The storm had crept in sometime after sunset. Rain whispered against the window glass, a rhythmic murmur like a lullaby. Kaete had drifted into an exhausted haze, waking an unknown amount of time later with him still in the same position they had ended in, with him lying over her—his weight unyielding, and his cock still within her—his breathing rhythmic in her ear, on the edge of a snore. His cock was softening and threatening to slide free, parting them.
She lay motionless, trying to preserve that fragile connection, that bridge of flesh, his body a furnace against hers, his breath stirring her hair. But the closeness was a lie. Though magic sparked where their skin touched, though he remained inside her as if claiming territory, he was not hers. Not truly. Not in any way that mattered.
She could not lift her hand to trace the elegant curve of his skull, nor tangle her fingers in the shadow-kissed strands of his hair. He was not her lover. He was not her partner. He was her husband, but in name only – his heart and body belonged to Celeste. It was a strange, twisted tale, she thought sourly, where the wife was the other woman, and not the mistress.
The only kiss he had ever given her was at the altar, before the Fae Priestess and the burning altar-fires—chaste, cold, ceremonial.
The first morning after their union, she had found Celeste in the sunroom—clad in a negligee and satin dressing gown that clung like mist, one moonlit shoulder bare as she had nibbled on sliced apple. Sterling had sat across the table from her, sipping tea, his eyes glued to his tablet as the screen scrolled through financial reports.
Celeste had met her gaze across the room and smiled, slow and sure, and with a razor's edge of dark danger. That smile had said: You may have the title, but I have his heart.
Kaete never joined them for breakfast again.
Now, in the stillness, Sterling stirred. His breathing changed as he woke and in waking realized where he was and who he laid with. “I’ll unbind you,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “You need food.”
She made a soft sound of acknowledgment and turned her face away, blinking against the sting of tears as he untangled the knots. As soon as she was free, she slipped from the bed. Her legs nearly gave out beneath her.
“Careful,” he said, still not looking at her. “You’ll fall.”
She didn’t answer.
In the bathroom, she stepped into the shower and turned the temperature to near-scalding, as if heat could strip away his touch from her skin, and his ache in her heart. Her skin was slick with sweat and cum, and it took three washes before her hair surrendered its tangles.
When she emerged, wrapped again in her robe, he was gone. The air reeked of sex. She threw open the windows letting the storm breathe into the room and chase away the remnants. The sheets were snarled and stained. She straightened them, pulling the covers up to hide the marks of their time together.
Her heat was unpredictable during the first time. Two days more, perhaps. Four. It would regulate, but it might take a year or more, and a pregnancy.
Please, she thought. Let it end, but not with a child. She knew that was his goal, but bringing a child into this household, into this marriage, where she felt so alienated, was not ideal. And she feared what Celeste would do if Kaete became pregnant.
Sterling returned as she finished straightening the bed. He carried a silver tray and set it silently upon the dresser.
“There’s tea,” he said. “I didn’t know how you take it.”
There was something in his tone—hesitation. Uncertainty.
She looked up. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers.
“It depends on what type of tea,” she said softly. “If it's the human black tea, then I will take it like you take yours.”
His brow furrowed. “You know how I take my tea?”
She nodded. “Yes. That morning. After the wedding.”
He blinked, and she saw the slow slide into thoughtfulness, the narrowing of his eyes and the tilt of his head as he considered her. “That was the one and only time you ate downstairs with us.”
“Yes,” she looked away. “I am not a fool, Sterling. I understand my role in this house.”
“Your role in this house,” he repeated. “Hmm.” He reached for the teapot.
She watched as he poured it, then handed her the cup. She accepted it, settling on the edge of the bed as he leaned back against the dresser, scrolling through his tablet.
“What do you think I’m doing?” He asked suddenly.
She blinked. “I assume… working?” She was not entirely sure what his work was. Yes, there was the clubs and functions that he organized and some sort of investments that he did for the Winter Court, but she had a sense that there was more - human wheelings and dealings—that made up the bulk of his business.
His gaze flicked up. “Not curious?”
“I am,” she admitted, setting the cup down untouched. “But… it’s not my place to ask.”
He studied her for a long beat. Then he stepped closer, catching her waist and drawing her toward him until she perched on his knee. She didn’t resist. “I’m restoring the wealth lost to the Eastern Bloodline,” he said over her shoulder showing her a screen of data that meant absolutely nothing to her. “We were forced to leave much behind, and then my father squandered the rest. I’m rebuilding our family to their original wealth and power. In the human realm at least, though I aim to return us to wealth and power in the Winter Court too. With that goal in mind, I’m trying to find out who killed my grandfather—and why my family was banished.”
He didn’t know either. It was a mystery in Fae, but it was assumed that the secrecy was a rare gift of mercy from King Tharanys granted to the family of the Sterling's grandfather, the former Lord Eastern. If Sterling didn’t know why they had been banished… And no one else did either. That meant it was a secret meant to stay buried. Her heart stuttered. “That’s dangerous." If not kept secret by the King's demand, then it had been by someone else of power. King, or High Fae, it did not matter. Digging into this past was not without risk.
“I’m halfway there,” he said, set on his own train of thought. “Without truth, there’s no power. Only shadows.”
His scent was dizzying—storm and dusk, edged with iron and spice. It was hard to focus on his words and not the need that was steadily growing within her. “Whoever is behind this secret… they’ll do anything to keep it buried,” she whispered.
“That’s why this stays between us.” He dipped his head. His lips grazed the side of her neck, kissing up towards her jaw. She tilted her chin, offering more, her breath catching.
A soft sound slipped from her mouth, involuntary. The storm beyond the balcony seemed to still, as if the world held its breath.
He set the tablet aside. “Our little break is over,” he said as he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “It is time for the play to resume.”