The Queen's Line (Inheritance of Hunger #1) - Kathryn Moon Page 0,42

by my bottom. "I am getting very curious," I said, biting my lip.

Owen nodded and dipped his head, plucking my lip free with his own teeth. "You'll know when you're ready."

I looped my arms around his neck, and Owen lowered me back to the bed as I kissed his rough chin and long throat. He settled on top of me again, both of us rocking into one another, the friction of fabric rougher than skin but also stimulating. I'd tried touching myself in the past, bringing myself to the same climax the characters in stories found, but it seemed as if I always stalled on the brink. My hands grew unreliable, fidgeting wildly without my permission, right when I thought I might've reached the precipice, and then the feeling would fade away again.

Owen was careful with his own weight and seemed to avoid the steady thump of us together that I was starting to wish for. His kisses were gentler too, testing and tasting. He wanted me to take control before we went further and I…

I was still a little nervous, still stuck in my own head and wondering where to put my hands.

He's not rushing you, so you don't have to either, I realized. I sighed, and Owen kissed my jaw and then lifted one of his legs, bracing his knee outside my hip before slowly rolling back to my side. I turned with him, stealing another kiss from his mouth before we parted at the same time. Owen's fingers pushed some of my hair back over my shoulder, blue eyes glittering with a hidden grin.

"You smell like a meadow," Owen said, flashing that bright smile of his.

"I'm glad you came to the choosing," I answered, leaning in to press my lips to the dimple on his chin. "I'm going to dress and explore the palace."

"I'll join you…in a minute," he added with pink cheeks.

I decided it was wholly unfair that Owen could resolve the simmering desire left from our kisses, but also that I didn't mind carrying that heady sensation for a little while longer.

11

Thao

“This is a good room for light," Cosmo mused, standing at the center of one of the court rooms of the palace.

"Will it make a good studio for you?" Princess Bryony asked, pausing in the slow dancing turns she'd been making over the tile. I'd been watching her delicate movements and the almost childlike enjoyment she got as her skirt flared around her with each spin. The princess was graceful, and I was fascinated by the way she could seem delicate and shy one moment, and then demonstrate a ferocious strength and authority in the next.

I was raised with strength and force and authority, taught to never reveal weakness. Bryony's own occasional fragility worked well to disarm her opponent, hiding the steely determination beneath her perfumes and silks.

"It seems too grand," Cosmo answered, and then tipped his head in thought, taking in the room once more. "It would allow me to make larger works, I suppose."

"There might be a room equally suitable that isn't designed for hosting affairs on matters of state. Perhaps on the second floor," I said. "This is a palace, after all. Not an artist's commune."

Wendell shot me an impatient glance, but I waited for Bryony's whip turn and glare flashing in my direction. Was I a glutton for the woman's punishment? Perhaps.

"I'm not a great lover of meetings, and it seems to me there's more than enough of those rooms already," Bryony said. "And anyway, I imagine it's rather difficult to be hauling materials all the way up to the second floor. See, here Cosmo can just open the doors onto the veranda and carts might be brought around there. We could make a path."

"You're sounding like a patroness," Cosmo said, grinning and taking Bryony's hand, pulling her into another graceful spin.

The room was huge, on the northeastern corner of the palace, with an open overlook of the dense and tangled orchard and plenty of sunlight dressing the bright diamond patterned marble floor. It had probably been a ballroom or some room for the royals to conference with advisors, but it seemed as though most of the palace furniture had migrated to the northern wing, where the drafts were less severe. Several of the southern rooms needed windows replaced, and Owen had again discovered animal residents—a family of cats behind a desk. I wondered if he was so talented with wild animals from being so close to one himself. Although