Epilogue

It was a bright winter day at the Crimson Court, and Naxi was having the time of her life.

She was, admittedly, having the time of her life almost always these days – but this particular occasion was even better than average. Today, her friends were visiting her new home. And not in some faraway gallery either, stashed away like a shameful secret; Thysandra had called half the court together to witness the historic events about to take place in their midst. A horde of scribes and archivists. Farmers from the other fae isles. Every fae construction worker who’d spent the last few months cleaning up rubble in human cities.

Everyone, really, except the pitiful remains of the Crimson Court’s army. The few commanders who had been invited for politeness’ sake looked uncomfortably out of place amongst the many guests who’d arrived from the other magical peoples.

‘… observe the sovereignty of each individual island as stated by its ruler or rulers …’ Thysandra was saying at the table at the centre of the hall, reading from the parchment in her hands, voice loud enough to be heard in the farthest corners .

She had to sit there with the rest of her visitors, of course, High Lady or no. It would be a grave insult to invite representatives from all over the archipelago and then have them stand before the brand new throne of the Crimson Court like children called to face the headmaster. Since that meant the throne in question was left vacant, however, Naxi had generously taken it upon herself to fill it; curled up in the comfortable seat of red-brown wood, fuzzy shawl around her shoulders against the chilly winter air, she was in the perfect position to observe both the proceedings and the exquisite curve of Thysandra’s backside.

One had to treat oneself every now and then.

‘Furthermore,’ Thysandra continued, calm and unwavering as she flipped a page, ‘the court pledges to lend all requested assistance to the ongoing investigations into wartime crimes committed by its inhabitants …’

On the left side of what was now called the Labyrinth’s Hall, dangerously close to a group of alves, a red-clad army commander stirred noticeably. Naxi narrowed her eyes at him, just in case he gave the impression he was in need of a sudden and painful death – but at the side of the representatives’ table, Silas had already levelled a glare at the troublemaker and pointedly tapped a bargain mark on his forearm. The disturbance instantly melted away again.

Thysandra had noticed too, Naxi knew from the little spike of alertness stuttering through her veins. But she had not stopped reading, and the alertness was just … that.

Not alarm.

Definitely not fear.

It had been a while since Naxi had truly sensed fear from her. She intended to keep it that way.

Listening with half an ear to the summary of the treaty the company was about to sign, she let her gaze drift past the table – Tared sent her a quick grin, Emelin a broad smile – and then around the hall, which was cold and resplendent in the clear winter light. Thysandra had wanted it razed to the ground at first, after Nicanor’s timely and crispy end. The Labyrinth had been a little grumpy at the prospect, though, and Naxi had pointed out that the poor thing would be horribly bored without any company to listen to – so instead, they’d renovated the place.

The marble floor had been partly restored now, leaving a generous opening to the cave below. Blood-red, nymph-grown roses adorned the alabaster walls. The ceiling, burned away by the explosion that had killed Nicanor and most of his allies, had been replaced by a grand glass dome, allowing the Labyrinth to gaze at the stars at night.

Last week, Naxi had taken a small company of adventurous fae youths down with her for the very first time. They had gasped breathless compliments at every step along the way and meant most of them, too; the mountain had been enormously pleased.

It seemed quite pleased now too, judging by the bright white-blue light glowing in the cave beneath as Thysandra finally finished, ‘… for eternity, or until any of these oaths are broken. If there are any objections to these rulings …’

The red-clad army commander wisely did not move this time. Nor did any of the seven other representatives around the table. A little cheer came from the ranks of the clerks who’d worked tirelessly for weeks to get every single word and number in the right place; a ripple of laughter pulsed around the hall in response, breaking the solemn tension.

‘I’ll consider that all the approval we need,’ Thysandra dryly said, picking up the pile of parchment that contained eight copies of the meticulously worded, painstakingly negotiated peace treaty between the Crimson Court and not just the other magical peoples, but the two other fae courts as well. ‘Shall we sign these things, then?’

