soft. Caressing. Malekh’s laid over hers on him. Firm. Insistent. Both keeping him in place between them, where he belonged. “Look at him. Oh, Zidan, look at how exquisitely he takes us both.” Caught in the throes of them, Remy could not have said, in that moment, what the hell Aluria even was.
“Did you really take Remy’s maidenhead, milord?” Elke asked impishly. “He’s been sore all morning.” “Elke!” “I’m not comfortable with discussing such intimate matters with acquaintances,” Lord Malekh said, to Remy’s relief, but then murdered his hopes with, “but as you are good friends with him and considerate of his health—it was Xiaodan who did the honors, some weeks ago.” “I hate you all,” Remy muttered, giving up and climbing on his helhest.
Clothes rustled as she slipped out of hers; bedcovers shifted.
“No! No! Please, no!” Her hair had fallen down from its usual intricate knots, covering her face, but Remy recognized Giselle Delacroix’s dainty feet, dangling motionlessly, and the scarlet dressing gown she was fond of wearing when she rose from bed. Beside her was Elke, her long hair flowing and her face pale as she hung lifeless.
Elke’s alive, he thought dumbly. He was alive.
I am the Night Empress, the being said, fangs inches away from the old man’s neck, and I will destroy you. “I don’t think so,” Xiaodan said. She was an incandescent ball of sun, shining so brightly that her face was nearly obscured by the light. Her hands were raised, pointed at the Night Empress. “Eat shit, you scum-sucking cuntrabbit!” she yelled, and fired.
He opened the box, peeled away the delicate wrapping paper to reveal its contents. Twin sapphire eggs, he saw, nestled underneath a perfectly carved golden— Despite himself, or perhaps because of it, Remy began to laugh.
The only true power within Elouve, it seemed, lay with old men who should long ago have been relegated to obscurity. Change only occurred when they allowed it, according to what they considered proper, never for those most affected by it.
