Prince's Fire (8 page)

W
hen Celeste woke, she was aware of a couple of things in quick succession. First, she was lying naked in the arms of an equally naked Prince Rayn. And second, he was no longer in the flaccid state he'd been in the night before. She couldn't see him now, since she was facing away from him, but she felt him, huge and hard against her bottom.

He had exactly the body she'd imagined: sturdy and muscled, powerful from head to toe. Now those strong arms hugged her close, one of them snaking under, half-burrowed in the sand, the other encircling her waist from above. A breeze feathered the smattering of blond hairs on his forearm. She wanted to touch him, run her hands over the fascinating contradiction that was the male body—
his
body—all softness and hardness, vulnerability and strength. But it wouldn't be fair to wake him. The man had found her in the ocean, warmed the water, and saved her life. He'd earned his rest. Besides, if he woke up, he'd see her own naked body.

The fire had died down. She was chilly where her skin was exposed to the air, which made her anxious. She hated being cold. But it wasn't so bad that she couldn't bear it. And Rayn might warm her when he woke, or if his magic needed more rest, they could build up the fire. For now, she shivered and waited.

Rayn shifted. Not from waking, she thought—he seemed to be making himself more comfortable. Muscles flexed as he rolled in their nest of sand. He lifted his arm and dropped it again, placing his hand on her breast.

Celeste froze, trying to decide if it bothered her to have his hand there. She decided it didn't bother her; in fact she liked it. It would be even better if his hand moved, stroking her rather than just sitting in one place. Perhaps if she moved, she'd get the same effect—but that might wake him.

He shifted again. “You're cold,” he murmured. She felt the rumble in his chest against her skin as he spoke.

“A little.”

He raised his head. His braid was falling apart, and the stray hairs tickled her shoulder. He jerked his hand off her breast. “Sorry. Didn't mean to touch you there.”

She didn't want him looking at her, but the touching was nice. “It's all right. I don't mind.” She took his hand and guided it back.

He took her breast. Stroked it, kneaded it. She melted into him, loving every sensation. His hand wandered, running along her shoulder, her side, then her other breast. With a groan, he pushed her onto the sand on her back and climbed atop her. “I'll warm you,
karamasi
.” He kissed her.

Not a gentle kiss. His tongue swiped at her lips—
Open,
it commanded—and she complied. The warmth of his magic flooded her, through his tongue, through his hands on her body. She moaned at the sensations and arched upward. He was fire against her skin—not the controlled flame of the hearth or campsite, but a grass fire, unpredictable and uncontained, smoldering quietly one moment and flaring to immensity the next, licking across her skin in a wild rush.

Yes,
she urged him, not with her voice but with her body.
Don't look. But kiss me. Touch me.

She no longer needed his magic. Her body was responding to him with a heat all its own, pooling deep in her core and spreading outward until it enveloped her from toes to scalp. Her skin pebbled, sensitized and craving him, answering his touch like a stroked cat.

Rayn's eyes were fogged with desire. He didn't close them when he kissed, but drank her in, watching her every reaction. She didn't love being watched, but she could tolerate the scrutiny if he kept his eyes on her face.

His tongue invaded her, and she welcomed him, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him in deeper. He shifted his hips. She spread her legs, opening, and in a single thrust, he entered her. They moved, one body fused together in the sand. She ran her fingers at liberty over every inch of him, tracing the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders, the ridges of his stomach, the smoothness of his lower back. His strokes were long and powerful. Each one sent a dizzying flare of sensation through her that left her moaning and grasping at him, feeling his heartbeat through the wall of his chest as it thumped against hers.

Her orgasm came, sweet and full-throated, and he drove her through it, accelerating his rhythm until he joined her in rapture. Afterward, Celeste lay wrapped in his weight and his warmth, delirious with pleasure, afraid to say anything lest she break the spell.

