The Prisoner's Throne The Stolen Heir Duology #2

"Crawl to me." Her eyes shine, fever bright. Again, Oak's body moves without his permission.

Still, dressed this way and with the hood of the cloak pulled forward to hide his face, he might be able to walk straight out the door of the Citadel, as though he were going on patrol. It would serve her right for never coming to see him, not even to use the bridle and command him to stay put.

Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. "That must be what you like about me." "That you're terrifying?" he asked, his drawl becoming exaggerat edly languorous, almost a purr. "I adore it." She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king's arms came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.

“Then I’ll have to marry you, Prince Oak of the Greenbriar line,” Wren says, with a sharp-toothed smile. “Just to make you suffer.”

“…I adore you. I want to play games with you. I want to tell you all the truths I have to give. And if you really think you’re a monster, then let’s be monsters together.”

Jude looks surprised but then shrugs. “I’ll be outside, yelling at people.”

“Try not to enjoy it too greatly,” says Cardan as she goes out.

“I hate being unwell,” he says.

“You’re not sick,” Jude tells him. “You are recovering from being stabbed - or rather, throwing yourself on a knife.”

“You would have done the same for me,” he says airily.

“I would not,” Jude snaps.

“Liar,” Cardan says fondly.

“You can’t just keep throwing yourself at things as though you don’t matter.”

“She matters more,” he says.

“I want,” she says. “That’s my problem. I want and I want and I want.”

“What do you want?” he asks, voice soft.

”Everything. Charm me. Rip me open. Ruin me. Go too far.”

He shudders as her words, shaking his head against them.

She goes on, whispering against his skin. “You cannot understand. I am a chasm that will never be full. I am hunger. I am need. I cannot be sated. If you try, I will swallow you up. I will take all of you and want more. I will use you. I will drain you until you are nothing more than a husk.”

“Use me, then,” he whispers, mouth on her throat.

Then her lips are against his, and there is no more talking for a long time.

She is very beautiful, and Oak very much wishes she would go away.

Tiernan said feel, not felt. Maybe Oak’s romance is doomed, but that doesn’t mean someone else’s can’t succeed.

“I love you,” Oak says, because he needs to say it simply, so she can’t find a way to see a lie in it. He’s smiling because he feels ridiculously happy. “Come have a picnic with me.”

Cardan yawns. “I hate the war room.”

Jude rolls her eyes. “He’s probably arguing with Grima Mog’s second-in-command.”

“Well, if there’s an actual fight to watch, that’s different, obviously,” Cardan says.

“…Drown whatever lingering feelings you have for me in a new love, or ten.” She says the last bit with some asperity.

He puts a hand to his chest. “Have you no feelings to drown?”

Wren looks down. “No,” she says. “Nothing I have would I ever want to give away.”

“Like a cat lazing in the sun. No one expects it to suddenly bite.”

“I am not the one fond of biting,” he says, and is gratified when she blushes, the pink coming up bright enough to show through the pale blue of her skin.

And it is not as though there is no strategy behind his offer, but he feels more like a hopelessly besotted ninny than a master strategist. He’d marry her, and happily.

“Why does anyone want anyone else?” Tiernan answers. “We do not love because people deserve it - nor would I want to be loved because I was the most deserving of some list of candidates. I want to be loved for my worst self as well as my best. I want to be forgiven my flaws.”

“I find it harder to forgive your virtues,” Hyacinthe tells him, a smile in his voice.

A flush creeps up Hyacinthe’s neck. “You,” he says.

“Me,” says Tiernan.

“Be flattered.” Oak wipes blood off his chin. “I think we were fighting over you.”

He would tell her that he wants to stay with her, that he wants to be her friend again, wants to feel her teeth against his throat, but how can he possibly convince her of his sincerity? And even if she did believe him, what would it matter when his desires didn’t keep her safe from his machinations?

“You need not love me,” she tells him.

“What if I did? If I do?” Oak has proclaimed his love to people before, but that felt like play and this feels like pain. Maybe it’s because she sees him, and no one else has. The illusion he wears is much easier to love than what’s underneath.