‘Thought you’d never ask,’ Tared said, his grin almost entirely amiable. Thysandra had gone to great lengths to find the swords that had been looted during the massacre of Skeire among the court’s significant alf steel reserves; returning those to the family had improved relations with remarkable speed. ‘Pretty sure Em’s getting hungry.’

‘Oh, was that your stomach?’ the High Lady of the Cobalt Court countered sweetly as she reached for a pen. ‘I thought it was the Labyrinth grumbling. ’

Delwin snorted. Agenor was making an unsuccessful attempt not to laugh. Drusa pursed her lips in obvious disapproval, then picked up her own pen when she did not find anyone else to share in her well-mannered rage; her fingers were stiff with displeasure as she signed her copy of the treaty.

For a minute or so, the scratching of pens and the clinking of ink pots was the only sound to be heard. Naxi decided it was time to hop off her throne, so she did – bouncing down the steps and then towards the others over the pleasantly smooth floor. A pile of half-signed agreements was piling up on the table before Thysandra, who needed to sign seven copies rather than a single one; Naxi recognised Agenor’s messy hand, Emelin’s slightly dramatic flourish, Bakaru’s initials as noted down by Nenya.

‘Can I sign too?’ she asked, because now that she was seeing that list of names, this all looked like great fun.

‘What?’ Drusa said sharply.

‘Of course you can sign,’ Thysandra said, entirely unperturbed, as she handed Naxi a pen over her shoulder.

The phoenix eldest’s eyes widened with outrage. ‘This is most unprecedented and—’

‘You can sign my copy too, Naxi,’ Emelin cheerfully interrupted.

‘Mine too, please,’ Tared added, although the spark of spiteful glee within him suggested it was for the benefit of Drusa’s fury as much as for Naxi’s pleasure. She was perfectly alright with that. She’d never liked any of the phoenix rulers, and Drusa made Lyn feel terrible, which meant a little anger was the least she deserved. ‘Can’t hurt to have a demon on the treaty.’

Naxi glowered at him. ‘ Half demon.’

His smile went a little rueful. ‘Sorry. Half demon.’

So she signed three copies, and then Agenor’s, Helenka’s, and Delwin’s too, making sure her capitalised NAXI was just a little larger than any of the other names. Nenya regretfully suggested Bakaru might make a fuss about an additional name on his treaty, so Naxi kept her hands off that one. No one even bothered to check with Drusa what her preferences might be.

Then it was done: seven copies, seven signatures with a little demonic bonus, and for the first time in over a thousand long years, the archipelago was officially at peace.

None of the rulers at the table allowed themselves to show it, but in the sudden and weighty silence that fell, Naxi sensed more than a few stinging eyes and catches in throats around her.

‘There.’ Helenka broke the silence, chucking her pen onto the table with a characteristic brusqueness. ‘Time for a drink?’

The hall collectively started breathing again.

‘I must be on my way,’ Drusa said stiffly, tucking her copy of the treaty into a neat pile of parchment. ‘If any al— If anyone would be so kind as to take me back to Phurys …’

‘Almost sounded like you were asking your favourite northern barbarians for help there,’ Tared said, his grin at her broad and full of heartfelt loathing. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be overjoyed to get you out of here at the earliest convenience.’

Naxi saw Emelin mouth something at her father – So much for the peace , it seemed – and Agenor choked on an unwilling laugh. Thankfully Thysandra was already intervening, thanking Drusa politely and sincerely for her presence and the pleasant cooperation during all these weeks – because that was Thysandra, determined to do things well and fairly even when the things truly deserved nothing better than a good bout of laughter, or perhaps a good punch in the face.

Some days, Naxi despaired of her. Then again, it was damnably attractive, too.

Somewhat placated, Drusa took her leave of the company and haughtily offered Tared a thin hand in order to be faded out. He returned about five seconds later, the tight-lipped elderly lady on his arm replaced by a much smaller, much brighter, much more welcome bundle of red hair and freckles. Lyn had, as usual, requested that no one try to put her in the same room as the older phoenix who … well, Naxi wasn’t sure what exactly Drusa had done, but she was quite certain it warranted biting off several fingers and perhaps a nose.

Not that she was going to speak that thought out loud, because last time she had, Lyn had somehow started crying .

