Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

The diamond-crusted plates and the platters of uneaten food had long since been removed from the table, and only a few trays of desserts remained. Hymel had left with Commander Rhaziel and Lord Bastian to discuss preparations for the arriving regiment— something that the Baron should be taking part in. However, a bottle of brandy had replaced the champagne and only the three of us were now in the dining hall.

By this time of the evening, the Baron would already be in either the solarium or the Great Chamber, surrounded by his paramours and cronies, but the Prince had shown no indication of preparing to leave the hall. Therefore, the Baron remained.

And so did I.

“Tell me something, Your Grace,” Claude began, and I briefly closed my eyes, having no idea what level of absurdity was going to come out of his mouth.

And there had been a lot of ridiculousness already, everything from Claude asking whether or not Prince Thorne believed the cold grain cereal often eaten upon waking could be considered a soup, which the Prince had answered only with a stare that was part confusion, part disbelief, to him regaling the Prince with tales of his time spent at the University of Urbane, just outside of Augustine.

Or attempting to.

Prince Thorne didn’t appear regaled by any of what the Baron was saying.

However, he did appear to be quite interested in where Claude’s free hand was. He’d tracked how the Baron’s fingers had first toyed with the string lacing between my breasts, and his stare had followed Claude’s eventual path down my stomach, to my hip. He was aware of the exact moment Claude’s wandering palm made it to my thigh, exposed by the high cut of the skirt. Tiny bursts of white had appeared in the Prince’s eyes.

Claude seemed not to realize what the Prince was so attentive to, but I was aware— too aware. The Baron’s touch was cool, but the burn of the Prince’s perusal scalded my flesh, creating warring sensations that made it impossible to ignore.

Honestly, I could’ve left at any point. I wasn’t even trying to read Prince Thorne. Claude might have been disappointed, but he wouldn’t have tried to stop me. I feared that if I left Claude alone with the Prince, he would get himself in trouble or worse.

Killed.

But was that the only reason?

My gaze briefly met the Prince’s, and my breath snagged.

“I’ve heard something utterly fascinating about Hyhborn that I’ve always been curious about but never got the chance to ask,” Claude went on, his fingers sweeping back and forth along the curve of my upper thigh. “I once heard that a Hyhborn could . . . regenerate severed limbs.”

I nearly choked on the champagne I’d been nursing.

“Is that true?” Claude asked.

Across from us, the Hyhborn prince sat as he had in my bed-chamber earlier. A short glass of whiskey in hand, his posture almost relaxed, almost lazy; but the coiled tension, the barely restrained power, was there.

“Depends,” Prince Thorne answered, tracing the rim of his glass, the amber-hued liquor nearly the same color as the hair resting against his jaw.

“On?” the Baron prodded.

Prince Thorne’s jaw tightened. “On exactly how . . . strong one may be. Healing such an injury would take an extraordinary amount of energy, even for a Deminyen.” His gaze tracked Claude’s fingers as they slid beneath the panel of my gown, and I bit down on the inside of my lip. “Energy is not infinite, no matter the being.”

“Interesting.” Claude swallowed another mouthful.

“Is it?” Prince Thorne inquired. “Should I be concerned about such interest?”

I pressed the side of the flute against my chest, skin prickling at how deceptively soft his tone was.

“Well, I’m half tempted to chop off an arm just to watch it grow back,” Claude said with a loud laugh. “Must be a bizarre thing to witness.”

My eyes went wide. I told myself he didn’t just say that to a Hyhborn— to the Prince of Vytrus.

The Prince’s finger stilled on the rim of his glass. Flames rippled suddenly above the candle.

“He’s only joking, Your Grace.” I smiled, stomach twisting. “There is no need for worry. He just has quite the unique sense of humor.”

“I’m not worried,” Prince Thorne replied, returning to tracing the rim of his glass. “After all, he hasn’t picked up a sword since when? He came into his title?”

I doubted Claude had handled a sword before then.

“And one would have to wield a sword made of lunea if they thought to pierce the skin and bone.” He paused, taking a small drink of his whiskey. “They are quite . . . heavy.”

I took a rather large gulp of my champagne then, knowing damn well Claude couldn’t lift a lunea sword. Prince Thorne knew that.

So did Claude. “Touché.” He laughed, reaching for the bottle of brandy. His pour was surprisingly steady. “Though, there are lunea daggers that I imagine are less unwieldy.”

Dear gods. . . .

