Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (36)

I sucked my lips to keep from grinning and turned back to Bluebell. She was now watching Florian’s approach with a spark of hope in her eyes. I knew the feeling.

“You shouldn’t wander off without telling anyone,” Florian said. “It’s freezing out.”

“I was bored.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. I couldn’t be idle when a brand-new world awaited exploration. “And there’s so much to see.” I moved to the next, who eagerly tossed his large head over his stall door.

“Yet you chose to visit the horses.”

The horse sniffed my cheek when I stepped too close, and I laughed as I retreated and gave him my hand. “I’ve never ridden one, let alone seen creatures so huge this close.”

Florian said nothing for a short while.

Curious, I asked, “What of the winged beasts?”

“The hunt are the only ones daring enough to tame and breed them for their needs.” He watched the friendly horse attempt to chew my hair, then sighed and headed back to the door.

I’d thought he’d left, and I was still attempting to quell the disappointment when his booted steps sounded again.

His arm brushed mine as he reached for the stall door. “Step back.”

“You’re letting him out?” I asked, stumbling back with my eyes widening.

The reins in his hand swayed as he unlatched and opened the door. “You wish to ride a horse, and Bennington is the most tolerant of strangers.”

“I don’t have to,” I said quickly. “This was not what I intended when I said that. I was just speaking—”

Florian turned and pressed a finger to my mouth, blue eyes dancing between mine. “Sweet creature, would you like me to take you for a ride or not?”

The double meaning in his words did not escape me, and my cheeks flushed. I still nodded.

His eyes brightened. His finger dragged my lower lip down, his gaze following as he brought it over my chin and then to his mouth.

He could have just kissed me. He could kiss me whenever he liked, and he knew it.

But he ran that finger over his lips as if tasting something so delicious it was forbidden, then turned back to Bennington.

I watched, my heart thundering with anticipation, as Florian readied the horse who had to duck his head to fit through the large entrance to the stables. Then I followed them out into the cold.

He mounted first, swift and with an elegance that shocked for a male of his size and a beast so large. The sun peeking through the gloom overhead blinded when I gazed up at him from the ground. His hair curtained his cheeks in dark waves, the breeze rustling it against his shoulders and lips.

Lips that curled when I failed to acknowledge the hand he’d offered.

I dropped my head momentarily—eternally feeling the fascinated fool around this king—then placed my hand within his cool grasp.

He tugged, pulling me forward a step. A shocked squeak left me as he reached beneath my arms to haul me up onto the horse to sit before him.

The saddle was bigger than average, of course, but not built for two. I failed to care about the rubbing of the leather pommel snug against my core while pressed so tightly to Florian’s chest.

His rough exhale stirred my hair. His arm a tight band of muscle around my waist.

He adjusted my plum skirts, instructing, “Lift your legs for me.” Taking his time, he gently tucked the wind-catching gauze and silk under my thighs.

Every stroke of his fingers singed. Every breath in my ear became more ragged. Until he cursed and snatched the reins, hard at my lower back as he commanded Bennington to leave the drive of the stables.

I gripped the saddle, my chest filled with a riot of fluttering butterflies as we passed by the paddocks.

The stable hand cupped a hand over his forehead, watching us. He bowed before we left his line of sight and disappeared behind a dilapidated greenhouse. Rows upon rows of dead fruit trees surrounded it.

“Lemon trees,” I said, studying the bare branches. “Oranges, too.”

“It’s been a long while since they’ve produced any fruit,” Florian said to my ear. “They need to be ripped from the ground.” His tone hinted at a reluctance to do so, and I sensed something stopped him from getting rid of the greenhouse, too.

“Autumn will come,” I said, as that was likely why he waited. Hellebore was the coldest kingdom in Folkyn and all of Mythayla, but its deathly winter would make way for enough respite to give birth to more life.

Florian didn’t respond, and I soon forgot about the seasons as we approached the lake I’d seen from a distance earlier. The surface resembled a grimy mirror, shadows swaying from the snow-dusted trees we trotted within.

“Can we walk upon it?”

“Yes, but not with Bennington,” he said. “It’s thick, but not so thick that it will tolerate all of our weight combined.”

As we moved on, I looked back to the lake with longing—with a wonder for what lurked in the water beneath its frozen ceiling. “Have you ever seen a pixiefish?”

“Many,” he grunted, his fingers rubbing ever so slightly over my stomach.

“They were my favorite creature of Folkyn to read about when I was young,” I said. “Are they truly unable to leave the water?”

“Worried their tiny teeth and claws will find you?” Florian teased dryly.