‘Excellent,’ Thysandra said beside her, resuming her role of hostess with resolute ease. Her moss-green gown shimmered around her hips and legs as she rose; along the walls, the gathered court finally started moving too, as if they’d needed the departure of one of the negotiators to signal the officialities had truly ended. ‘Time for a drink, indeed.’

The celebratory dinner was hosted in the crystalline hall, where Thysandra had almost died a few months ago, and where Naxi had been stupid enough to mistake the tension and grimness in Nicanor’s heart for genuine distress.

It didn’t look nearly as ominous today. No dead hounds to be seen, no blood-red velvet drapes on the walls. The Crimson Court’s new Master of Ceremony, a young fae by the name of Calaria, had received Thysandra’s instructions and thrown every ounce of her considerable imagination into their implementation; the hall was covered in white flowers now, the light glinting off the iridescent walls unmistakably alf magic. Behind the dais, an embroidered map of the archipelago filled most of the wall, the colours matching the newly drawn borderlines to the tiniest stitch.

Most of the nymphs still sat with the other nymphs, of course, the vampires with the vampires, the alves with the alves. But some of the fae and human scribes who’d spent the last few months working on negotiations gingerly took seats between the other magical creatures, and the main table was the usual hodgepodge of all Naxi’s friends.

She ate very, very happily.

Thysandra was doing High Lady things and doing them very well as always, having serious conversations with everyone who approached her, shaking hands and remembering names and laughing at nervous jokes that really weren’t all that funny. Naxi decided not to disturb her, because she was slowly coming to grasp that Thysandra enjoyed being dutiful. Instead, she ate a second helping of rhubarb pudding, then bounced off her chair and went to look for someone else to talk to.

Nenya seemed a bad candidate; she was sipping a goblet of blood and chatting with a greying, red-haired clerk named Rinald, who had volunteered to oversee the vampire negotiations a few months ago and seemed overjoyed every time he got himself close to a pair of fangs. Naxi was a little surprised to see the vampire was humouring him and his obsessive fascination at all, until she realised that Edored had seated himself on the opposite side of the table, and that Nenya was mostly extremely busy not looking his way for even a second.

Edored, oblivious to the fact that he was being aggressively snubbed, threw Naxi his broadest grin as she passed and yelled, ‘Catch!’

She squeaked but caught the fork he flung her way just in time, managing by some miraculous new reflex not to get herself injured in the act.

‘ Edored !’ Lyn snapped, two chairs away.

‘What?’ the alf sputtered, looking indignant. ‘She wanted me to teach her how to juggle!’

‘Yes, and does that need to happen with forks , Edored darling?’

‘Why not? Safer than’ – he interrupted himself to snatch the fork from the air as Naxi hurled it back at him – ‘than to start with knives, yes?’

‘That does sound entirely sensible to me,’ Thorir said next to him, face deadpan.

Lyn’s reply was somewhat hard to interpret due to the arms she’d buried her face in, but it did seem to contain the phrases fucking idiots and lucky you’re still alive and not my responsibility if any of you kill yourselves tomorrow . That last part was of course a lie, because everything was Lyn’s responsibility according to Lyn’s brain – but Naxi figured there might be better moments than festive dinners to point that out.

Empathically, of course.

She was practicing empathy. And juggling. And, bit by bit, love.

She exchanged a few more forks with Edored, then bounced on to where Lyn had reemerged from her own arms and resumed her conversation with Tared – her wildly gesturing hands and the flurries of sparks spilling from her fingers suggesting the topic was related to her research on magic. She was feeling the way she always did around Tared, happy but cautiously so – as if that happiness was a fragile thing she couldn’t possibly afford to drop. And below that, buried so deep it had taken Naxi years to notice it … that perpetual small, smouldering thread of brewing anger, unwanted and neglected, biding its time.

It would be very good for Lyn to finally be angry for once.

That, too, would be better discussed on literally any other occasion.

Naxi didn’t interrupt the two of them. The last months had been fraught enough – no sense in disrupting things while they were going well.