“I would like to know something,” Prince Thorne stated. “What will you do if the Iron Knights breach Archwood?”

“That shouldn’t happen with you and your regiment guarding the city.” Claude’s fingers slid under the panel of my gown once more. “But if there were to be a . . .” Claude drank, and I tensed. “If there were to be a failure? I have my guards.”

Prince Thorne smiled faintly. “And if your guards are killed?”

My stomach knotted, gaze shooting to the door. I didn’t even want to think about that.

“Then I suppose I would be up the river without a paddle, as they say,” he said, sliding his hand over my thigh. His palm grazed my stomach.

Prince Thorne smirked. “Well, let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Let’s.” Claude’s fingers returned to the lacing, as did the Prince’s regard. “But in all seriousness? If that were to happen? I would defend what is mine in any way I possibly could. Even if I haven’t picked up a sword in many years.”

Halting with his whiskey halfway to his mouth, Prince Thorne tilted his head. “And what do you consider yours?”

Claude’s fingers brushed over the swell of my breast. “Everything that you see.”

“Everything?” Prince Thorne pressed.

“The city, from the Eastern Canal to the Wychwoods, and her people. Their homes and livelihoods,” Claude said, and it was the first time I’d heard him sound, well, like a baron should. Which was a stark contrast to his fingers dragging over the tip of my breast. I jerked, a small breath escaping me. The thin material was no real barrier against the coolness of his touch. “The grounds and gardens, this very home and everyone inside it.”

“Your staff?” The Prince’s gaze was latched on to the Baron’s hand. “Your paramours?” Taking a drink, he didn’t blink. “Your pet?”

I jolted again, and this time it had nothing to do with Claude’s touch. My eyes narrowed on the Hyhborn prince, but he didn’t see. How could he when his attention was fixed to the Baron’s hand and my breast?

“Especially her.” Claude’s cool, damp lips pressed against the side of my neck. “She is the most valuable of all.”

My brows shot up.

Prince Thorne lowered his whiskey as his gaze lifted to Claude’s. “I do believe that is something we can agree on.”

I stiffened. “I am sitting— ” My breath caught as Claude rolled the sensitive peak of my breast with his fingers. My grip tightened on the flute stem as the flames above the candles flickered once more.

“You were saying?” Prince Thorne questioned, one side of his lips curving up.

“I was saying, I’m sitting right here.” I ignored Claude’s hand as it trailed back down my stomach— ignored the Prince’s heated gaze that followed, and that heightened, dual sensation of hot and cold. “In case you two have forgotten.”

“Trust me,” Prince Thorne drawled, leaning back. The stars were even brighter in his eyes. “Neither of us has forgotten.”

“That is the second thing we can both agree on.” Claude drew his fingers down, past my navel and between my thighs, his hand further widening the gap in the panels.

“I’m glad to hear that you two have discovered something to bond over,” I said, lifting my chin. “I hope I can provide a third thing.”

“And what is that?” Claude asked, retrieving his glass.

“I am not a possession.” I waited till the Prince’s gaze returned to mine. “I am owned by no one.”

“Agreed,” Claude murmured, his fingers pressing into the skin of my inner thigh, drawing my leg a few inches to the side until there was no doubt that the Prince could see the scant black lace between my thighs.

Prince Thorne’s gaze hadn’t missed a second, and I thought that . . . that his lips had parted just the slightest as he seemed to soak in what the Baron had revealed to him— purposely revealed. My skin flushed hot beneath his stare, but not with shame. A part of me thought that maybe I should be embarrassed. That if I was good, I should put a stop to whatever it was that Claude was currently up to, because I was really beginning to wonder exactly how drunk Claude truly was.

He was either far more intoxicated than I suspected, or he was handling his drink better than I believed, because his actions and words had become entirely precise and clear.

The Baron was often playful, especially when he drank, even with me when it led nowhere, but I was beginning to think I’d been wrong about Claude being unaware of what the Prince was paying such close attention to. There was a taunting edge to Claude’s actions now. As if it was not his own desire that drove him, but what he saw in the Prince’s stare.

But I made no move to stop Claude. I couldn’t . . . or I didn’t want to as the Prince watched, as heat in my skin flooded my veins. And maybe I had drunk more champagne than I had thought, because I was suddenly emboldened.

“How about you, Your Grace?” I challenged. “Do you agree?”

The dancing flames cast interesting shadows across his features. “I would, except that would be a lie.”

