King of Battle and Blood (Adrian X Isolde #1)(5)

Except for tonight.

Tonight, the gates would open to allow the Blood King and his people within our walls. It would be the first time since they were built that the gates would remain open.

I approached the one for diplomats. Usually, I liked to enter through the trade gate and meander through the streets, visiting my favorite vendors for flowers and meat pies, but since my encounter in the wood, I needed to change and time to myself.

“Princess,” one of the guards at the gate said. His name was Nicolae. He was young, his face doughy and pale. The other, who was silent and stoic, was named Lascar. He was olive skinned and large, his body almost too big for the sentry box behind him. Both soldiers were new to the Royal Guard. I liked the new recruits because they were easy to sway; all I had to do was smile, stroke their ego, and they’d pretend they never saw me slipping outside the gates at night.

That was before they’d all been roused in the middle of the night last week to find me, before the two guards who’d let me slip by were dishonorably discharged and relegated to the duties of a stable hand.

“Returning without escort, I see,” Nicolae said. He tried to sound stern, but he had too much light in his eyes for that.

“Commander Killian stayed at the border,” I said.

Nicolae’s eyes shifted over my shoulder, and he raised a dark brow. “Did he?”

I turned, spying Killian as he came out of the tree line. His absurd cape fluttered menacingly behind him.

I quickly turned back to Nicolae and smiled. “He must have changed his mind.”

“Do you need escort to—”

“No,” I cut him off, and to soften the blow, I placed my hand upon his shoulder, holding my cloak tightly with the other. “Thank you, Nicolae.”

I hurried through the gates and was immediately greeted by the towering figure of the Sanctuary of Asha on the right. The stone was white and brilliant, the colors of the hand-painted stained glass vibrant. Opposite the structure was the crumbling edifice that was the Sanctuary of Dis. The building itself looked like a shadow, crafted from volcanic rock imported from the Islands of St. Amand. The windows that weren’t broken or boarded were dark, pointed, and lead-paned. Despite its ruined appearance, it was still occupied by a few priestesses, but because very few visited and the priestesses were only called when death was near, they had no money for upkeep.

I kept an equal distance from both as I passed, having never felt inclined to worship either goddess. My father would criticize me, but I had no desire to offer my loyalty—not to the one who brought monsters to our world nor to the other who let it happen.

Beyond the sanctuaries, there was a series of beautiful plaster buildings—a combination of homes, shops, and inns—all with thatched roofs and window boxes full of colorful flowers. Beyond that was a short wall that marked the start of the royal grounds. A line of trees offered privacy to those of the court who wished to use the gardens for exercise or games. Since it was nearing sunset, most were indoors, for which I was thankful. The ladies of the court fawned over me. I liked many of them, but I found it hard to tell who was genuine in their attention, given that I suspected many only wanted my favor because I would be queen one day.

I crossed the wide yard and edged along the castle wall toward the back, entering through the servant’s quarters to avoid being pulled into needlework and gossip about the Blood King. I headed up a narrow staircase just to the left of the entrance, the friction of my thighs almost unbearable. I was so frustrated, both by the desire burning low in my stomach and by whatever magic still had its claws inside me. How could I possibly still be so consumed by this desperate need for release? Flight after flight, I grew more heated, my mind wandering to how the vampire had held my head, how he’d touched my lips and drew words from my mouth. I wondered what other sounds he might coax from my throat as those fingers explored other sensitive and swollen parts of my body.

Your thoughts are disgusting, I chided and then more kindly reminded myself that I was only thinking those things because I was under some spell.

After six flights of stairs, I made it to my room. Once inside, I leaned against the prickly wooden door. I’d held my breath for most of my ascent, because I couldn’t stop thinking about sex and the vampire who looked like some kind of beautiful savior but was really a monster. I thought of him now as my hand drifted down my stomach to my center, where my swollen clit rose to meet the brush of my hand. I groaned and ground into my hand, desperate to feel pleasure thread through my body, desperate to come so that I might also release the image of this vampire and his magic. This was what he wanted—to drive me to this moment—and he had done nothing to earn it. He hadn’t spoken erotic things, kissed me, or caressed my skin, and yet his face came to my mind, unbidden.

My frustration was palpable, and I thought I could hear his laugh echo in my mind—the one he’d offered in the clearing, amused, dark, arrogant.

By the goddess, I hated him.

I gathered my skirts into my hands until I could feel the curls at the apex of my thighs, then the pad of my fingers brushed against my clit. It strained against my touch, sensitive with need, still so tight, practically preening. I held my breath as my fingers drifted closer to the heat and slickness of my core, and I swore I’d never been so wet.

It has to be magic, I thought, and yet my stomach knotted with tension, shame, and guilt.

I drew my middle finger down my opening, gathering the slickness—before a knock erupted from behind me.