Orryen’s lips taste like black tea and the faint sweetness of dried apples. For a heartbeat both our bodies are perfectly still, our lips touching, tasting, and then he stiffens. He pulls back, and I gasp, shame burning hot in my cheeks and chest.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I—I should have asked.”
Orryen’s soft lips curl, but I can’t tell if he’s smiling at me or just trying to be polite. To the woman who tried to kill him and then tried to force herself on him. Twice. I turn away just as Orryen makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.
“Is that what they do in the Worlds Above?” he says. “Ask?”
“Oh, I— not for ages. Not me, personally,” I respond, shaking my head. “I mean, I do ask. Want to ask. I don’t just want to barge in and—”
I try to cut off my incoherent rambling with a laugh, but it comes out as a garbled sort of yelp. Orryen lifts his hand to my chin and, gently, brushes the curve of my cheek.
“I would love to kiss you,” Orryen says.
His voice is almost as soft as the whisper of snow sliding off a tree; my entire body feels trapped, pulled taut by the weight of whatever he’s going to say next.
“I just—” he begins, then turns away. His hand drops to my knee, and the pale curve of his throat bobs as he swallows. “I don’t want to cause a diplomatic incident, is all.”
His lips curve. It looks almost like he’s attempting to smile but can’t quite get his mouth to cooperate. My mind spins for a heartbeat, trying to catch the meaning of his words, and then I drop my eyes back to the mug of tea I’d abandoned on the floor when I leaned over to meet his sweet lips. Orryen clears his throat softly.
“I mean, don’t you have people at home who’d be upset by this?” he asks.
He’s giving me a sort of lopsided grin, like he’s trying to make a joke. My chest aches. What kind of idiot was I to think he’d reciprocate? I’m not the princess of anything down here. My title is the only thing every beautiful, sweet-talking man in my life has ever wanted; without it, what do I have that would attract the king’s heir?
My stupid eyes sting. I turn away and rub the back of my hand against them.
“I’m sure you’ve got people who’d be upset,” I reply.
My voice comes out clipped and harsh, not at all as I’d intended, and my gut clenches after the words tumble from my lips. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Orryen might be married, but stars, what were the chances he wasn’t? The Captain of the Royal Guard, heir to the throne of the Kingdom of the Fall, and he’s also funny and charming and handsome? He wouldn’t even be single for an hour in the Kingdom of the Summer.
“No, I don’t,” Orryen replies.
I try not to let my relief spill across my face. He turns away, his voice soft.
“There’s not much point to marriage down here, not without the babies.” Orryen glances toward the fire, then sighs. “That’s not entirely true, of course. There are still plenty of families trying to marry into nobility, and as soon as King Galan chose me, they came running.”
Orryen shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair while I try to stifle a sudden stab of jealousy for the noblewomen of the Lands Below that I’ve never even met.
“But no one stood out?” I ask.
Orryen gives the fire a tight little smile. “They were all perfectly lovely. And none of them would have even given me the time of day before I became the king’s heir.” There’s a pause, and then he sighs again. “I just couldn’t bring myself to marry someone who only wanted my title.”
“Ah,” I reply.
Our eyes meet, and I think of my previous lovers, handsome and dashing and perfectly charming, and how I could never quite shake the feeling that they’d only chosen me because of the title attached to my name.
“I know how that feels,” I offer.
“I know you do,” Orryen replies.
He turns back to the fire, and I try to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. The simple fact that Orryen is single doesn’t change anything, of course. He’s made his feelings about kissing me quite clear.
But his hand is still on my knee. The warmth of his touch soaks through my pants and sparks something deep in my core, something I haven’t felt in years. Something hot and aching and dangerous.
It’s my turn to clear my throat and look away. His hand on my leg is just a friendly gesture. He’s just being companionable. And he’d asked me if I had people at home who’d be upset by this. By the heir to the Kingdom of the Fall resting his hand on my knee. By our brief, apple-scented kiss.
Of course, the obvious answer is yes. Yes, everyone. Every single person in the Kingdom of the Summer would be upset that their princess kissed the heir to the Kingdom of the Fall, from my grandfather King Grathgore himself to the lowest human servants who've been taught to hate and fear the Lands Below. And wouldn’t it be the same for Orryen? Wouldn’t the Kingdom of the Fall be horrified as well?