She found Inga and Agenor near the end of the table, accompanied by two empty seats and a tanned human man who looked to be in his late forties. Inga broke off their conversation the moment Naxi appeared, her face pink with either happiness or tipsiness or both, and there was only a small and habitual wince of fear inside her as she beamed one of her rare true smiles. ‘Naxi! Have you met Russ? My sort-of-brother?’

‘You have a lot of sort-of family members,’ Naxi observed, squinting at the man in question. His sturdy build didn’t resemble Inga’s slender form in the slightest, nor did he look like Allie; it seemed unlikely he was her brother by birth. ‘Is that a human thing?’

‘More of a vampire thing, these days,’ Russ said with a faint grin, and Agenor almost choked on his wine beside him. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

‘The pleasure is mutual,’ Naxi said politely because that was what one was supposed to say, and anyway, she didn’t think she was going to have a problem with him. Inga seemed to like him. Agenor seemed to like him. If those two agreed, it quite had to be justified. ‘May I take this seat?’

‘Go ahead,’ Inga said, nudging back one of the empty chairs with her foot. ‘We’re mostly waiting until Al is done interrogating Silas about his honourable intentions, but that could take a while. She’s only been going for ten minutes or so.’

Russ and Agenor grimaced in perfect synchronicity.

Only then did Naxi spot the Lord Protector of the Crimson Court in a quieter corner of the hall, six and a half feet tall and about half as broad, looking decidedly sweaty about the unimpressed glares the thin-limbed, sharp-fanged Lady of the Golden Court was levelling at him. Naxi hadn’t seen him this unsettled since Thysandra had bestowed his new position upon him a few months ago, and that might have had more to do with Inga threatening to gut him if he didn’t stay and accept the office.

‘He’ll survive,’ the girl now said, airily. ‘At least he didn’t actively serve the Mother in the last four centuries, you know? She’s been known to forgive people for worse.’

Agenor winced. ‘More wine, anyone?’

They drank more wine.

Silas was called away to deal with a disturbance a few minutes later; Naxi had rarely seen a male so deeply relieved by the prospect of potential danger. The small tussle on the other side of the hall looked rather harmless – a few rowdy alves getting on the nerves of their fae neighbours – but she quickly checked Thysandra’s emotions regardless. If there was any fear there, it would be time to kill a few people and make a point.

There was no fear, just awareness and a pleasant layer of trust in Silas’s ability to handle matters. Excellent.

Naxi turned back to her wine just in time to see Allie fall into the seat beside Agenor, her smile still showing a hint of fang. The full extent of her assessment was a measured, ‘Well, that could have been a lot worse.’

‘I knew you’d like him,’ Inga said fondly.

‘I’ve just come to accept that I sent the whole family down a path of terrible taste in men,’ Allie said, throwing her a grin. ‘Speaking of which, where did my beloved daughter and her own terrible man vanish to?’

‘Thys had something to discuss with them.’ Agenor gave half a shrug. ‘I’m not sure where they went next.’

Thysandra?

Naxi frowned and glanced at the other side of the table. Her High Lady was engrossed in an animated conversation with two nymph queens; there was no trace of either Emelin or Creon to be seen around the hall.

Shame. Then again, Naxi could ask Creon about important topics like kittens and the domestication of hound puppies later. If Thysandra needed to get something done, she presumably had good reason for it.

Naxi nestled herself more comfortably in her chair and let the cheerful sound of voices wash over her.

It was past midnight by the time the last visitors left the Crimson Court; even most fae had vanished to their beds by then, and only Calaria’s army of organisers was still swarming through the hall, clearing out dirty plates and glasses. Emelin and Creon had reappeared shortly before leaving. They had exchanged a last few words with Thysandra, then run off again with nothing but a wave at Naxi by way of goodbye – mysterious, but she was drowsy with wine and good company, and sooner or later she’d get her answers anyway.

Thysandra found her then, exhaustion in every fibre of her, but the light in her dark eyes no less bright for it. There was, Naxi had come to realise, a world of difference between the exhaustion of losing a game and the exhaustion of working to win one.

Thysandra was winning a lot these days.

