Chapter 50: Unexpected
"Nikolas, please bring
with you. I’ll try to help! Please bring
with you!" Ruby pleaded.
In her apparent, innocent concern, his irritation faded. Of course. She was kind. She wanted to help. It was one of the things he’d admired.
"I think it’s dangerous. You’re safer here in the capital," he reasoned, his tone attempting finality.
She shook her head. "I’m safer close to you. Nikolas, I need to be with you."
The words were ant to be endearing, but at this mont, they felt like chains. This stubbornness, this need to cling, was the last thing he needed. He needed her here, managing their political foothold, not becoming a liability in a war zone.
"Ruby..." He softened his voice, pulling her into a brief, tight embrace, more to still her protests than to offer comfort. "I will be alright. Please believe . You stay here, and I’ll be able to focus and return to you faster. Father needs . You... you stay here for now, okay?"
He felt her slowly relax against him. Her breathing slowed. "Okay..." she whispered. "Please... please return soon. Promise you will be okay. I will be waiting for you..."
He nodded, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of her head before pulling away. He didn’t look back.
Ruby stood alone in the corridor long after Nikolas had vanished around the corner. The worry in her eyes, perfect, delicate wifely concern, remained fixed.
Her lady’s maid, r, approached. "My Lady," she murmured. "Young Master is strong. Lord Dorian is resilient. They will be well. Please, you mustn’t make them worry over you in turn. Let us retire for the night."
Ruby allowed the suggestion to land, then offered a weary smile. It was clearly the brave face of a saintess burdened by others’ misfortunes. She nodded and let r shepherd her back toward her room.
It was only when the door clicked shut, leaving her alone, that the veil dissolved. The weary expression smoothed away. The anxious tension in her shoulders lted and settled into sothing calm, cold, and sharply focused.
Sothing had changed again.
Ruby could sll a threat from miles away. The wind was shifting. She needed intelligence. And in this world, there was only one vault that still held that kind of currency.
Ignoring the prepared bed, Ruby turned and glided silently into her private study. She went directly to her heavy and ornately carved desk, unlocked a sealed drawer and pulled it open.
Inside were not jewels or gold, but paper. Files upon files, ticulously organized. They were Cecilia Araceli’s old predictions. Seasonal forecasts, geological advisories, economic trend analyses.
The dead woman’s legacy of inconvenient, irritating, and annoyingly accurate foresight, hoarded like a dragon’s treasure.
This was the only use that dead bitch had left for her. Ruby’s fingers brushed over the tabs, her mind racing. If sothing had changed so violently, she needed to cross-reference.
She needed to see if the dead saintess had ever predicted an attack on the Delanivis holdfast. She needed to find the anomaly, the variable, the na of the player who dared interrupt her ga.
***
"Wait... mmm... stop... I said..."
Cecilia’s protests lost their commanding edge. Now, it was more of a breathless, fragnted lody, lost between the warm, solid wall of a dragon’s chest at her back and the playful advance of a wolf king before her.
Her attempts to push them away were laughably futile, her strength no match for the gentle, immovable pressure of two beings who were, at this mont, far more interested in affection than... everything else.
The balcony was cold. In the north, the night air was a crisp, crystalline shard that was harsh against her skin. The stone beneath her bare feet was achingly cold. But everywhere else... was nothing but heat.
A large, warm hand splayed against the small of her back, another cupping her jaw, a nose nuzzling into the sensitive curve where her neck t her shoulder. The cold of the night was overwheld by two very large, very attentive sources of warmth.
Well, except for her face. Her cheeks burned. It was both the blush of frustration, and the sharp nip of the frosty air. Confusing. Exhilarating.
"I’m trying... to have a serious... conversation... here...!" she managed, the words punctuated by a gasp as a particularly skilled set of lips found a spot just below her ear.
She twisted, trying to dodge the attention coming from both front and back. Such a hopeless endeavor that only seed to amuse them further. "Stop...!"
She knew, on so rational level, that Oathran and Arkai were just playing. This was their idea of teasing. It was a ga, a way to fluster the unflappable Saintess.
At these kinds of tis, she wished the gacha could give her a random skill to give her an advantage. Two hot n are exponentially harder to manage than one!
Arkai chuckled, rumbling against her, felt more than heard. "Later, Saintess," he murmured. "Ask anything you like later. Tonight..."
Oathran filled it from behind her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, whispering, "Tonight is the night we’re sharing a little slut."
Cecilia’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, her entire face flooding with a heat that had nothing to do with the cold. "Y-you...!"
"Yes," Arkai affird, his grin widening. Wolfish and devastatingly handso. "Sharing a little cunt."
An involuntary moan escaped Cecilia’s lips before she could trap it. She was so turned on right now, so eager.
How?! Where did the two gentlen I married go off to?!
This was not the solemn, respectful dragon or the honor-bound, penitent wolf. These were... incubi...
She stamred, "D-didn’t you say I should do... do... that... only with soone I love—"
"Of course," Oathran agreed smoothly, his hands tracing idle, distracting patterns on her arms. "That was the rule when there were only the two of us. But you’ve already accepted two n, not just soone. You said it yourself... you’re going to be responsible for the two of us."
Diabolical! Where did the dragon who held himself back for her go off to?!
"Makes perfect sense," Arkai purred, his breath ghosting over her collarbone. "What I get... Elder Brother must get too. You need to be fair, Saintess." He nuzzled her temple, the gesture almost sweet if not for the wicked promise in his tone. "But of course... you can always refuse us. No pressure."
Diabolical number two! Where did the wolf who groveled for her forgiveness go off to?!
The bald-faced lie of that statent...! They were a wall of muscle, heat, and focused intent around her. Refusing one ant refusing the other. Refusing ant untangling herself from this exquisite, double-sided trap and walking away into the cold, lonely dark.
"I’m... I’m serious..." Cecilia managed a ager defense, her voice small. "I... I need to discuss with you the... the diluting potion recipe... to... to produce more... elixir... ahhhh... please..."
The plea ended on another gasp as a clever thumb brushed a very specific spot.
"It’s so late, Saintess. That can surely wait until morning," Oathran murmured, not even pretending to consider her topic.
"Yes," Arkai agreed. "Look at how tightly you’re clutching his tunic. Your body isn’t refusing at all."
"I’m getting away from you—" she declared, attempting a futile squirm.
"Only to cling to ?" Oathran finished, effortlessly catching her as she shifted.
The two n chuckled in unison. Such deep, harmonized sound. Their laughter was low, lilting, and full of hot, steaming mirth. It was thick and sweet... like black honey.
Maybe... just a little bit...?
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