“How— ” An unsteady rush of air left me as Claude’s hand folded over me. A sharp twist of pleasure followed. “How so?”

“No one in the Kingdom of Caelum is truly free.” He watched as Claude’s hand moved. “All are owned by the King.”

Claude chuckled. “He has a point there, pet.”

The Prince did, but I said nothing. My pulse was thundering. I felt a little dazed and maybe a bit crazed. I wasn’t sure how we’d gone from talk of an impending siege to this. I didn’t think it was even possible to figure out.

“I have another question for you,” Prince Thorne said. “When you were at the University in Urbane, did you spend any time at the Royal Court?”

“I did.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“It was an . . . experience,” Claude said. “Partly as I expected.”

“Partly?”

I was curious to hear the Baron elaborate. I hadn’t known he’d been at the King’s Court. Only the caelestias and a few aristo entered the Hyhborn Courts— well, them and those the Hyhborn collected. But I was finding it difficult to listen. I was now watching the Prince as avidly as he watched the Baron’s hand. His fingers traced the rim of his glass in nearly perfect synchrony with the ones between my thighs, and it was far, far too easy to imagine it was his fingers I felt.

My hips twisted restlessly as I focused on the Prince’s fingers, my breathing quickening. Could the Baron feel the rush of damp heat through the silky undergarment? Did he believe it was my body responding to his touches, or . . . ? I shifted in the Baron’s lap, chest rising sharply as he pressed into the lacy undergarment, but I . . . I didn’t feel him beneath me.

The Baron knew.

Claude was rubbing me like he sought to draw forth an answer from a crystal ball. Not the most arousing technique, nor what I knew he was capable of. He was . . .

He was putting on a show.

“It’s as opulent and beautiful as I believed it to be,” Claude answered after a moment. “But I didn’t expect it to be so . . .”

“So?”

I bit down on my lip at the sound of his voice, at the one word. It washed over my skin like heated silk, and my toes curled in their slippers.

“Cruel,” Claude said.

And that one word cooled some of the heat in my blood.

“I have a question for you, Your Grace.”

The Prince inclined his chin.

“Are you as cruel as the rumors claim you are?” he asked, causing my heart to turn over heavily.

Prince Thorne didn’t answer for several too-long moments, only watching as Claude’s fingers continued to move. “Only when necessary.”

Claude seemed to understand whatever that meant. “Would you like something other than whiskey to drink? You haven’t touched what you have in some time.”

“It’s not what I’m thirsty for.”

“I suppose not.” Claude had gone quiet, and that flipping motion repeated. “Pet?” he said against my flushed temple, his thumb sweeping over the throbbing juncture of nerves. “Why don’t you go to the Prince.”

My gaze collided with the Prince’s. The air stilled in my lungs as my body locked up, but my heart hammered.

“He does look lonely,” Claude whispered. “Does he not?”

Prince Thorne didn’t look lonely.

His entire body appeared taut, features sharper in the violently dancing flames. He looked . . .

Prince Thorne looked hungry.

“Go,” urged Claude, slipping his arm from my waist and his hand from between my legs.

I hesitated despite the stunning pulse of desire that echoed in response to the Baron’s . . . what? Order? Permission? I didn’t know which it was. I knew Claude liked to be watched and liked to watch, but this was a prince. Not one of his paramours and another aristo.

But I slipped from his lap and stood, placing my glass on the table. Prince Thorne said nothing, but he tracked me as I walked on legs that felt weaker than they should. I looked at the door, knowing I could leave. Claude wouldn’t stop me. I didn’t think Prince Thorne would. I could easily walk out and put a stop to whatever madness this was beginning to feel like.

I didn’t.

If this were anyone else, I would’ve, but it was him.

I went to the Prince’s side, heart pounding and hands tingling. He looked up at me, still silent, and suddenly I thought that it might have been a good idea to leave. Clearly, if the Prince wanted company, he would’ve said so. A different kind of burn hit my skin. I started to take a step back—

Prince Thorne extended his arm as he leaned back. I froze.

Swirling eyes met mine. “Sit.”

Feeling as if I couldn’t breathe deeply enough, I slipped between him and the table. That was as far as I made it. His arm came around my hips and he tugged me down into his lap.

I felt him immediately.

He was thick and hard against my bottom. My gasp likely echoed through the too-silent hall. Across from me, Claude smiled.