•   •   •

As Rayn lay on the sand with the Imperial Princess in his arms, he reflected on just how immensely he'd fouled this trip up. He'd been determined not to marry the Kjallan Imperial Princess, and what had he done? Slept with her on the beach. The Kjallan emperor was going to break out his musket if he learned of this, and by musket Rayn meant
massive and well-trained invasion force
.

He couldn't regret the act itself, which had been transcendent, a fantasy made manifest. He'd woken rested and potent, his magic returned to its full strength. After he'd nearly drowned last night, his joy at being alive was fierce, and when Celeste had turned her naked body toward him and put her breast in his hand, his desire overwhelmed him. Any remaining shreds of self-control had fled, along with his common sense.

He understood why she'd tempted him. She wanted the marriage, after all. Her brother had probably ordered her to seduce him, if that was what it took. And without really trying—just by being herself and in extraordinary circumstances neither of them could have foreseen—she'd succeeded.

He had no one to blame but himself. She hadn't forced him to put his cock in her.

Who were the men who'd attacked them in the cabin? They were war mages disguised as sailors, obviously, but beyond that, he hadn't gotten a good look at them. Had they been Kjallans?

“We'd better get moving.” He extracted himself from Celeste's arms and climbed to his feet. The fire had died down. He gave the burned-out wood a kick and goaded the flames with his magic. They responded with an anemic sputtering and dropped back to a flicker.

Celeste stood and brushed the sand off her body, naked except for the riftstone on a chain around her neck. Rayn stared at her, unable to help himself. Even bedraggled, she was beautiful. Black hair spilled over her shoulders, unkempt and wild, framing full, round breasts. The shape of her—gods, he wanted to run his hands down her body and feel those curves, especially that glorious one between the waist and the hip. She was like a sea spirit come out of the ocean. His blood rushed south. Given the tiniest bit of encouragement, he would take her again.

Her eyes rose and met his. She started. “Don't look. Please.” She turned around.

She was shy. Too bad. With a body like that, she ought not to be. He found his clothes on the sand and wished he'd thought to hang them on something last night. They were mostly dry, but not completely. He pulled them on, making a face as the salty grit rubbed his skin. He needed freshwater for bathing and washing his clothes. Not to mention drinking. He was dry-mouthed and becoming uncomfortably thirsty.

He heard a rustle of fabric behind him. Celeste was getting dressed too.

Where had they washed ashore? He saw no signs of civilization. The beach was gray rather than tan, its sand coarse and spattered with logs, jutting rocks, and pieces of driftwood. Beyond it the ocean was a leaden blue expanse stirred, in places, to peaks of white froth. Not a ship to be seen.

He turned. Celeste was fastening the hooks of her sadly ruined dress. Behind them was a forest, scattered and bare in patches where the sand had taken over, but thickening farther in.

“Shall we wait here?” he said. “The ship may still be looking for us.”

“But will they find us?” said Celeste. “We're pretty far from where we went overboard.”

“They might explore the shoreline.” He frowned. There was an awful lot of shoreline for them to explore.

“We shouldn't go back to the ship. The assassins may have survived. Do you know who they were?”

“I assume they were Kjallans, since it was a Kjallan ship.”

“I doubt it,” said Celeste. “Why would a Kjallan want to murder you?”

“Any number of reasons. I can't speculate as to motive when I know so little.”

“You have enemies in Inya, don't you?” asked Celeste.

“Of course.” He swallowed. His mouth felt like cotton. “If we're not getting back on the ship, what then? Do you have any idea where we are?”

“Some,” she said. “We're definitely in Riorca. We were only a few days out from Denmor when we went into the ocean.”

So walking wasn't entirely out of the question. An overland journey might even be shorter, because the ship had to first go north and then turn east, following the coast, while they could head straight for Denmor. But there was a problem. “Without water, we won't last long.”

“I believe I can find water,” said Celeste. “I'd rather take my chances walking to civilization than waiting.”

“How will you find water?”

“I'll show you.” She headed off into the trees.

“We have no shoes,” he pointed out.

“I think we can manage without them.”

