47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

I follow her from the room back towards the ballroom. Luc looks pleased with himself as we approach. He takes my hand and kisses it before Raynor, appearing ever the gentle High Lord. I glance over his shoulder as he kisses my hand and see something very much out of place.

A server dressed in Yule colors heads out the far hallway, a black ponytail swishing behind them. Was that Lydia? It can't be. Rosalind hands us fresh glasses of warm mulled wine, and I dismiss myself, heading toward the ponytail.

I weave through the dance floor and push past a couple of servers. I pass through the server's door and walk through the kitchen and buttery without a glimpse at Lydia or a single black ponytail. I make it all the way to the exterior wall and open the door to freezing white snow and a beautiful night sky.

A set of footprints leads away from the door, and I follow without hesitation. I'm totally out of my element and I feel far less skilled than I actually am as I follow the trail in conditions I've never been in.

Each step I take in the snow crunches far too loudly, and I cringe inwardly. After a few steps, I realize that I can quiet my steps by shuffling forward instead of stepping. I'm very much regretting this decision as I start to shiver violently. I work my way around a set of cellar doors and duck behind an empty carriage, creeping towards the sound of hushed voices.

"Are you sure this is enough?" I peer around the wheel. Lydia takes a vial of vibrant blue liquid from a man with prominent forehead wrinkles—the Prophet. She holds it up to the moonlight and swirls it around.

"It's more than enough for what the High Lord needs to accomplish. Fresh blue lichen and my best sleeping potion." The Prophet's sneer is off-putting, and those inward alarms tell me to stay far away from him. She pockets the vial and mumbles something to him before turning my way.

I duck back behind the barrel, and my muscles tense. What did I just witness? My shivering is so intense the muscles in my lower back cramp up.

Snow crunches as footsteps approach, and I quickly dart back around the corner, cloaking myself in shadow. The smell of burning tobacco fills my nose just as August comes into view, standing outside the open cellar doors. I run towards him, and he follows my lead, ducking into the cellar and closing the doors quietly behind us. All I can see is his perfect face, faintly illuminated by the glow of his cigarette butt.

He takes a long pull before offering it to me. I take a puff, not breaking eye contact. "Aren't you going to ask me what I'm running from?"

He takes his cigarette back. "No. I don't care."

"It was Lydia. She was talking with the Prophet. He gave her a vial of some sort."

He waves his hand, and several lanterns in the cellar ignite. "You're sure it was them?"

I nod.

"I'll have Ciaran look into it." He takes my hand, and we walk further into the cellar, passing several large wine and ale barrels into a dimly lit private room. The need to touch him, to really touch him, is overpowering.

"Raynor likes to collect exotic and expensive wine." As my eyes adjust, I realize August has led me into a a very unique cellar room. Small cubicles line the walls, floor to ceiling, and two small tasting tables sit in the center of the room. Bottles of various sizes, colors, and shapes fill the cubes within the walls, each with a small metal plaque beneath them. I take in his profile, his perfect nose, and the way his hair curls more around the nape of his neck.

"Your hair."

He turns to me, confusion on his face.

"You've braided the sides like you're in a relationship, yet you haven't asked me anything of the sort. I hope that isn't for someone else. I don't want to be the reason someone else is crying at night."

His confusion seems to melt into a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Bronwyn . . . " His piercing gaze pins me in place, and he closes the gap between us. "There isn't anyone else. My hair is for you."

He touches the braids along the sides of his temples. "The braids mean I'm not looking for a relationship, not necessarily that I'm in one."

He takes both of my freezing hands in his. "I'm not looking for or interested in anyone else. I haven't asked you anything, and I won't yet because I know you're young. You have much to figure out and much to experience, but I'm a patient male."

My heart skips a beat at his confession. He brings my hands up to his mouth and breathes warm air on them before kissing the back of my hand. Tingly warmth spreads through me. I could get used to this sort of fire magic.

"I'm drawn to you in a way I've never experienced. But you're still learning. You're like a hot knife in this world, cutting your path and leaving a trail of destruction in your wake. I don't want to stand in your way while you discover who you are. I want you to experience life and come to me when you're ready."

The butterflies in my stomach swarm in tandem with my rapidly beating heart.

"I enjoy your company," he continues. "And I more than enjoy making you feel good. I'm not pursuing anyone else, and I'll wait for you as long as you need. And in the meantime, I'm more than happy to bend the knee to your precious cunt; consequences be damned."

His eyes darken as he gazes into mine, and his warm hands grip mine gently. Of all the countless scenarios I've played in my mind of my next interaction with August, this is not one of them.

I grip his hands tighter, and the corner of his mouth ticks upwards. "Consequences be damned," I say and lean into him.

He seizes the opportunity and pulls me in for a deep, passionate kiss. Lost in the moment and protected by our utter solitude, I fully engage in his kiss. He presses harshly against my lips and I open for him.

He lightly presses his hand against my neck as he walks me back against a large barrel of imported wine, lifting me and setting me on it.

"What's this?" He asks, raising a brow. His hands slide up my thighs, opening my dress at the slit and exposing the relic crown around my thigh.

"It didn't fit in my purse. I had to get it out of the castle somehow."

He laughs a booming laugh with creases around his eyes. "You are an amazing woman."

He tilts my head and kisses my ear, working his way down my neck. His tongue runs along the inside of my choker necklace before he sucks gently on my neck.

His fingers lightly run up my thigh and just barely under the edge of my lace underwear. I feel the low vibrations of a growl as he presses his lips to mine.

"You said you wished we could go back to Mabon." He teases me with his fingers, not yet finding their way into my underwear. "Is that because you want me to kiss you again on your beautiful cunt?" His voice is low and his warm breath on my ear sends shivers up my spine. He strokes me down my center on top of my underwear, and my breath hitches.

I pull away, looking him in the eyes. The way he's looking at me is deep and heavy. The want in his eyes is more than lust. I hop off the barrel and face him.

I push him back until he sits in one of the tasting chairs. I open the slit in my dress and straddle him. At once, he grasps my backside and the back of my neck, pulling me roughly into him as he kisses me. It feels as if I may melt into him.

He presses his thumb against my clit and makes rhythmic circles until I squirm on his lap and let out a low moan. He kisses his way down my neck, and the growing hardness underneath me tells me where he wants this to go.

My pulse quickens, and pleasure builds with each thumb swirl.

"Not here," I say, knowing exactly how far I want him to take me.