𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Arwen stretched through a yawn and grabbed her book. She had just returned from giving Lucien a formal farewell and delivering the signed contracts, Rhysand occupied with Keir. Their stay was to be extended another night because of some new, unsettled minor lords.

Striding down the lone halls of the private palace quarters, Arwen hadn't been prepared to hear many voices—especially the female's coming from her brother's chamber. The door was cracked open, enough for a line of gilded light to stream out of it.

Her eyes widened, shuffling a step back at the idea of stumbling into something she really did not wish to see. But at the familiar tone, Arwen halted and turned her ear closer.

"I see the way you look at me, High Lord."

Arwen's brows shot high, quite sure her incredulous expression would earn a room of laughter as she listened to Ianthe's seductive tone. A shadow shifted past the door—her brother.

"You see what you want to see," he said. The door swung open, though he didn't look back to see her standing there. "Get out."

Ianthe, who was further in his room, only replied, "I heard you like to play games."

Arwen mouthed to herself: 'Snowball fights,' and added a silent scoff.

"I think you'll find me a diverting playmate."

It was then that Arwen could imagine how Ianthe had positioned herself. Someplace on her brother's bed by the direction he was looking, probably splayed naked out or in some of silk robe she took from her guest closet.

Rhysand made a small glance towards the door and Arwen met his gaze of steel. She raised a single brow, her own scowl set on display. He made no acknowledgement that she was there, but did not tell her to leave either.

"I thought your allegiance lay with other courts," he said, the firmness giving no room for the game she suggested.

"My allegiance lies with the future of Prythain, with the true power in this land." Arwen could smell her now—unclothed for certain. Then a gasp and a light thump against the mattress. "Do you know what a union between us could do for Prythian, for the world?"

"You mean yourself?"

So that was her ploy. Of course, it was rather obvious in hindsight but Arwen couldn't have been certain. Azriel was powerful, both in magic and status. But he was a toy-thing compared to Rhysand's.

"Our offspring could rule Prythian."

A splinter of amusement appeared on Rhysand's face. "So you want my crown—and for me to play stud?"

Ianthe's voice turned more strained but still that rasp of desire remained. "I don't see anyone else worthy of the position."

Arwen held another scoff, determined to stay undetected so she could entertain herself with the obnoxiousness of the entire conversation. It wasn't even on behalf of the Spring Court she accompanied Lucien for. It was her own greed and most likely that of the other High Priestesses who were putting their talons in the other courts.

Rhysand's voice had turned cold and hard. "Get out of my bed. Get out of my room. And get out of my court."

She prepared to move herself out of the way, not keen to be in the path of Ianthe's exit of shame but the sound of movement inside was slow. Purposeful. Bare feet on the stone floor was the only sound until Ianthe emerged into Arwen's line of vision in front of the door. The High Priestess was entirely naked, her body perked at attention.

"You have no idea what I can make you feel, High Lord."

Arwen began to roll her eyes, unable to believe that Ianthe had yet to notice her standing there. Or perhaps she had noticed but did not care. Either one was agitating. But the languid movement cut short as the High Priestess' pale hand lifted—and reached between his legs.