She did not sit down now, instead resting her hands on the back of Naxi’s chair so she could press a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Feeling happy?’

Naxi suppressed a contented yawn. ‘Are you reading emotions now?’

‘Not at all,’ Thysandra said dryly. ‘You just look like you’re about to start purring. Do you think you can handle one more surprise for the night?’

Faster than expected. Naxi tilted her head back, squinting up, and said, ‘What sort of surprise, exactly? ’

‘That’s not how surprises work.’ A small pause. ‘I can promise you it’s nothing dead, though.’

Naxi’s squint turned into a glare. ‘I don’t know why you keep bringing up that ratty clerk. It was just once! And he deserved it for—’

‘—helping to trap Gadyon – I know.’ Thysandra gave a grimace that looked more like a grin in disguise. ‘All the same, I didn’t necessarily need his severed head on my dinner table. Are you going to come with me, or do you need to argue a little longer?’

A good question. Upon reflection, perhaps this was not the moment to defend that moving gesture of demonic devotion in any more detail.

‘ Fine ,’ Naxi said, dramatically yet happily, and hopped off her chair to follow.

Their path through the castle was uneventful, murder attempts having become increasingly rare after some public demonstrations of what could happen if one really, really pissed off a demon. Naxi had vaguely expected they would be making for some unusual location, like the bathhouses or the gardens – but Thysandra led them straight up the usual stairs, towards the tower by the Faewood cliffs and the rooms she’d stubbornly refused to move out of no matter how many luxury apartments had been suggested as more suitable replacements.

There was nothing particularly surprising to be seen in the stairwell. Nothing on the landing either, save for the familiar redwood door with its familiar flower carvings and the invisible magic shields it contained.

Naxi bounced up the last steps and paused, waiting for Thysandra to open the lock only she – and admittedly Creon – could open.

Thysandra did not open it.

Instead, she stood and studied the door for a moment, the emotion within her a hard-to-parse mixture of curiosity, nervousness, and an unmistakable whiff of smugness.

‘Shouldn’t we’ – Naxi cleared her throat – ‘go inside and see the surprise?’

‘Oh, we should.’ But Thysandra stepped back – wings folding in, green dress pooling around her feet as she sat down on the winding stairs leading to the next floor. ‘So why don’t you open the door?’

Naxi blinked. ‘Because I can’t—’

She faltered.

Thysandra tilted her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and Naxi blinked again.

Open the door.

Which was impossible. Because only three people in the world knew how that lock worked, an ingenious magic invention that turned at the spark of red magic in the right place; two of them were fae, and the third was Naxi, who did not have colour magic to operate it. There was no other way to get in. The Mother had made the door immune to the workings of magic in all other spots, and to physical attacks as well – a shield tested thoroughly by dozens, if not hundreds, of attacks over the course of the centuries.

But there was one other fae mage with godsworn magic in the world, and that same mage had just been suspiciously absent from dinner for hours. As had the one other person able to operate these locks.

Rather an ideal combination if, hypothetically, one wanted to … well, alter the mechanism.

It felt dangerously hopeful to even think it. More dangerous still to look at the door, look back at the stairs, and say, ‘Did you …’

Thysandra’s expression didn’t shift. ‘Mm-hmm.’

‘You changed the lock ?’

‘Just an idea I had.’ The minuscule twitch upward of those sweet, sweet lips was nothing compared to the ocean of brimming satisfaction that lay beyond. ‘It’s wood, you see. I figured your nymph magic should be able to manipulate it. So I asked Emelin to modify the protections a little, and she thinks …’

Naxi blinked again, at the door this time.

It was a bit of a challenge, finding the soul of the wood. It had been cut off from its living tree for such a long time, cut into shapes, subjected to all sorts of strange magic. But it was still there , and the moment she grasped it—

She found the hollow within it.

Most of the wood was touching the cold, hard, lifeless iron of the lock. One small patch was left free, however, and she whispered at it to grow just a little bit bigger, just for a very short moment …

A click.

A sense of movement.

Naxi barely dared to touch the doorknob. But she did, and it turned , and the door to Thysandra’s rooms – no, to their rooms, damn it – opened without a creak of the hinges.