But maybe that’s not what he’s asking. Maybe he doesn’t want the obvious answer. I turn toward the fire and then answer the question I wanted him to ask.
“I’m not married,” I say.
One of the corners of Orryen’s mouth twitches up. “Betrothed?”
“No—” I begin, then hesitate.
Orryen’s smile evaporates. I feel like a cloud has swallowed the sun.
“I was supposed to be betrothed,” I say. “To the prince of the Kingdom of Stone and Sea. Just before I… fell. Down here.”
“Oh,” Orryen replies.
His body shifts away from me, and his hand returns to his own lap. Its absence feels like a shard of glass in my chest.
“I’ve hardly met that prince,” I continue. I let my eyes trace a path down Orryen’s neck and arm. “I don’t know him at all. I had no say in the matter. My mother was going to send me off to the Kingdom of Stone and Sea like a festival gift basket.”
Orryen turns back to me with a small, sympathetic smile. “That sounds pretty bad.”
It does. At the time, it felt like the worst possible fate. But now that I’m here, in the Lands Below, my theoretical betrothal to a man I don’t know seems almost like something that happened in a dream.
“She wanted to keep me safe,” I say, with a shrug.
“Safe from what?”
I shiver. My betrothal might feel like a dream, but talking about King Grathgore still makes the back of my neck prickle with fear.
“So, no,” I say, shifting the conversation with all the subtlety of a pack of wild dogs. “I’m not betrothed.”
Our eyes catch in the shifting firelight. There’s something in Orryen’s dark gaze that sends a shiver racing across my skin and pulls my muscles tight. He’s watching me with a sort of longing, a hunger, and stars, it’s been such a very long time since anyone has dared to look at me that way. It was always for my own protection that Mother stopped accepting invitations to balls, kept me away from the raucous evening social gatherings when diplomats came to visit and guided me toward my solitary, academic pursuits. And it fit my nature; I was more at home among books and scrolls than fumbling conversations with people I’d never met before.
But, stars, I didn’t realize how lonely I’d been until Orryen’s eyes caught me. I reach for him, moving without thinking, moving before my mind could start screaming objections, and I place my palm gently on his thigh. His body tilts toward me; his expression shifts to something that looks almost like it hurts.
“Elanerill,” he begins. “I find you very attractive. I just— I’m, you know. And you’re—”
He falls silent, and I can practically hear the battle being fought inside his skull. Orryen the Captain of the Royal Guard, the heir to the throne. Orryen who must always do everything right, Orryen who’d captured a woman who’d fallen from the Worlds Above and promptly stabbed him with her sword. Orryen who was on a mission to bring this interloper back to his king.
And Orryen the man who looked at me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever asked. Orryen who’d kissed me, who’d tasted like black tea and dried apples, who’d opened his lips for me, just for a moment, before the Captain of the Royal Guard had wrestled back control of his mind and body.
Oh, damn this! I want to scream with frustration. If it weren’t for our stars-cursed titles, the positions we were raised to fill but never got to choose, this would be easy. This would be sweet. If we were only a man and a woman, taking shelter from the storm outside in this abandoned cabin.
“Oh!” I gasp.
Because there it is. There’s our answer. Orryen turns to me, and there’s a bitterness in his expression that makes my chest clench. I raise my hand to brush his cheek as if I could wipe away that pain before it sets. Before it seeps into everything.
“What if—” I begin, then hesitate.
I’ve never asked anything like this before. But Orryen is watching me with his wide, dark eyes and his soft lips like he’s just waiting for a reason to smile.
“What if we weren’t heirs to the throne?” I whisper. “What if we were just…trekkers? Just for tonight. Just trekkers taking shelter together in this cabin.”
Orryen’s lips find their smile. My heart thuds against the inside of my ribcage.
“There’s no diplomatic incident if we’re just trekkers,” I say, pushing on with a bold recklessness that surprises me. “And tomorrow we’ll go back to being— to being what we are,” I stammer.
Orryen’s dark eyes soften. He leans close.
“Trekkers,” he whispers against my neck.
His breath sends sparks cascading over my skin. I open my mouth, but my words catch in my throat.
“J-Just for tonight,” I whisper. “No one needs to know.”