Prince Thorne’s chest was flush against my back. One hand just below my chest, fingers splayed across my ribs, he was sitting straighter than the Baron had been as his fingers left the glass of whiskey. “What do you think of the Princess of Visalia’s intentions to rebel?” he asked of Claude.

“I’m not sure I know enough about her intentions to have an opinion.” The Baron lifted his glass.

“You know she wants to rule,” Prince Thorne said as I watched that hand slip across the smooth surface of the wood, my heart still pounding. “Is that enough?”

“I suppose, but if what drives her is simply a desire to overthrow King Euros?” Claude snorted, taking a drink. “Then I don’t hold her intentions in very high esteem.”

The Prince’s hand left the table and went to my thigh. I gave a little jump as his warm skin came in contact with mine. He didn’t stop there. There was no teasing or . . . or taunting. His hand slid under the gown and between my legs, fingers delving beneath the scrap of lace and against the damp flesh there. My body reacted, back arching and hips lifting to his touch. His chest vibrated against my back, the low rumble scorching my skin. I didn’t know what caused that sound— if it was my reaction or his to the slickness.

“The hunger for power seems to be something that plagues both lowborn and Hyhborn equally,” Claude was saying. “You can’t really fault one for doing what has become second nature.”

“I suppose not,” Prince Thorne said, slipping one finger through the throbbing dampness, and then inside me. My hips rolled as I gripped the arm of the chair. The sound he made then was unmistakable. A low chuckle. “Can you, pet? It’s only nature for any species to assert dominance,” he added as his finger plunged deep.

My head snapped toward his. Our mouths were inches apart. “Do not call me that.”

The blue of his eyes raced across the other colors. “What am I supposed to call you?”

“Not that— ” I gasped as his finger hooked, finding a . . . a spot.

His gaze roamed over my face, seeming to catch the heightening in color. “What do you say then? Can you blame another for attempting to dominate what they want?”

“I . . .” I had a feeling he wasn’t just speaking of the leader of the Iron Knights, but I couldn’t be sure, because he touched that spot again. A riot of sensations arced through me. I leaned into him. “I . . . I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On what one is attempting to dominate,” I said, looking away. “And why they want it.”

Claude was now who watched, but . . . but I realized that how Prince Thorne sat, my lap and his hand were shielded by the table.

Unlike the Baron, he didn’t want another watching that closely, which was surprising. I would’ve thought . . .

My thoughts scattered as the Prince’s thumb joined in. I trembled as all those acute curling motions rapidly built. The Prince’s body— his hand and his fingers warmed, heated against me and inside me. Oh gods, I’d never felt anything like that. The edge of the wood dug into my palm.

“But I doubt simply a hunger for more power could drive one, even a princess, to be so bold and reckless as to attempt to seize a city that would draw the ire and the might of the King,” Claude continued. “Surely, there must be more than a port that she finds valuable enough to risk being destroyed for.”

Something . . . something about how Claude spoke caused my skin to prickle with awareness. Breathing too fast, I tried to focus.

“I do believe that is the third thing . . .” Prince Thorne’s finger thrust, his thumb swirled, and it was . . . it was too much. The pleasure building bordered on pain. I started to push away. The arm around my waist prevented that. “That we agree on.”

The tension erupted without warning. I came, crying out—

Prince Thorne’s hand covered my mouth, muffling the moan of release. “Not here,” he whispered in my ear. “Not for anyone else’s ears but mine.”

My eyes closed as I shuddered, lost a little in the waves of raw pleasure— in the feel of his hard flesh and the tendons of his forearm that I had clutched at some point— and I heard and saw nothing. All I felt was the rippling tremors of pleasure and the heated presence of his finger as it slowed.

I was panting as I settled in his lap, body limp and relaxed completely into his. I watched through half-opened eyes as he slid his palm over my thigh and lifted his hand.

Prince Thorne’s eyes snagged mine as he brought his glistening finger to his mouth and . . . and sucked deep.

Oh gods, my entire body tensed once more.

“Thank you,” he said, then his gaze flicked to the Baron. “I do enjoy dessert.”

Claude laughed deeply, finishing off his glass of brandy. “Don’t we all?”

“There is something I require from you, Baron,” Prince Thorne said after a moment, his other hand returning to my waist while I focused on slowing my breathing and my heart. “I want her.”

I went stiff.

“I want her,” Prince Thorne repeated. “For the duration of my time here, she is mine.”