‘Oh,’ she breathed.

Behind her, Thysandra was emanating waves of pride and relief and the faintest hint of nervousness.

Naxi should have looked around, of course. She should have smiled and said thank you a thousand times over – but she stared at the room that had opened up before her, lit by glowing faelights, at the kitchen corner and the arched windows and the plants growing contently over all of it – and something was burning like hellfire behind her eyes.

Home .

Thysandra’s feelings went a little more concerned behind her. ‘Naxi?’

She opened her mouth and managed nothing but a feeble little sniffle.

‘Naxi? Are you crying?’

‘No!’ she sputtered, sounding blubbery.

Footsteps behind her. ‘You are crying, aren’t you?’

‘I’m fearsome!’ she protested, hearing the quiver in her own voice. ‘Of course I’m not crying! I’m deadly and—’

‘You’re utterly adorable,’ Thysandra said, arms wrapping around Naxi from behind, hoisting her off the floor. ‘And very much crying.’

They were strong and warm and gorgeous, those arms, and it was hard not to melt into them instantly, because Thysandra had said adorable , not scary and occasionally homicidal , and Naxi wanted to bask in the sound of that word forever. She buried her face into a muscular shoulder and grumbled, ‘I could reduce you to pleas in a minute.’

‘Really?’ Thysandra stepped into the half-lit living room, nudging the door shut with her foot as she carried Naxi inside. ‘I’d love to see you try.’

‘I won last time we fought!’ Naxi sputtered, sending a slightly teary glare up at her .

A mesmerizingly wicked grin. ‘I’m pretty sure I won. I seem to recall I ended up with a knife against your throat.’

‘Well,’ Naxi said and defiantly sniffed again, ‘I ended up with you, so you’re not going to beat that with all the knives in the world. Checkmate.’

Thysandra wisely did not argue with that.

Instead, she lowered Naxi to her feet and kissed her.

No bribes needed. No vines, either. No pretences of courtly duty and obligation and whatever justifications she had spent so long giving herself. There was just desire inside that beautiful fae heart now, bright and hungry and unrestrained, and Naxi gave into it the way she did everything these days – with all her heart, and just a little bit of teeth.

It earned her a hissed curse and a red-hot sting of arousal.

Demons got bored, but this never got boring – the sweet, hot taste of being wanted, a sensation of longing so bone-deep she could have wept from it. Thysandra’s fingers raked through her hair. Fisted around handfuls of curls. Tilted back her head, positioning her just so, and deepened the kiss with an intensity that sent the last of Naxi’s sensible thoughts scattering – and then they were staggering into the room, towards the bedroom door, hands frantic and breath a shared, gasping mess. Naxi fumbled with green satin. Thysandra clawed at her hair ribbons. Buttons and lacing and clasps, the slither of fabric over skin, and they never even made it to the bed; Naxi went to her knees on the plush white rug, and Thysandra followed without question, pulling her farther down.

‘Should maybe …’ She gasped as Naxi clawed at her thigh, arching back against the rug with wings splayed wide. ‘Should maybe close the curtains.’

‘Alternatively,’ Naxi mumbled, out of breath, ‘the curtains can go to hell.’

The plants were already moving around her, vines and leaves weaving across the glass. She’d barely even needed to ask them.

Thysandra let out a strangled laugh as she let her head fall back – that beautiful surrender, given so easily these days. ‘So useful. ’

‘And powerful,’ Naxi merrily suggested, crawling over her, the pink tips of her hair brushing over dark skin, pebbling nipples. ‘And extremely pretty. And—’

‘Naxi.’ A throaty laugh. ‘You don’t have to earn this.’

A good point.

Really, a very good point.

Naxi bit her lip. ‘Can I sit on your face, then?’

Thysandra’s strong hands had already wrapped around her thighs, dragging her forward, head coming up a fraction – and then her mouth was on Naxi, and the world shrunk to touch and need and a single, all-consuming yes .

Once upon a time she’d thought there was no better feeling than revenge.

