46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

W aking up beside Mikael was something Cyril had done many times in the last month, but it never felt this right.

Every other time, a boundary existed between them that Mikael mustered up some excuse not to cross.

Every other time, clothing had been involved.

Every other time, Cyril hadn’t felt the overwhelming urge to find a creative way to wake him up. But she smothered that trail of thought for now.

The prince looked so peaceful, laid out on his back, one muscular arm draped across his eyes. The other was sprawled out like an open invitation for Cyril to lie right back down. She’d woken with that arm wrapped around her, her back pressed up against his side, and feeling more content than she ever had.

A feat, considering the events that brought her there.

She didn’t dwell on that much, as she eased out of Mikael’s bed and padded through the piles of their discarded clothes. She pulled on the first shirt she found—his, she realized, when it rolled down to her knees—and slipped quietly into the bathroom.

For longer than she cared to admit, Cyril stood on the cool tile and stared at herself in the mirror. Stared at the scabbed and irritated split sitting high on her cheek. The mottled purple and blue bruising that spread up into the hollow of her eye.

Just like that, the crushing weight of reality clawed into her periphery again.

Her hands were unsteady as she found a brush to run through her hair and swept it all up with a hair tie she found on the counter. She hoped it was Mikael’s.

Cyril splashed cool water on her face, careful to pat it dry, and saw to her uncomfortable bladder before she ventured back out into his room.

The sleeping prince hadn’t moved an inch.

But when she settled in beside him again, her back tucked up against his side, Mikaels stirred. He turned and circled his arms around her, pulling her flush to him.

The noise that left him was the unhappiest she’d ever heard.

“Why are you dressed?” he mumbled, his voice husky with sleep.

“I had to get up.”

“So?”

“I’m not—” She scoffed. “I’m not roaming around naked .”

“Why not? I, for one—” His fingers had been skimming the shirt, moving lower and lower. A contemplative noise rumbled in his throat when he finally reached the hem. “Is this mine?”

She hesitated.

“I don’t know where mine is.”

“Mm. Acceptable.” Mikael swept her ponytail out of the way and kissed her neck. The shudder that coursed through her was entirely involuntary. “Good morning, wrath.”

“Good morning,” she chuckled.

“How are you feeling?”

A loaded question, but her simple mind went to one place.

“I’m…good.” Her cheeks warmed. “And a little…sore.” And it wasn’t in a way she was mad about, either.

Mikael hummed a rumble of pure masculine approval.

“I’m not surprised.” His voice was still rough in a way that wasn’t fair, and Cyril was sure he was doing it on purpose. The warmth of his hand slipped under the hem of her borrowed shirt, dragging the fabric up as he brushed his fingers across her stomach. With just a hint of amusement, he added, “I take it last night was to your liking?”

“ Mika .” Cyril meant to chide him, truly, but those fingers continued north and his name tumbled out as a soft groan when he skimmed the underside of her breasts. She arched into his touch. “Of course it was.”

“Good.”

His lips grazed her neck again and Cyril was at a very serious risk of turning molten in his hands. She reached back, carding her fingers through his hair as, breathlessly, she asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Wrath, you have no idea,” he said almost reverently. “Are you too sore to go again, or…?”

He trailed off, urging her top leg forward and pressing his hips in behind hers, and— oh. The full, hard length of him eased between her thighs and every muscle in her body went slack.

Gods. She was weak for this man.

“I’ll gladly take care of us both in other ways if you are…” he added.

Cyril didn’t give two hells if she was sore or not. She wanted to feel him inside her again and the blissful euphoria that came with it. She canted her hips back for good measure, and Mikael groaned.

“ Please ,” Cyril murmured.

“That’s a dangerous word, wrath.” His voice was a low, haughty rumble as he rocked himself through the slick heat already building between her thighs. She slipped a breathy, needy moan of his name when his fingers slid down too. “ Please what?”

“Please, Mika, I—” He sank a finger into her, followed by a second, and she whined.

“Tell me what you want, Cyr.”

“ You , I want—” It was like he didn’t want her to speak, the smug arse. “Just fuck me again, please .”

Cyril won with that.

Mikael inhaled sharply, and was already pushing into her when he muttered something about her having a filthy mouth.

She didn’t care.

She was pleasantly sore, and so damn full.

Between the insistent touch of his fingers, and whatever in the hells kind of bliss was coming from the slow pumps of his hips at this angle…Cyril came undone before she knew it.

