The muscles in Kel’s jaw twitch, but there’s no anger at this mention. “If he feels a connection, it would explain some of his actions. His … preoccupation with you.”
“I don’t really understand it,” I admit, “only that I know Caspian has done terrible, unforgivable things, but a part of me believes there is still good in him.”
“I want to say you’re wrong, but if I truly believed that, then these thorns around my wrist would be gone. Because I’ve seen it. Seen him in a light many others haven’t. When he’s sad, with tears running down his cheeks. Or nervous before a party, desperately trying to smooth down his hair. I’ve seen him blissed with pleasure and hysterical with rage. I’ve even seen him laughing so hard he cried.”
“I hardly believe that,” I say.
“It’s rare, but true. And to think all of that was just an act? A part of me still can’t make sense of it.”
“What about that blackness he coughs up? He called it ‘the rot’.”
“Caspian is a creature entirely of the Below. He is made of a magic not of this world,” Keldarion says lowly. “He never told me the details, but from what I gathered, it had to do with the circumstances of his birth, how Sira bore such a powerful child. There is always a cost for such magic, and for Caspian, it means he cannot survive on the surface. Though, he used to be able to spend months up here before returning to the Below. I would think he is even more powerful now with all the magic he siphons from Castletree.”
My gaze drifts to the thorns snaking up the room, and I desperately want to tell Kel the truth. But Caspian made me promise not to. But I can tell Kel my truth.
“I can feel the thorns,” I say. “And they’re not siphoning magic.”
“Are you sure?”
I take Kel’s hand in my own and press it over a thorn above the bed. I close my eyes and let myself feel. “When you tore the vines in High Tower and when I tried to remove them in the dining room, Castletree crumbled. Look how they curve along the walls … I don’t believe they’re hurting Castletree.”
“Why would he offer strength to his enemies?” Kel gives a low breath. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so sick.”
I hadn’t thought about it like that. How much magic is he using to keep Castletree standing?
I shake my head. “Why does Caspian do anything? I mean, he kissed me, after all.”
“I saw.”
“No, when we were escaping. I tried to pull him with us, and we were alone amidst the thorns. We kissed again.” I clutch Kel close and remember the way it felt to be held in Caspian’s arms. The memory is so vivid, I know Keldarion can see it, too.
He says nothing, but his gaze is soft with a flicker of confusion. “We have to be careful around him, Rosalina. Our hearts are not always trustworthy.”
“I know,” I say. But I know that there is at least one part of my heart that shines with the utmost honesty: the part that binds me to Kel, that says I can tell him anything.
A sly grin crosses my face. “I have one more question, if it’s not too bold to ask.”
“And that is?”
I rise on his chest. “What is it like to bed the Prince of Thorns? That woman who was sent to Castletree said it was quite lackluster.”
Keldarion chuckles so loudly I bounce up and down with the movement. “Shouldn’t you be seething with jealousy at the thought of my former lovers?”
Honestly, I ought to, shouldn’t I? Yet the idea of him with Caspian stirs up a different feeling within me altogether. It’s as though I can almost picture Caspian appearing in my thoughts and playfully teasing me about it. What happened to you after we escaped? I wonder. After you kissed me? “I’m curious.”
Kel raises a brow. “He was much as he is now. Passionate, cunning. Extreme. Sometimes it felt like my whole chest was on fire.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Though I do not think he would be the same with you, based on that kiss you shared in my mind.”
I inhale sharply. “Shouldn’t you be seething with jealousy at the idea of me with him?”
“I should be, shouldn’t I?” he says. “And a part of me is very angry at the idea, and yet—”
“And yet?”
“I cannot stand the idea that he was the last one to kiss you.” Suddenly, Kel’s lips are over mine.
I can’t control my desire for him, deepening the kiss.
“Damn, you even taste like him,” Keldarion growls, hands gripping my hair as his tongue explores my mouth.
“Make me taste like you,” I plead.
“Somehow, I don’t think my story has tired you out enough.”
My leg slips between his. “Kel…”
“You heard what Ezryn said, didn’t you?” Something dark and predatory lingers in his voice. “May I pleasure you?”
A shiver runs through my entire body. “Wouldn’t that be terrible for you? To receive nothing in return?”
“Oh no, my Rose. Your body is all I have dreamed about since you walked through the door of Castletree. Will you let me touch you? Touch all of you?”
I press down on his chest, eyes blazing. “I’m yours, Kel. But let’s get something straight.”
He narrows his eyes in a catlike way.
“I want this always: your heart open to me. Don’t shut me out again. No more lies.” I say, determination lacing my voice. “And I will hear no more about you fucking every man and woman in the Enchanted Vale. You belong to me, Keldarion, Prince of Winter.”
He smiles. “Is that all?”
“Close me out again, and I’ll chop that perfect cock off with my thorns.” I take control of some of the ones from around the room for emphasis.
“I do not doubt it.” He rises, takes my face between his palms. “I have always and will forever be yours, my Rose.”
I drop the thorns and kiss him lightly. “I’m yours, Kel. You know I’m yours.”
He grips me around the waist and tugs me over his hips. “Then hold on to the headboard and sit on my face.”
68
Rosalina
I blink at him, stunned into stillness. “Kel.”
“If you do not want this, then tell me now.” He runs a thumb along my lips. “Because I have been dreaming of the taste of you for so long.”
I’ve dreamt of this, too, I think, but I won’t be able to reciprocate.
He kisses the side of my neck. “Rest assured, being able to touch you, to watch you come apart under my care alone, is all the pleasure I need. Lift your arms.”
I do, and he removes my shirt. My whole body quivers with anticipation. He’s only ever given me fleeting touches. But he means to have me. All of me.
Rough hands glide down my body.
“So perfect,” he says, a surprising lightness to his voice. “Long have I ached to touch these beautiful breasts.”
My laugh turns to an almost feral moan as he kneads at me, thumb flicking over my pointed nipples.
“And these hips, your stomach, these gorgeous, long legs.” His eyes roam over me like a fire. “By the stars, I could gaze at you for an age.”
I tuck a stand of dark hair behind my pointed ear. “I might be fae now, but even I’m not that patient.”