She shut her eyes, squeezing them until little flashes of golden light appeared on the darkness of her eyelids.
She would find a way out of this mess, and she had a feeling that she would have to do it sooner rather than later. After all, she’d already promised Gild her firstborn child in exchange for his help. What would she offer next time, and the time after that?
And yet, to her dismay, the thought of running away and escaping the Erlking’s grasp brought her no comfort. It only made her heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise.
What if this was the last time that she ever saw Gild?
Her pulse sped up as she slipped her fingers into his hair and turned her head, pressing a kiss just below his ear.
He inhaled sharply, his arms tensing around her.
The reaction encouraged her. She hardly knew what she was doing as she caught the tender flesh of his earlobe between her teeth.
Gild groaned, startled, even as he leaned into her, his fingers clutching at the back of her dress.
Then he was pushing her away.
Serilda gasped. Her cheeks were flushed, her heartbeat racing.
Gild’s eyes were molten as he stared at her.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I don’t know what I was—”
His fingers found the back of her head, tangling in her hair, as he pulled her back to him. His mouth found hers. Ravenous.
Serilda met him in kind. Her body was burning up in the confines of her dress. She felt light-headed, barely able to keep up with the sensations on her skin as Gild’s hands left trails of frazzled warmth on her neck, her back, along the sides of her rib cage, the curve beneath her breasts.
She pulled away only when she needed to breathe. Trembling, she fitted her hands against Gild’s chest. He may not have had a heartbeat, but he was solid beneath her touch. Under the thin linen there was strength and tenderness. Her thumb caressed the dip of his collarbone and she leaned forward, suddenly desperate to kiss that spot of bare flesh underneath his open collar.
“Serilda …”
Her name was a throaty plea, a yearning, a question.
She met his eyes and realized that she wasn’t the only one who had started shaking. Gild’s hands were on her hips, gathering the fabric of her skirt into fistfuls.
“I’ve never …,” he started, his eyes tracing the lines of her face, from her brow to her chin to her swollen mouth.
“Me either,” she whispered back, nervous all over again. “But I’d like to.”
He exhaled and tipped his head forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Me too,” he breathed, with a bit of a chuckle. “With you.”
His hands slid up the back of her dress, and she could feel little tremors in his fingers as they found the laces and began to untie them.
Slowly.
Tediously slow.
Agonizingly slow.
With a frustrated huff, Serilda pushed Gild backward until his legs hit the settee. She tumbled on top of him, encouraged by the sound of his laughter, teasing and warm, before Serilda’s mouth effectively silenced it.
Chapter 39
She was liquid gold. A pool of sunshine. A lazy nap on a summer’s day.
Serilda could not remember when she had last slept so soundly, but then, she’d never slumbered encircled by protective arms, a firm chest flush against her back. At one point she’d started to shiver, and she wondered with a rush of misery if she would open her eyes and find herself alone in the castle ruins. But no—she was just cold, with no blanket to snuggle beneath. Gild had helped her back into her dress, tenderly kissing each of her shoulders before pulling up the fabric of her sleeves and retying the laces. They’d easily dozed off again. Serilda knew she was smiling, even in her half-dreaming state.
Utterly content.
Until a shadow fell over her, eclipsing what little light was making the windows glow indigo blue.
Serilda squinted her eyes open.
Then sat up, flustered, but alert.
She shot to her feet, flinching at the crick in her neck, and dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grim. Forgive me. I was—we were—”
She hesitated, unsure exactly what she was apologizing for. She glanced back, suddenly terrified of what the Erlking would do if he found Gild in here, with her, but?…
Gild was gone.
What she had thought was an arm pillowing her head was her traveling cloak, neatly rolled up.
She blinked.
When had he left?
In all her spiraling emotions, Serilda was most surprised at the twinge of regret that he had not woken her to say goodbye.
She chastised herself and faced the king, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “I … must have fallen asleep.”
“And enjoyed the most pleasant of dreams, it would appear.”
Embarrassment knotted her insides, worsening when the Erlking’s curious look turned almost glib. “Dawn approaches. Before the veil separates us, there is something I would like to show you.”
Her brow pinched. “Me?”
The king smiled—the overpowering smile of a victor. The smile of a man who always got what he wanted, and had little doubt he would this time as well. “Your presence continues to be of surprising advantage, Lady Serilda. And I am in a generous mood.” He held out a hand.
She hesitated, recalling the icy feel of his skin. But, with little choice, she braced herself and settled her hand into his. A chill swept down her spine, and she could not fully disguise the shudder that his touch elicited. The king’s grin widened, as if he liked having this effect on her.
He led her from the room. Only once they were in the corridor did Serilda remember her cloak, but the king was walking briskly and she had a feeling that he would not appreciate the delay if she asked to return for it.
“This has been an exhilarating night,” said the Erlking, whisking her down a long stairway that spilled out into a wide conservatory. “In addition to your diligent work, our hunt achieved a most glorious prize, with some thanks owed to you.”
“Me?”
“Indeed. I hope you aren’t the sensitive sort.”
“Sensitive?” she asked, more bewildered by the moment and unable to fathom why he was being so nice to her. In fact, the Erlking, who usually struck her as ominous and more than a little morose, now was bordering on?…?chipper.
It made her nervous.
“I know there are mortal girls of weak constitution, who feign repulsion at the captivity or slaughter of wild animals.”
“I’m not sure the repulsion is feigned.”
He snorted. “Show me a lady who does not enjoy a tender cut of venison on her table, and I will concede the point.”
Serilda had no argument for that.
“To your question,” she said a bit hesitantly, “I do not think myself to be particularly sensitive, no.”
“I hoped as much.” The king paused before a set of wide double doors that Serilda had never seen before. “Few mortals have ever witnessed what you are about to behold. Perhaps the night will exhilarate us both.”
A flush burst hot across her face. His words brought back flashes of intimacy and pleasure that she was trying hard not to think about in this most inopportune moment.