No one in the Remaldi family has curly hair.
But her father’s Captain of the Guard did.
And there were definitely rumors of the captain having an affair with the Crowned Queen.
I take another hit from the cigarette. Amara’s eyes sink to my mouth, to the way my lips pull on the paper. I let the smoke cloud out a second later, before I quickly suck it back in.
A little breath escapes her and she rocks against me, grinding her clit against my crotch.
But I’m in no mood.
Not when Neverland is drawing closer and my hour of need closer still.
“Come to dinner and I’ll make it worth your while.” She reaches between us to grope me.
Amara is arguably the least likely to rule, though I’ve been surprised before. After all, I thought a Lorne prince would currently be ruling over my homeland, and then my dear baby brother gutted the entire family with his bare hands. So…surprise.
But what Amara lacks in royal power, she more than makes up for in debauchery.
Before this nonsense, we were spending most nights in the Darkland Red Light District fucking and getting high until we couldn’t see straight.
“I suspect you will be making things worth my while with or without dinner,” I tell her and take another long pull on the cigarette. Her pale cheeks pink. I am far too old for her, even though we look the same age, which is twenty and six, give or take.
Probably I am far too old for half the people I fuck. Being immortal will have that effect.
“Sister wants to be sure your allegiance to us remains intact,” Amara goes on, “and that you won’t grow soft when it comes to your brother.”
I sigh. “I have not spoken to, nor laid eyes on Vane in years. There is no ground between us to grow soft.”
If Amara were adept at reading through her lust, she would know I was lying. I am pissed at my brother, yes. He chose Peter Pan over me. But would I betray him to the royal family? Never. Never in a hundred years.
So I have to tread lightly and I blame the fae queen for that.
After all, when she hailed for me, promising to reveal Peter Pan’s secrets, she sent the letter to the palace knowing full well the royal family would intercept it and insert themselves into the cause. They’ve been looking for any excuse to get the Darkland Death Shadow back from my brother. They’ve just been too terrified to confront him.
No, they’re hoping his terrifying older brother will do their dirty work for them.
But I suppose all of that will depend on what these secrets are that the fae queen is holding over my head.
If they are worthless, I will find something else to occupy my time.
If these secrets hold value…
I think Vane might have a hard time deciding which side he lands on—mine or Peter Pan’s and I think if he has a hard time deciding, I will decide for him.
I don’t hate Pan. I don’t like him either.
We had a good time, cutting off Hook’s hand as punishment for what he did.
But good times are not the same as obedience and loyalty.
And I could never control Peter Pan, either blatantly, or surreptitiously. And he sure as hell would never be loyal to me.
Which means I automatically like him less.
“Come to dinner,” Amara says again, edging on a beg this time.
I’m not getting out of this one, not when I’m stuck on a fucking ship.
“Fine.”
Her teeth gleam beneath her satisfied smile.
I groan and pull out my pocket watch, checking the time.
“I’ll have to leave early,” I tell her. “No exceptions.”
“You and your watch.” She leans forward, drives against me again, and brings the wet swell of her lips to mine.
All right, maybe I am in the mood.
I grab her ass with my free hand. Her tongue flicks forward, chasing mine and the kiss deepens.
My cock hardens. Amara wiggles her hips, bringing the heat of her core closer to me.
Fuck.
And then she’s gone.
My heavy eyes snap open to find her looking amused several steps back. “That’s all you get for now.” She drags the backside of her hand across her mouth. “Come to dinner. Then you’ll get the rest.”
“You deviant little slut,” I tell her and finish off the cigarette and fight the urge to readjust now that my cock’s so hard, it’s being strangled by my pants.
“Eight o’clock,” she says and turns away. “Do not be late. Sister hates tardiness.”
She and I have one thing in common—we are devotees to every minute of every hour.
Darkland may be one of the wealthiest islands in the island chain, but it also loves to deal in another currency—gossip.