guard didn’t see him. Ebril did. The hound’s tail wagged faintly, not drawing the guard’s attention.
Petrus nodded to him, and darted through the crack beneath the door. The furniture in the bedchamber loomed as large as mountains: oak table, armchairs, the trestle bed for Justen. A fire was lit in the wide hearth—a towering bonfire—and candles burned in the sconces.
Petrus climbed the wall, working his way towards the four-poster bed. The velvet canopy cast deep shadows, but the candlelight let him see the bed’s occupants. When he saw the woman, her blonde hair spilling across the pillows, he understood why the prince hadn’t resisted. Lush mouth, lush breasts.
Lucky whoreson.
Petrus took up a position on the mantelpiece and watched.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PERHAPS IT WAS because he’d almost died today, but Harkeld was hungry for sex. He couldn’t get enough of Lenora’s mouth, the delicious softness of her body. She was like a siren from sailors’ tales: the full lips, the ripe breasts, the rich curves of waist and hip.
And she had a siren’s skill at kissing, a siren’s skill at touching him, at drawing pleasure from his body. He trembled as she cupped his testicles in her hand, biting back a groan as she explored with light, teasing fingers.
“You’re everything I hoped you’d be, prince,” she murmured.
And you’re even more. More beautiful, more bold, more skillful.
He didn’t say the words aloud. He couldn’t talk with her caressing him like that, could barely think.
Harkeld reached for her. He wanted to bury himself in her ripe body, to lose himself in pleasure.
“No.” Lenora released him. She drew back, her smile coy, teasing. “Not yet.”
Harkeld dragged air into his lungs. Arousal burned inside him, urgent, insistent.
Lenora stroked herself, letting her fingers trail down the slope of one breast, circling the rosy nipple. “Touch me,” she whispered, looking at him from beneath her lashes.
That, he could do.
He did more than touch; he devoured. The softness of her skin, her feminine scent, were intoxicating. Heat and urgency swelled inside him until he felt he would burst from it.
Lenora arched against him. “Take me.”
He needed no second urging.
INNIS WOKE THE next morning as herself, not Justen. For a moment she didn’t know who she was, where she was—then everything settled into place around her. She pushed the coverlet aside. The other bed in the room was empty; Cora was gone.
She found Cora and Dareus in the main chamber, talking over the remains of breakfast. “What time is it? The prince! I should go to him—”
“Gerit is Justen this morning,” Dareus said.
“But—”
“This morning you’ll be yourself.” It was an order. “You’ve spent too much time in a shape that’s not your own.”
Innis bit her lip. But I like being Justen. And then she realized how dangerous such thoughts were. It was the way to madness.
“Sit,” Cora said. She pushed a basket of pastries across the table. “Eat. I recommend the nut ones.”
INNIS DID THE dawn exercises first. She hadn’t done them since she’d become Justen. Her limbs felt stiff and slightly awkward, uncoordinated. She went through the sequence four times—the stretches, the lunges, the retreats—before she was satisfied with her body’s response. Then she sat and ate breakfast. Cora was right; the nut pastries were delicious.
Petrus entered the chamber, yawning. He did the dawn exercises and joined her at the table. “Morning.” He reached for a pastry, broke it in two, and began to eat.
“How did it go last night?”
“Fine,” Petrus said, not looking at her.
Innis glanced at Dareus and Cora. A map was spread between them. They were deep in conversation.
She leaned towards Petrus. “I’m sorry about last night,” she said in a low voice.
Petrus stopped chewing. His eyebrows rose. She saw his confusion.
“Next time, I’ll watch the prince myself. I promise.”
Petrus choked and began to cough. When he’d caught his breath he said, “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because...”
Because I’m a virgin. Innis looked down at the table. She pushed a crumb with one finger. “Next time I’m doing it.”
“You’re too young.”
She looked up. “Not too young to be a Sentinel.”
“Theoretically, you are.” He reached for another pastry. “Age limit for a Sentinel’s twenty-four, that I recall.”
“But I am a Sentinel, and I should be doing everything you do!”
“Not that.”
Innis felt herself flush. “Why not? I’m not a child. I’ll be twenty soon.”
“Because Gerit and Ebril and I can do it, that’s why.”
She studied his face while he ate. Petrus wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been for several years. Were you afraid the first time you did it? She bit her lip, bit