A Court of Rage and Wishes

Chapter 8

"I never thanked you for standing up for me during that meeting," Ariciya noted as she and the High Lord of the Summer Court strolled through the halls of his palace.

Tarquin smiled warmly, his teeth a flash of white against his deep brown skin. "All I wanted was for you to be recognized for your worth."

"And for that, I thank you because I probably would not be here right now if it weren't for what you said," she replied, meeting his crushing turquoise eyes once again. Her breath caught in her throat as Tarquin's eyes sparkled like the sea. Like the last time they were together, an intrinsic part of her begged to be closer to him. It was like a string was tugging on her ribs, drawing her to him. The harder she resisted, the harder it pulled.

In the back of her mind, as single word echoed. It was faint, but it struck fear into her heart nonetheless. Ariciya tried to focus on anything but that. But, with Tarquin so close to her, the incessant chanting grew more urgent, as if it was telling her to act on her feral instincts.

But she couldn't. Not yet, and not there.

She knew it wasn't just herself who was having a hard time, though. The sensation of lightning that coursed through her veins when they'd kissed told her enough. It was a two-way street.

Ariciya snapped out of her reverie as Tarquin's knuckles brushed her cheek, his eyes leaving hers only to flicker down to her pink lips. Her cheeks grew warm as he stepped closer, their chests nearly touching. Tarquin's hand slowly trailed past her jaw and to her neck, leaving a line of fire in its wake. They were just beginning to lean in when a certain Illyrian bastard cleared his throat loudly.

Springing apart, Tarquin slipped his hands into his pockets. Meanwhile, Ariciya's mouth gaped open like a fish as she tried to process what happened.

"I see you two have been catching up," Azriel observed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "My apologies, High Lord, if I was interrupting anything."

Tarquin, ever the charmer, gave him a tight smile and replied, "No worries. I was just about to show Ariciya to her room."

Azriel raised a skeptical brow at that, his hazel eyes darting between Ariciya and Tarquin. The shadows swirling over his shoulder flared for a moment, spilling forward in a subtle warning. "Well, I'm sure Ariciya can find her way to her room by herself. If I may, I'd like to have a word with you."

Tarquin nodded once, then turned back to Ariciya, who looked like she wanted to sink into the ground. "There are some clothes set out in your room if you'd like to change into something more suitable for this weather," he said, touching her arm lightly. It took every bit of Ariciya's willpower not to lean into his touch. "I had Cresseida pick them out for you."

Wordlessly, Ariciya gave a curt nod and left his side, pausing as she passed by Azriel.

"You're worse than Rhysand," she hissed into his ear, glaring at him as the shadowsinger chuckled softly, his laugh a deep rumble. It seemed that Rhysand was going to have competition.

Once Ariciya's footsteps faded away in the distance, Azriel straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down the High Lord of the Summer Court as if he weren't one of the most powerful fae in Prythian. "What are your intentions with Ariciya?"

The High Lord stood his ground when most would have been shaking in their boots. Azriel took note of that. In an even tone, Tarquin answered, "I'll be whatever she wants me to be. Whatever she needs me to be."

"You better." Azriel clenched his jaw shut, analyzing Tarquin's body language. His hands dropped to his sides, his fingertips tracing the scabbard that concealed the blade of Truth-Teller. "She's important to us; more so than she lets on. If you hurt her, quite frankly, you'll have the most powerful fae in Prythian on your ass."