In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(87)

He closed his eyes and lifted his hands to rest on the outside of my thighs, a look of half rapture, half exhaustion settling over him. “Mmm-hmm.”

“You did it,” I said quickly, setting fast kisses over his chin. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Eyes still closed, he kneaded my hips through my gown. “That’s why you won’t stop, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Magic feels…” He bucked his hips, pressing himself against me, and grunted. “It feels good. When the pain is gone.”

I closed my eyes as his hands rose to my backside, as they collected fistfuls of my skirt. “Other things feel better,” I whispered. Molten heat was rolling through my body now, and I pressed myself against him. I let out a soft moan. “And don’t make you lose your hair.”

He opened his eyes, the green facets in them shining with intoxicating promise. Need had been building between us, day by agonizing day, and this moment—this glimpse of hope—shattered the bonds that held it.

It took us like a raging tide, sweeping us up, rendering us useless against its force. Our kiss was nearly violent, lips and teeth. His tongue was hot and insistent as it slid against mine. His hands were everywhere, gripping my hair, tangling with my gown. There was no sweetness, no finesse, only untamed desperation.

My skirt was a bundle between us, and I tore at the buttons of his trousers. “Please.”

He was too overcome to speak, eyes like embers as he gazed up at me, as he gave me precisely what I’d begged for. He ripped at my underclothes, stroking and sliding warm fingers inside me, adjusting and centering me above him with firm hands. All of it was a wild rush of movement and breaths and aching moans, but when he entered me, he slowed us to a rippling, dreamlike pace.

He raised me up and pulled me back down, focusing on the slide and heat of our bodies where they met, but the languid rhythm didn’t hold. We were too livid with desire to draw it out. “Next time…” His head arched back as I moved above him. “Fucking Gods… Imogen… next time, we do it slowly.”

“Yes,” I breathed, throwing myself forward so I could kiss him. “Yes, whatever you want.”

He grunted, fisting my hair. “That so?” He sat up and lifted me onto the settee, where he spread my legs wide before him. I shivered at the look in his eyes, all dark and intent. “Damnit, I love—”

Quick footsteps and the clatter of guards’ armor sounded on the other side of the door. We froze, breaths holding in our pounding chests.

Fuck. Every sensation and sound became more than I could handle. I pressed my hands to my burning face.

A knock at the door. Halla’s soft voice on the other side. “Your Majesty? I’ve returned.”

I’d been moronic enough to let the euphoria of hope and relief take me, but now it became something snarling. Theo had performed the spell, yes, but there were still countless obstacles to overcome. Not magic, nor Gods’ power, nor my title could make him mine. Reality tore at me, its fangs sinking deep.

I pulled away, pushing down my skirt. “I should go before she…”

“Immy—” Theo fixed his trousers.

I shook my head, starting for the windows. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have…”

“Imogen, no. You are not—”

I was crawling out the aft window, out onto the ledge, before I could hear the rest of what he’d said.





27


Imogen


I had never been so cold.

Not even in the Serafi mountains, in the dead of winter, had I known a cold like Obelia’s. In the days after Theodore had performed the spell successfully, the cold had increased with every northerly mile we sailed, pouring through the cracks in the ship, rising up around us from the freezing water.

Obelia’s massive bay was protected by a crooked spit of land, and even so a boisterous wind assailed the long sprawl of docking. It was the middle of spring and the gently rolling landscape across from the port was shrouded in a heavy layer of fresh snow. It was blinding, glowing like white fire in the noontide sun.

My cloak was too thin, but I buried my chin and mouth into its collar. A long line of silver carriages had finally come for us, and they lined the main road like a giant chain. Down the line, I watched Theodore and Halla enter the first carriage, silent and dismal. They were followed by a smiling Lachlan and Agatha. I was five carriages back, with nerves so tight they knotted my muscles as badly as the cold did.

Alone in my carriage, I shoved my feet as close to the foot warmers as I could and studied the narrow peninsula in the distance. The empress’s palace sat at the very end, butted up to the waves, looking like a hunk of coal. Its black stones gobbled up the bright sun so well that none of its details, its windows or turrets, came clear.

Aleka popped her head into the carriage. “Your Majesty,” she said with a reverent nod of her head. “Is there room for me and Steward Gabros?”

I swallowed. “Of course there is.”

The last few days had been a blur of preparation for all of us. I’d been sleepless, packing a trunk with what little I owned, memorizing spells written in the books on magic, and sewing small, padded pockets into my underskirt. Tucked safely within were two vials of severing draught, properly mixed with a few drops of my blood, just as the spell book laid out. I’d seen very little of Theodore and even less of the marshal and steward, as they’d prepared the new contracts for the empress.