“Oh, but I never said that.” His mouth crooks. “I simply said that I never said I had any.”
For Fable’s sake! “You sneaky—”
I yelp as he snakes his arms beneath my thighs and lugs me off the ground. Pecking my lips, he mutters, “Hold on, mutinous Lark.”
We launch into the air and cross over the valley. The loose feather detaches from my mask and seeps into the clouds. I watch it disappear, then clamp my arms around Cerulean’s neck, my head burrowing into his pulse point.
His wings fan out, buffeting the altitude. I’m torn between laughing and flirting, because he’s got one sensuous pair of flappers.
When the ridges of his abdomen rub against my hip, my thoughts turn racy. It’s all I can do not to drag my hand lower, grip his hardness, and whisper,“Fuck me with this.”
Cerulean must sense my agitation, because he nips my digits, silently insisting that I behave myself. We land at The Fauna Tower, where the wild residents lounge on the grass in puddles of fur and tails. He releases me, my front burning a trail down his pecs.
Growing bold, I run my fingers along the rails of his wings, sketching the vanes. Cottony feathers quaver beneath my fingers. Cerulean shudders as I lean sideways to get a better look. Enchanted slots camouflaged in the coat allow the panels to fold and slip inside without shredding the material.
“Where do they go?” I ask.
“Into the curves along my shoulder blades.” His voice turns gravely. “They shrink and seep into the skin, as mist or water does.”
Once again, he takes my hand. Yet he doesn’t budge from his spot, because this time, the contact is gentle and inquiring. It asks permission, which makes it the sweetest, sexiest touch I’ve ever known.
In answer, I relax my fingers in his. Satisfied, Cerulean whirls toward the haven and guides me through. He charts a path back to the secluded level where we bantered and sparred during our midnight stroll. This alcove separates us from the roaming fauna, albeit a safari of warbles, roars, bleats, and mews push through the leaves or shoot into the constellations, the echoes longer and vaster than any animals where I come from.
Cerulean releases my hand and retreats to the gazebo at the cliff’s edge. I stay put, tarrying a few feet behind him.
The park glows with torch poles. The flames simmer, tamer than at The Night Aviary.
That masquerade. That dance, which hadn’t felt real, which made it the most destructive time for him to figure it out. Irony sure has a sense of humor.
Yet here, in this park?Thisis real. It’s wrong, and it’s forbidden, but it’s real.
Why didn’t the mask’s enchantment work on him? Because he’s a ruler? Because of our inexplicable bond? And if he doesn’t know about that, what’s his own guess?
Does he want the girl from his past? What about the woman in his present?
Is he happy to see me? Is he plagued?
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Cerulean says with his back turned. “As you once were, as you’ve become.”
My questions evaporate. His voice takes flight, whispering through the copse.
“You enchanted me then,” he muses. “A girl with a mortal voice and tongue. Such a vision. Such a vice. One moment, I was the caged prey of her people. The next, a cloaked human snuck into that forge and set my heart free, long before she unbolted the lock.
“I’d been young, smitten with an inferior girl from an inferior place. Mistaking her sass for a sanctuary and her laughter for a haven, I threw caution to the wind. Swiftly, I learned my error: She was never inferior. Indeed, she turned out to be my superior in every measure.
“Over thirteen days, I looked forward to her visits. Everything about her bewitched me, from her patched-up mask to her fanciful ideas about magical professions. I remember every octave of her words, a balm to my captivity. ‘What if you’re the world’s greatest bird watcher, but you don’t know it yet, because you’ve never tried?’ she asked, while I struggled to resist her, disgusted with myself for being entranced. I tried to convince myself I was merely desperate for comfort. Ashamed, I couldn’t forgive myself for the indiscretion that she’d been.”
That hurts, but hadn’t I thought the same thing about him? Even after believing he was dead?
“I scorned her for saving me, and I admired her for it,” Cerulean admits. “I respected her bravery, and I worshipped her recklessness, to the point where I’d have done anything for her. If given the choice, I might have considered staying in that cage until I knew everything about her, however long that took.”
The hurt ebbs, replaced by a vital emotion that wraps around my heart. My slipper heels burrow into the grass, the blades tickling my ankles. I need to feel the ground, otherwise I’ll launch across the park and interrupt him.
“How can the events of childhood lead to this?” he wonders. “How can a brief meeting leave such a scar, an imprint, a yearning? Had it been love, at that fledgling age? Maybe it was a certain slant of love. A precious one—far too precious to last, and too fragile for our own good.
“But tonight, she returned to me,” the Fae says. “For pity’s sake, recognizing her struck too many places at once. A throb in my temple, an ache in my prick, an itch in my palms.”
Cerulean wheels, a cluster of snowy feathers fanning from his mask. “She’s a woman now.” He abandons the gazebo and stalks my way, the wind sweeping through his clothes. “Yet before I realized who she was, every interaction has been a puzzle, a plague, a provocation.”
