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I begin to slow down, my touch softening.

“Why are you moving in the opposite direction?” Zephyr pants in my ear. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” I whine.

But I’ve been conditioned to pull away from myself whenever I feel like I’m losing control.

They sigh, and it almost sounds like a moan as they grip my wrist and slide their hand down to curl their fingers over mine, extending the index and middle ones out. “Do you want me to guide you through it?”

They hold my fingertips over my core, and I squirm in their lap, “Yes.”

“Then let’s figure this out together.” They press my own fingers firmly to my clit, using my hand to make tight, vigorous circles. “This body is yours. Yours to enjoy how you please. I know you want to make yourself come, Cordelia.”

All of that built-up heat and pressure keeps rising. There’s no holding back now. Zephyr is relentless, coaxing me to move toward that peak.

Pure bliss crashes over me, and I let myself get lost in it. Zephyr adjusts the intensity, passing my fingers over my clit to ease myself through each wave.

The whole time, I know they’ve got me.

I go boneless, melting in their arms like the crystal jellies that still bob behind my eyelids in dreams. Scooping me up, they carry me to the bed and roll me snugly in the blanket, just the way I like it.

“Tell the maids you have a headache if you need to spend some extra time in bed after you wake up and remember you still hate me.” They brush a kiss across my forehead before disappearing.

12

ZEPHYR

Astorm is coming.

The atmosphere is heavy as I climb down the rugged shoreline and lower myself to a boulder. Dipping a glass tube into the water, I collect a sample to bring back to the library.

“Nasty weather, isn’t it?” a man calls from further down the beach.

The muscles in my neck tighten as I spot Ross standing in a safe, dry spot. I groan inwardly.

He hasn’t helped with any of the tasks the Duchess gave us to prepare for our trip to hunt the ice dragon, but I don’t mind that. The man is a nuisance.

He adjusts the lapels of his rich plum jacket. “I’d offer to help, but I wore my good velvet.”

“No worries.” I hold up my vial, studying the seaweed floating in the murky water. “I got what I needed.”

A wave crashes against the rocks, spraying me with mist. This place is so damn wet, and I hate it.

“Then I came at the right time. I was hoping you’d join me for a pint at The Stout Scoundrel.” A northern wind whistles through the cove, lifting his fine blonde strands from the sparse areas on his scalp.

This weather has me chilled to the bone.

I lick my lips. A mug of ale would warm my blood, but I feel like the fog in my head is finally lifting.

I fear a sip will put me right back at the beginning. “Sorry, I can’t. The Duchess will be back from her walk through the village soon, and she’s going to want the results from my sample.”

I need to come up with the right jargon to make my findings sound credible before she returns from her daily rounds with Cordelia. She believes the large ice clumps washing up on the shores of Sorciere and Cor could mean the dreaded ice dragon is waking from her centuries-long slumber in the waters between them.

I’ve taken it upon myself to convince her that she should hold off on hunting the rest of the rune-locked monsters until after the wedding.

I pull my cap lower as another harsh wind blows through, and I hear that high-pitched whistling again, continuing after the gust dies down.

It’s not whistling, but braying.