“Elanerill.” His lips are so close to my throat that I can feel their warmth. “You are the most interesting trekker I’ve ever met. May I kiss you?”
What comes out of my mouth is more a gasping moan than a word, so I thread my fingers through his hair and pull his lips to mine as an answer. I shiver as his hand moves down my neck, down my arm. He opens for me slowly, softly, with none of the frantic urgency of our first kiss.
Our tongues begin their slow embrace, dancing like lovers, and the warmth of his kiss spreads throughout my body, pulling tight in my gut, pooling between my legs. I run my fingers along the rasp of his beard. He makes a sound, a sharp little moan, and I can feel it all the way to my toes.
I shift against the hard floor, my body burning, desire a low, aching pulse between my legs, and the only thing I know for sure is that there’s too damn much empty space between the two of us. I break our embrace just long enough to catch a gasping breath, and then we’re kissing again, and I’m not sure if he moved to me or I moved to him or if the air between us just vanished, pulling us together.
His kiss is deeper this time, more insistent, hungrier. His hand moves to cup the back of my neck then traces my spine. I climb into his lap, Orryen’s hand urging me on, and wrap my legs around his waist, our mouths tangled together like dancers, the thick bulge of his arousal pressed against the heat pulsing between my legs.
My back arches, and I moan as my hips grind against him, wanting more. Wanting everything. I slip my hands beneath his shirt, pressing my palms against the heat and sweat of his chest. Orryen breaks our kiss to pull back, his breath hot and fast against my neck.
“Elanerill,” he whispers. “Oh, fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
My body is pulled taut as a bowstring, humming with heat and desire and a deep, aching need. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this desperate, the last time my body burned this bright after just a few kisses.
“Stars,” I gasp.
Orryen makes a sound like a growl, then reaches down and pulls his shirt over his head. I run my hands up the ridges of his abdomen, exploring his body. He has a lot of scars and a dusting of curls across his muscular chest.
I bend closer, bringing my lips to his skin, tasting him. Orryen’s body stiffens, and he moans. My tongue traces the white band of an old scar that runs down his abdomen, and I can feel every shiver, every trembling breath he takes.
“Elanerill,” he whispers, making my name a moan. “Don’t stop.”
I kiss a trail up his chest, running my lips over as much of him as I can, tasting and exploring, until I reach his neck, his jawline, his soft, full lips. The faint scent of black tea still clings to his mouth. His head tilts back and his eyes close. My hips press against the deep, low throb of his erection, and stars, how is it possible to feel this good from just a kiss?
“Don’t,” I whisper into his ear. “Don’t stop.”
I reach down, wrap my hands around the hem of my shirt, and tug it over my head. Then I kiss him again, deep and hard, as my hips grind into him, and oh, stars, I’m close. I’m actually close, just from kisses and the slick, sweaty friction of my bare chest against his. My eyes flutter closed; my hands wrap around his back, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp, only now it’s a plea. I’m begging, begging him for more.
“Oh, voids,” Orryen whispers.
His shoulders are trembling in my arms. He pulls away and stares at my breasts like he’s never seen anything so glorious in his life. I arch my back, offering myself to him as I press my greedy hips into the sweet heat of his cock. Orryen’s fingers trace a path up the curve of my stomach and cup my breast. He leans in to kiss my neck, and I whimper, a desperate, inarticulate plea.
He responds by dropping his mouth to kiss my neck, my collarbone, and then the hard, tight bud of my nipple. Pleasure sears through every part of my body, as brilliant as summer lighting beneath a thundercloud. I throw my head back and close my eyes. My whimper becomes a gasping cry. His cock pulses against the seam of my pants, and I’m rocking into it, the heat and pressure between my legs driving my hips forward.
And then his hand is there, fumbling in the space between our bodies, tugging at the laces holding my pants together. They give way as his teeth close around my nipple, just tight enough to sharpen the pleasure until his touch is the only thing in the world, the only thing that matters.
Then his finger slips between my legs, sliding between heat and moisture, driving hard against the secret, hidden pleasure of my clit. I’m gasping and crying as he sucks my breast and presses his finger between my legs, playing my body like he’s always known me, like we’ve been a part of each other since the very beginning.
And I go off like feast day fireworks.