Mikael didn’t wait for the aftershocks of her release to settle before he eased Cyril onto her stomach and chased his end.

The noises Mikael made were a special, addictive sort of torture. All ragged, full-bodied groans laced with profane declarations, and all because of the pleasure he found with her body. Cyril would be a liar if she said the entire notion didn’t do unreasonable things to her confidence.

Another current of pleasure rippled through her when Mikael finally shuddered and fell over the edge too, with a husky rumble of her name.

She made a petulant little noise of protest when he eased out of her and settled back on his side. The smile on his face was everything to her. Euphoria was back in full swing and Cyril felt like she was floating on a damn cloud.

She pressed her face down into the pillows and let out a happy sigh. How long her eyes ended up shut for, she did not know, but she gave a start when Mikael carded his fingers through her hair.

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her temple. “Come have a bath?”

Cyril blinked at him.

“A bath, together ?”

Amusement flickered in those sleepy, glacial eyes of his.

“Yes, together . Or is that where you’re drawing the line?” He raised a single, angular brow. “Lady Cyril Rhodea will ask me to fuck her, but sharing a bath is off-limits?”

Her cheeks burned .

“That’s not what I—ugh.” She pressed her face back into the pillows. “I’ve never done this, okay? I don’t know what’s…not weird.”

Cyril laughed a little at herself.

“Then come have a bath with me. I’ll show you how not weird it is.”

He pressed another kiss to her temple and tossed his side of the covers back. Every proud, naked inch of him climbed out of bed and sauntered towards the bathroom.

It was then Cyril noticed that Reykr’s Prince Commander had something that looked suspiciously like the outline of a heart tattooed on his otherwise damn perfect backside.

She shook her head, watching him with appreciation the entire way.

“You don’t have to be shy with me, wrath…”

Mikael had his head tipped at Cyril in that predatory sort of way of his, his arms splayed out across the back ledge of the tub. He was nothing but wet, gleaming muscle laid out on display for her, the water lapping at his stomach.

A view she had thoroughly enjoyed until he opened his damned mouth and suggested she strip for him. She stood frozen on the first step into the water, still very much dressed in the prince’s shirt.

“Last night, I saw–”

“I know exactly what you saw, thank you, ” Cyril hissed.

The extent of what Mikael saw of her last night was something she was well aware of. Especially after he’d hauled her on top of him to show her exactly what he liked. Just the thought of it had her cheeks burning.

“The water is lovely , wrath,” he goaded.

Cyril groaned. “Just turn around! Please, Mika.”

Mikael rolled his eyes, but he turned to face the wall. He took a washcloth and soap from the shelf inlaid into the wall and busied himself with scrubbing down his chest and shoulders. Cyril may have stalled for a moment to appreciate the moving musculature of his back.

“You know,” he said, “I’ll have you sauntering about naked before you know it.”

Smug, insufferable arse.

Cyril laughed dryly. “Keep dreaming.”

His shirt landed in a pile on the floor before Cyril sank down the last few steps into the water. The blissful heat of it started seeping into her aching, tense body.

Cyril dipped beneath the surface, soaking through her hair, before she waded over to the prince. She skimmed a hand up his back, through the suds that rolled back over his shoulders.

“Thank you for your discretion ,” she chuckled.

It was then Cyril learned that bathing with the prince involved very little actual bathing.

Mikael turned, taking the arms she slung across her chest for a hint of modesty, and eased them up around his neck. He walked her slowly back against the wall in the shallower part of the basin. Every firm inch of him—some parts much, much firmer than others—pressed up against her, and he looked down at her with that same sort of rapt interest she’d caught in his eyes so many times the night before.

“You’re insatiable,” she murmured.

The lips he hovered against hers pulled back into a grin.

“Entirely your doing, wrath. And—” Mikael took a ragged breath as Cyril eased her hand between them, wrapping her fingers around his cock. “— that is not helping.”

“No? I was just thinking about a rather enjoyable afternoon in the glen that I never got to repay you for…” Cyril stood up on her toes to capture the lips that he’d insisted on teasing her with. She worked her hand in slow, steady strokes. “Unless you don’t want me to…?”

“You don’t owe me anything, ever .” Mikael’s voice was rough as his hand settled over hers, squeezing and urging her movements faster. “But if you feel inclined to indulge me out of the kindness of that strange, sweet little heart of yours…I won’t say no.”

