Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (63)

“The heat is upon her,” Florian said after a long pause, as if he hadn’t wanted to say it aloud. “Any creature can smell it should they get too close.”

Fume cursed. A moment later, he suggested, “Just keep her at your side, as you should regardless.” Carefully, he asked, “What are you to do about her evolvement, anyway?”

I assumed evolvement was a nicer term for what I was currently struggling to endure—the final stage of maturing into a faerie.

Typically, a full moon would prompt most young females of the age of twenty to evolve. A process that would grant us a heightened chance of finding a mate of the soul, and allow us to discover what our magical abilities might be, should we be blessed by the goddess with any.

And those of pure blood were almost always blessed with something.

I lowered to the bottom step above the landing, uncaring that either male could leave the study and scent where I sat—and know that I’d overheard them. Snow nudged at my hand with her damp nose, then laid her head upon my lap as she settled on the stone beside me.

When Florian finally responded, it was nearly too quiet for me to hear. “I wait until she asks for assistance.”

My heart both bloomed and shrank, the feeling painful and aggravating the dull ache in every limb.

“You would see her through it?” Fume cursed again. “But you’ve never done it before, Florian.”

Instant and intense relief shamed me at hearing that.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what it will require from me.”

My heart skipped and stalled in the stretched silence that followed. My bare toes curled over the dark whorls in the cream stone, my eternally flushed skin welcoming the touch of cold.

Fume’s voice rose. “And what about what you require? How will you possibly be able to—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Florian seethed. “You are not to talk of such matters, and you know it.”

A screech of chair legs over stone. “I need to visit the barracks. I’ll see you tonight.”

Florian gave no response.

The warrior friend must have taken another exit, for his steps in the hall faded in the opposite direction to where I was still seated on the grand staircase with Snow.

The word assistance stalked me for the remainder of the morning and haunted my fever dreams of skin and teeth and pleasure and feeding.

I woke sprawled sideways across the bed, midafternoon casting my bedchamber in an orange glow, as the mattress dipped behind me. “You have not eaten today.”

The first words the king had said to me in days.

I curled away from the tempting heat and energy emanating from him.

“Do you detest me and your circumstances so much that you would starve yourself?”

“I tried to eat,” I croaked, my eyes closing. “And yes,” I whispered. “I do detest you that much, but I would not give you the satisfaction of ending my life before it’s even begun.”

A touch of humor thickened his response. “You are not human, butterfly. Such a thing won’t kill you.” He paused as though thinking about that. “At least, not for many months.”

Irritated by his hypnotic voice and struggling to find the will not to roll into him and ask for him to assist me through this torment, I snapped, “Was there something you needed, Majesty?”

Though I wasn’t looking at him, I could sense he’d gone so very still.

I kept my eyes squeezed closed and curled tighter into myself. My stomach cramping worsened with the emptiness I refused to ask him to fill.

“Roll over,” Florian ordered, and when I ignored him, he leaned down and said to my ear, “Roll the fuck over, sweet creature.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as the storm of heat and his harsh demand spread through my body in the form of a blistering caress.

I gave in and did as he said, but I wouldn’t meet his eyes. I stared up at the canopy of netting coating my bed and nearly moaned from just the slight touch of his fingertips at my stomach. He opened my robe, and I knew it was over.

I was going to let him assist me, and skies, I couldn’t even care to loathe myself for it.

His fingers brushed across my stomach. It contracted in response, expectation and exhilaration unfurling. The anticipation faded when he merely continued to stroke my skin.

“Do you ever eat, Majesty?”

“Florian,” he corrected, but with none of his usual annoyance. “And did you not watch me eat when I took you to dinner?”

The memory of that night, of how confused and disappointed I’d been, returned. “I didn’t watch you,” is all I chose to say to that. “You never eat here.”

“I do. Earlier than you in the mornings, and other meals when I get time.”

“Where?”

The demand earned me a huffed noise that was almost a laugh. “Do you wish to poison me with something harsher than sea salt?”

“It would be fair play,” I said, though the quiet words lacked conviction.

He chuckled, the deep sound brief but beautiful. From my lower stomach to my ribs, his cool fingers traveled and soothed.

“You’ve made your touch cold,” I rasped and finally looked up at him.

His jaw was clenched, his gaze upon my exposed skin and breasts. “Too cold?”