As the night slipped forward, he had her falling into wave after wave of release.
It wasn’t until she begged him to find his own bliss that Alōs finally pulled himself free and spent himself on the sheets before collapsing, his body racked with shivers of satisfaction.
They breathed heavily beside one another, their skin dewing with sweat.
The room buzzed in the following silence, tinged orange from their intertwined magic.
Alōs turned toward Niya where she lay on her stomach. Her eyes were clear, unguarded as she looked at him. It sent a strange ache through his chest.
But then his gaze landed on the marks along her back, fading but nonetheless there, and a new pain slashed sharp, guilt gripping him.
“I’m sorry for these,” he said, lifting a hand to gently trace the remaining lines.
Niya tensed, but after a few more of his caresses, she eased back into the mattress. “They are not your fault. It is not you who spelled the crew and clearly disobeyed orders.”
“No.” He frowned. “But I still am sorry.”
“Why?” She lifted her head, placing it in her palm as she leaned on the bed. “This is our world, Alōs. People seek vengeance when they are wronged. It’s understandable that your pirates wanted my blood for making them look weak. And you needed to punish me in front of them to hold your power on the ship. I have no delusions regarding what was done to me. You forget who my king is. I have seen and done far worse.” She played with the sheets under her. “And so have you.”
Though he knew her words to be true, they did not help him feel any better.
They each had been scarred by their roles here, numbed to the wickedness that roamed Aadilor. Had each become such creatures themselves when necessary.
“But let us not think on all that now,” she went on. “I don’t know about you, but I’m quite content to float in this cloud a bit longer.”
When she smiled, a real smile, he smiled back.
It felt odd, this moment, as they lay naked beside each other; they weren’t touching, and yet this felt more intimate than their recent act. Talking to one another, openly, honestly.
How quickly would it all fade once they left this room? When Niya remembered she still did not trust him? Returned to her resolve that he was the same man who had betrayed her and broken her heart?
Alōs forced his darkening thoughts away as he gathered Niya into his arms, tugging the sheets over them. As she settled against his chest, he held her protectively, as if that could slow the sands of time. Just for tonight. Just for them.
He had not intended on falling asleep, but Niya was so warm, so comfortable in his embrace. A comfort he had not felt in a very long while. Alōs let his eyes close, chasing away the fatigue of tomorrow. Yet even in sleep, he knew the false promises brought by peaceful dreams. For when Alōs awoke, he was not surprised to find he now lay alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Niya was late to meet her sisters.
The reason for which still tingled along her body and burned in her magic as she swept through the dark halls of the palace.
I am yours to command.
Alōs’s words caressed her memory like melting sugar, a sweet temptation. The image of the pirate lord, submissive and wanting, strong and thrusting, sent a bolt of heat through her core.
She had slept with Alōs.
Again.
Had let him touch her, everywhere.
Again.
But this time, Niya had awoken not regretting a single grain fall.
Something had shifted tonight, a changing of power.
Niya finally felt in control.
And not just of herself.
In a heady, drunk way, she truly believed she had been in control of Alōs.
I am yours to command.
How dangerous those words were to her.
How tempting.
If she was not careful, she’d actually find herself thinking she could trust him.
“There you are.” Arabessa’s voice cut through Niya’s thoughts, refocusing her attention to the end of the hall that she approached. “We were about to go in without you.”
Her sisters waited outside the Thief King’s private chambers. Their disguises matched hers: the black hooded robes and gold masks of the Mousai. It had felt like loosening corset strings when Niya had slipped on the familiar mask, feeling it hug her skin like an old friend.
“Sorry,” said Niya. “I fell asleep and forgot to ask a maid to wake me.”
“Has something happened?” Larkyra tilted her head beneath her mask. “Your energy . . . it feels—”
“Let’s not have our king wait any longer.” Niya waved a hand as she pushed past them, grappling to control her gifts, which jumped along with her nerves. The last thing she needed was for her sisters to suspect what had just happened between her and the pirate lord. Especially when she was still sifting through her own feelings on the matter.
The Mousai stepped over the threshold of the Thief King’s chambers, and the door behind them closed with a sealing click, a dozen locks bolting and shifting back in place. A veil of impenetrable magic.
The Thief King’s identity was the most sacred secret in any kingdom, in any realm, in fact. Which was why his personal chambers were buried deep within the center of the palace, behind walls of guards and spelled doors. Even Niya and her sisters, his own daughters, had agreed to a Secret Sealer regarding his identity. Larkyra’s husband, Darius, did not even know what other role his father-in-law slipped in and out of.
Yet though he was the King of Thieves, Dolion’s private chambers were rather modest, especially compared to his soaring throne room. The receiving hall was small, followed by a long hallway that led to a sitting room, the space made up for comfort rather than spectacle. Sturdy furniture to support a sturdy man and soft, worn rugs to ease feet carrying the weight of endless responsibility. A large fireplace and pockets of standing candelabras lit the room warmly.
“You three are late.” Zimri stood in an archway that led to a dining room.
Niya’s chest lightened at seeing him, a smile forming. “What a delightful greeting to a sister you have not seen in months,” she said as she approached, removing her mask before planting a kiss on his cheek.
Zimri had always been the definition of impeccable, from his combed-back hair to the shine on his onyx alligator shoes. The only thing that put him off this evening was the bit of scruff on his usually smooth black chin.
“Zimri is not our brother,” countered Arabessa from behind them as she folded herself into a chair by the fire, removing her own mask in a flourish.
“And thank the lost gods for that,” said Zimri as he followed Niya to sit among her sisters. “I feel enough responsibility for you lot as it is. The weight of being an older brother would drive me to madness.”
“You and Arabessa are the same age,” Larkyra pointed out, placing her disguise on a low table that sat between them. “So you’d only be the older brother to Niya and me. That should lighten the cause for insanity.”
“On the contrary,” said Zimri, brows raised. “I am exactly two months older than Arabessa. Which is a blessing—I could not order her about as easily without the advantage of age.”
“There are no advantages in the world that would allow you to order me about,” said Arabessa as she glanced at her nails in boredom.
“I could think of one.” Zimri’s grin taunted.
Arabessa’s eyes whipped to his, a pinch to her brows. “And I could think of one which would permanently remove that smile from your face.”
“Oh, please, do not do that,” said Larkyra. “I am rather fond of Zimri’s smiles.”
“As am I,” added Niya. “You would be ridding the world of one of its beauties.”
“If that insufferable grin is considered beautiful”—Arabessa crossed her arms tightly—“then I have a very different definition of what pleases the eye.”
“Really?” Zimri leaned back in his seat, hands clasped over his chest. “Then I must ask. Do you consider yourself beautiful?”