She grinned up at him. “Show me what you like.”

And show her Mikael did.

He guided her pace and touch until his breath came in ragged, broken pants and he abandoned his hold on Cyril’s hand to brace himself against the moonstone wall behind her.

“Do not stop,” he groaned, and Cyril had never felt so damn full of herself. Well, maybe she did the night before when she was on top of him and the same words came tumbling out of his mouth, even though the prince had done most of the work himself then. “Cyr, I— fucking hells. ”

Mikael exhaled sharply through his nose and every cord of muscle in Cyril’s view tensed. The warmth of his release pulsed over her fingers as she stroked him through his quiet groans and shaky breaths.

When the tension finally seemed to slip from his muscles again, Mikael tipped her face up and claimed her mouth with a languid, sated kiss.

The pride that swelled up in her chest threatened to swallow her whole.

“I love seeing you smile like this,” he murmured when he finally took a half step back in the water, and, gods , she must have had a shit-eating grin on her face with how her cheeks ached.

Mikael eased her hand off of him with a shaky breath and glanced down between their bodies. A flicker of satisfaction danced in his eyes. Maybe a little amusement, too.

“I, uh—sorry about that.”

He went to pull her hand into the water, but she tugged it back and gave in to her itching curiosity.

Mikael's eyes flared, and he made a quiet noise as she ran her tongue along her fingers, through the traces of his spend. Heady, salty, a little bitter—Cyril didn’t hate it at all. Just when she was about to draw another finger into her mouth, Mikael grabbed her wrist.

“Good gods ,” he grumbled, “If you keep that up we aren’t going to make it out of here.”

She let him pull her hand into the water this time.

“Is that…a bad thing?”

“Considering I’ve been able to hear your stomach growling since you fell asleep last night? Yes.” Every trace of heat left Mikael’s face and his gaze turned appraising. “When was the last time you ate?”

Cyril blinked.

Mikael suddenly sounded an awful lot like someone she didn’t want to think about right now. She didn’t have an immediate answer for him either.

“I…” She swallowed thickly. “The day before yesterday, I think?”

“The day before— Cyril .” Mikael shook his head at her, running a hand through his damp auburn waves. “Let’s get dressed and see if we can catch lunch, then we’ll come back and you can have a proper bath if you want. Or…” He notched his fingers under her chin and fixed her with a wolfish grin. “We can come back and occupy ourselves in other ways .”

“Let’s start with food,” Cyril chuckled, because she was now acutely aware of just how empty her stomach was.

Mikael nodded his agreement and took the carved-in steps out of the bath, every proud, naked inch of him on display again until he wrapped a towel low on his hips. That was definitely the outline of a heart tattooed on his backside and a question for another day.

He held out a towel for Cyril as she stood there, waist-deep in the water, with her arms wrapped around her chest. He made an obnoxious show of turning his head away from her.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Cyril sighed as she ripped the towel from his hands and wrapped it around herself hastily. She skirted past him and back out into his bedroom to search for her clothes. The number of different directions each piece had ended up in was almost impressive.

“I think pain in the ass is one of my middle names.”

Cyril snorted. She believed that.

She had most of her clothes tucked in her arms, save for the underwear she still hadn’t located, when Mikael cleared his throat. He was standing by a half-open wardrobe, a glass vial in one hand and pants in the other.

“Cyr, uh—” A hint of a grimace crept onto his face. “You don’t…take a tonic , by any chance?”

“A tonic? ” She stilled. “No, I…I didn’t think…I mean, I didn’t know we were going to … ”

Oh, fucking fuck .

She was an idiot.

A complete fucking idiot.

Although fae weren't known for their abundant fertility, Cyril wasn't entirely fae and she still didn’t know the implication of that. But if there were a single damn thing she didn’t need to entertain the idea of…

“Don’t worry, I take one.” Mikael’s grimace softened into a smile. Her heart still pounded like a drum in her chest. “I think we’ll be fine, but you should too, to be safe. We can go down to the infirmary after and they’ll sort you out. Maybe Wren can look at your eye too.”

Her… oh .

Cyril touched her face.

Of course. The fucking black eye she was sporting, that she had definitely forgotten about, and wanted to keep forgetting about. It was easier to not think about anything else that existed outside of this little bubble of happiness she had in that moment.

Cyril just nodded and went back into the bathroom to get dressed.