Rayn reached out with his mind to extinguish the dying campfire and trailed after her. “I hope you have a better plan than just walking and looking around, because I wouldn't bet on our finding any water that way.”

“I've a plan.” She slowed as she entered the forest, looking everywhere. Down at the carpet of leaves, straight ahead into the bushes, up into the treetops.

He couldn't imagine how she would find water by looking up at the trees, but he held his tongue, trusting that she knew what she was doing.

A jaybird popped out of a bush and onto a nearby branch. Not the blue-and-white kind he knew from Inya, but an unfamiliar variety, dark blue with black points. Celeste stared at the bird, and the bird stared back. Then it fluttered away to another bush. “Follow the jay,” she said. “And don't frighten him.”

“You think the bird will lead us to water?”

“I've commanded him to,” said Celeste.

Impossible,
he thought, but then he remembered the shark. Had that been a dream? No, it had been real—how else would they have reached the shore? Clearly she could control animals. He wouldn't question it; the skill had saved their lives.

When the bird had led them farther than a mile into the forest and he hadn't seen a droplet of freshwater, he was less certain. “He's leading us on a merry chase. Are you sure this will work?”

“It ought to.”

She kept moving. Having no better solution to offer, Rayn followed, picking his way carefully and trying not to step on anything sharp with his bare feet. Half an hour later, he heard the finest sound in all the world: the prattle of water over stones. “Forget the bird—I can hear it.” He broke into a run, and she hurried after him.

It was a small stream, no more than a trickle, furrowed deeply into the ground and almost completely hidden by ferns and leafy cabbagelike plants. Rayn dropped to his knees and lowered his mouth into the water. It was ice-cold. His lips numbed as he drank, but he gulped greedily. When one was thirsty enough, water was finer than whiskey.

He came up gasping, refreshed and a little chilled. At the same time, Celeste lifted her head from the water. Her lips were blue.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He called fire, sending it spiraling up through his body and into his mouth and lips, and kissed her, sharing the warmth. She moaned, worming her way closer. She tasted exquisite, a mixture of clean, pure water and woman.

“I'm starving,” he said. “I don't suppose you could command a rabbit to come over here and stand still while we slaughter it.”

“Uh.” Celeste looked uncomfortable, and he guessed from her expression that it was actually possible. “There's a spinefruit bush.” She pointed at a low, sprawling plant cowering in the shade of a nearby tree. It had several spiny fruits on it, all of them green.

“Those are edible?”

“No, they're still green,” said Celeste. “We need a yellow one.”

Rayn sorted through the branches. “All the fruits are green.”

“Find another plant, then.” She wandered about the forest. “The Riorcans cultivate them in these forests. Mushrooms too, but I don't trust myself to pick the right varieties. Here's one.” She plucked something from the bush beside her and held up a spiny yellow orb.

Now that Rayn knew what to look for, he saw that the plants were everywhere, tucked up close to tree trunks and shaded by ferns. He moved to the next plant, searched it with no success, and tried another. A glint of bright yellow winked at him from behind the leaves. He plucked the fruit. “Got another.”

Between them, they found four. Not a feast, but better than nothing.

Rayn sat on the bank of the creek and studied his prize. It was hard and spiky, not something he could sink his teeth into. “How is this eaten?”

“We have to get the spines off—we'll need a sharp stone or something.” She looked around her feet.

Rayn's hand went to the knife holster at his belt. Had the blade survived its dunking in the ocean? The scabbard was damp on the outside and wrinkled, but he could feel the knife within it. He tugged at the hilt, working it back and forth a little, and the blade popped free, tossing a few drops of seawater into the air. “Will this do?”

“You've had that with you the whole time?”

He grinned.

She took it and cut into the fruit, peeling away the spines and the hard outer rind. She struggled with the task—clearly this was not something she had much experience with—but managed to expose the soft fruit within. She cut the edible part in half and offered Rayn a piece.

He bit into it and chewed. It was mildly sweet, like a watery potato with notes of pear. “It's not bad.” He'd have preferred rabbit.