My body pulls tight as the orgasm rips through me, wave after wave of blinding scarlet pleasure, and then collapses, completely undone by his mouth, his touch, the press of his arms and chest and cock. My head sags onto his shoulder, and I realize I’ve been calling his name, over and over, almost like a prayer to the stars. Orryen’s hand runs the length of my spine. The fire crackles behind me.
“You know,” Orryen whispers in my ear. “I have always wanted to be a trekker.”
“Just for tonight?” I ask.
Orryen’s reply is a kiss. And then another. And another, growing harder and more insistent, until our mouths are wrestling and our hands are tangled in each other’s hair and the desire he’d just slaked is flickering, then burning, across my entire body. The desperate rhythm of his cock presses between my legs, hard and insistent; my breath catches in my throat. I break our kiss.
“Orryen,” I whisper against his throat. “I want this. I want you.”
“Just for tonight,” he growls against my ear.
“We’re just t-trekkers,” I stammer. “Just—”
But his hungry kiss cuts me off, drowning my words. His arms wrap around my waist. I break our kiss, gasp, and then he’s pushed me onto my back on the wooden floor. He’s kneeling between my legs with a vicious, hungry expression, and suddenly I’m remembering what it felt like to be on my back on the snow with Orryen looming over me, his hands wrapped around my wrists, his eyes dark and furious as a flood of horribly inappropriate heat and desire welled between my legs.
Orryen yanks my pants down, then rocks back on his knees and fights with the tangle of laces at his waist. My breath catches as the laces finally give. His cock is massive, long and thick and painted almost scarlet by the firelight. I realize I’m moaning, catch myself, and meet his gaze.
“Orryen,” I whisper. “Please!”
He stares at me, and for a moment the world holds still. Snow hisses against the roof of the little cabin; the fire chatters happily behind us. I’m wound so tight I might explode, and Orryen’s watching me with one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his dark, desperate eyes searching my face. I feel like I can see that struggle again, Orryen the Captain of the Royal Guard wrestling to control Orryen the man.
“You want this?” Orryen whispers, in a voice that’s as harsh as the rasp of a cat’s tongue.
“Fuck, yes,” I say, and it’s almost a sob.
Orryen grins at me, and for a moment I can see him in his full Royal Guard attire, commanding men and women who serve not just out of duty but because he’s a good man. Because they love him.
Stars, for a heartbeat I can see him in a crown.
He leans down slowly, still smiling, taking his time bringing our bodies together, until his chest brushes the tight buds of my nipples and his lips whisper against mine. The velvet heat of his cock presses against my sex, but he hesitates, leaving me trembling and panting, desperate for him. I tilt my hips, reaching for his heat, and he kisses me slowly, his lips and tongue dragging me back to the floorboards more efficiently than any rope, until I’m gasping and burning and so desperate that every breath is a cry for him.
When he finally does enter me, he does it slowly, holding back, his face so perfectly composed he might as well be standing for a royal portrait. I rock my hips as my body takes him, so desperately turned on that he sinks in with no resistance and leaves me wordlessly begging for more while his hand wraps around my waist, holding me still.
“Oh, stars,” I cry, my voice ragged. “Oh, Orryen. Oh, stars, please—”
Then he’s fully sheathed inside me, and the pleasure is so intense I can’t find the breath to speak. He exhales in one long, ragged sigh. Our eyes catch. I watch him with a desperate fascination, watch his dark eyes and serious, rapturous expression, and then he’s moving inside me, slowly but forcefully, like the tide. Like what’s building between us is powerful enough to tear down mountains.
I follow his rhythm, my body rising and falling against his, pulled by his strength and power and control, until his arms wrap around my shoulders and his breath rasps against my neck and we’re both going higher, higher, higher, our bodies pressed together as one, chasing that brilliant bolt of pleasure.
I crest a moment before he does, screaming as my body pulls tight around him, my rhythm faltering as I collapse into ecstasy. He follows me down, his cock pulsing hard inside of me as a deep groan of pleasure slips from between his lips that I can only hope I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Then we’re a messy tangle of arms and legs panting for breath before the fire. Orryen lifts himself just enough to press a kiss into the sweaty tangle of curls on my forehead.
“Elanerill,” he whispers, saying my name like it’s something precious.
I can’t think of any possible way to put this sudden, unshakable warmth in my chest into words, so I just kiss him instead, and I hope to the stars that’s enough.