She knew better now. Revenge was all about loss. About not having. It was nothing, absolutely nothing, to being had , thoroughly and enthusiastically, and Thysandra’s lips were doing exactly that – sucking and skimming until Naxi thought she might die from it, and then she was still not stopping. Drowning herself in pleasure as much as she was driving Naxi mad … and only then did the realisation dawn.

Treaty day.

Months and months of work, culminating in the greatest victory yet, and where Naxi loved to think about it, Thysandra was undeniably looking for a well-earned break from thinking about anything at all.

Good.

Mindless oblivion was a demon’s specialty.

Naxi did not move, kneeling over those ravenous lips. The hands clamping down on her thighs wouldn’t have let her. But her nymph magic swept out, her demon senses sharpened … and when the vines cascaded down, when the first of them curled around Thysandra’s wings and thighs, she was ready for the heady burst of pleasure, the startled gasp against her pussy.

‘Fuck.’ Hoarse. Raspy. ‘Naxi …’

‘Don’t stop,’ she murmured, her own voice a little slurred as she fisted her hands in Thysandra’s glorious curls. ‘I’ll be very cruel if you stop now. ’

A breathless laugh, and Thysandra’s tongue slid into her, nails clawing into Naxi’s thighs. The vines followed the example, wrapping around Thysandra’s legs with just the smallest scrape of thorns, and for a single moment of mesmerising unity, there was no telling whose pleasure was whose. Naxi’s legs were shaking now with the effort of keeping her upright, with the unfaltering onslaught of tongue and teeth and lips working her in unison. But she focused her attention on the thicker vine skimming over the rug, smooth and thornless, and called it closer, closer, closer …

Thysandra gasped again as it slid between her legs.

Naxi didn’t wait for her to recover, probing deeper.

Sensations mingled, as if her demon senses were getting dizzy, no longer sure of up or down, of you or me . She felt the tongue dragging along her own soaked lips. Felt the wet heat clenching tight around that vine. Felt its sweet intrusion, Thysandra’s shock and lust and brazen pleasure, and thrust deeper.

A breathless moan brushed over her wetness.

‘Sashka,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t stop .’

Then she thrust again, before those clever fae lips could resume their work, and Thysandra cried out, actually cried out , as her mouth closed on Naxi once more.

It was agony, having to think as pleasure cascaded over her through all senses at once. It was glorious . Thysandra writhed beneath her, fucked slowly but unrelentingly as her tongue fucked Naxi in turn, panting and moaning, wings tightening with need. Naxi threw her head back. Closed her eyes. Sank into the sensations, into the overwhelming, incandescent bliss of everything at once, and reached back.

Found the plump swell of a breast under her fingers, the rock-hard peak of a nipple, and – sweetly, viciously – pinched.

Thysandra came apart beneath her.

It was the last straw. The last nudge over that tempting, looming edge. Naxi followed gladly – twofold pleasure, rippling through her in cascading waves, echoing back and forth across her demon senses, until she was out of breath and out of sense and she no longer felt anything at all but the sweetest, most savage rightness .

Rolling herself onto the rug felt like coming home. Snuggling into Thysandra’s arms felt like coming home. Breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and joyful flowers felt like coming home, or perhaps, even better, like making her own home.

Tomorrow would be yet another day at the Crimson Court.

Tomorrow she would be having the time of her life again.

But right now the world was quiet and lit only by warm, glowing faelights. Right now the High Lady of the Crimson Court was lying drowsy and debauched on her own living room floor, and Naxi wasn’t moving from her arms, wasn’t even thinking of moving, because she might be getting a little cold, and she might be exhausted and in dire need of sleep, and her left foot might be developing just the slightest cramp … but more than anything else, she was by Thysandra’s side, in Thysandra’s arms.

And she was exactly where she ought to be.

Haven't read the story of Naxi and Thysandra's first meeting yet? Check out In Love and War through: mybook.to/ILaW

The main Fae Isles series, starting with Court of Blood and Bindings, tells the story of the war against the Mother – and of Naxi and Thysandra 's romance in between their first meeting and the start of With Wing and Claw. Get book 1 here: mybook.to/cobab

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