Page 28 of Consort's Glory
With an elvish consort, Theodore was expected to invade her space. He was expected to push her boundaries, just as she was expected to unleash her claws on him for doing so. It was in the furious clashes that true courtship lay.
It was his job to provoke, but also to soothe and coax, to win her trust and prove his worth by never, ever reacting to her challenges with violence or anger. Margot might be Other, but the drive in him, the beast at the heart of every elf, didn’t care. It would prick her until she fought back, and then it would subdue her with teeth and tongue and every other sensual weapon at his disposal until she surrendered.
“What would it take to earn permission?” he heard himself rumble, only half aware of anything beyond the heat of her skin through the leather of his gloves and her scent in his nose.
Instead of answering the question, she shot back, “I’m uncertain as to why the sovereign would want it in the first place.”
Theodore dared to brush his cheek against the silk of her hair. He was titillated to discover it was cool, the strands not yet entirely dry from her morning shower. What would it be like to run his claws through those damp strands? What would it feel like to have them draped over his bare skin?
His chest felt too tight. A shudder raked itself down his spine.
The pull was intense, the chemical reaction to her nearness and the unfinished bond making his blood increasingly volatile, but the satisfaction of knowing her, having her with him, after twenty-five long fucking years…
It was almost too much.
“I should think that’s obvious,” he answered, fighting the urge to press his lips against her unbruised temple, to simply breathe her in and never stop. He was so touch-hungry for her it hurt.
Margot was quiet for a beat. Only her breath, somehow even despite the jagged rhythm of her pulse beneath his thumb, and the low whir of air through the vents broke the quiet.
Finally, in a voice that was oddly flat, she said, “As flattering as the attention is, Sovereign, I must decline any advances you make. Not only is it politically unwise to pursue even a fleeting sexual relationship between us, I have no desire to end up gutted and floating face down in the bay for the pleasure.”
A lash of pure protective fury struck him, followed immediately by the acute sting of rejection. Why on Burden’s sweet Earth would she assume anything of the sort? What had he done to give her that impression?
His hand tightened on the back of her neck, but before he could open his mouth to disabuse her of any notions of “fleeting” and “gutting”, she continued, “Beyond that, if this is the cost of your personal protection, I cannot pay it.” She turned her head, as much as his grip allowed, to meet his gaze with a look so fierce, so beautiful that it made him ache. “I am waiting for my bondmate.”
