A Storm of Flames and Deceit

XXV. On Fire For You

Eris
I've convinced myself that my sanity had dissolved entirely by a few hours ago because all I feel now is internal chaos and a vague nausea.
Already I'm in the worst possible place circumstantially for such a bond to snap into place. And maybe I could have managed that misfortune if I had any idea what to do about any of this. All I could manage to do was deviate from the plan like a brute and refuse to let her dance with anyone in claims that it wasn't necessary anymore. Oddly enough, that would be my only stroke of luck today, the fact that the inner circle already believes me wicked enough to be capable of the picture we were trying to paint.
Still, I cannot remember how to breathe when the night ends and a servant escorts us to our bedroom. Singular. One bed for the pair of us.
I suppose it was implied. The way I was watching her tonight was nothing short of sexually possessive, and we were to be married, for Cauldron's sake. They wouldn't assume propriety like the other courts had when we had portrayed that pure, innocent fairytale for them.
No, we hadn't acted the same here. To refute and ask for a secondary room would certainly draw suspicion.
It's just that I can't fathom how I'm meant to sleep next to her tonight and not burst into flames.
Dancing with her was hard enough.
She hadn't lied. She truly cannot dance to save her life. She stumbled over me more times than I could count, nearly falling over entirely once. If I hadn't caught her, she might've broken her wrist. I should be thoroughly embarrassed to have been dancing with her.
So why the hell am I endeared?
It's a stupid question. I know why. Before any bond, I would've known why. She is as electric as the lightning that courses through her veins. To be near her is to have your hair stand on end. To not know what comes next. She's absolutely thrilling, a shot of adrenaline straight through your bloodstream. Like standing out on a cliff, looking death in the eye, turning from what life has always been.
I never much liked thrills. In my experience, a boring day was a good day. So why did I hunger for her how I do? Before any bond told me to, in my bones, I hungered for her.
I hungered for her this whole time and the realization is terrifying.
"That was weirdly fun," she admits when we are finally put into the privacy of our own room, slipping her lightning bolt earrings from her ears. "You know, for a business trip."
I know exactly what she means.
I had lost myself in her all night. I almost kissed her exactly seven times. The only way I could talk myself out of it is my refusal to kiss her for the first time in the night court. An experience so heart-stopping doesn't get to belong to them and their horrendous court. If it ever happens, we will be far from this hell hole.
"You certainly danced like you were having fun," I tell her, my tone a bit too sour. I scowl internally. Why is it that every time I try to flirt with her, it comes out so harshly?
Luckily, she doesn't take it too hard, rolling her eyes easily, slipping her shoes off her aching feet with a relieved sigh. "I'm sorry we can't all be dance prodigies like you, Hot Stuff," she scoffs. "Seriously, I've seen swans less graceful."
"If we find time between training, I'm sure I could teach you," I offer, which might be my best flirting all night. Judging by the crossing grin on her face, I'd say I'm right.
"Good," she smiles. "I think I'd be open to doing a lot more dancing with my freedom."
I can't help but smile, concealing it poorly by coughing into my fist. She takes no notice, struggling with the fastenings on the back of her dress, unable to reach and maneuver her fingers around the complicated buttons. "Need help?" The words slip out before I can think any better of it, and she nods before I can run away screaming with mortification.
Then, she turns around, exposing her beautiful spine to me. Her barely-there dress is only connects by a few buttons in two spots, the center of her shoulder blades and the top of her ass. I swallow, moving her braids over her slim shoulders.
"Where did you even get this dress anyway?" I decide to ask, slightly curious. Talking is good, I think. It might distract me from how good she smells. From how much I want to bend her over the dresser and whisper into her ear exactly who she is to me.
I reign the thought back in before she smells my impulses burning in the air.
"Cherkov sent it to me discreetly the other day," she admits, a lighter sort of laugh as I unbutton the top portion of fastenings slowly, trying to keep my hands in control. "He said that I was his muse all week, and he just had to send me one of the gowns that I inspired."
Despite my distraction, the electric current from from her skin to mine, a chuckle breaks from me. "His muse?"
She nods, smirking at me over his shoulder. "He said he had been designing gowns for the solar and seasonal courts for years," she explains, shrugging her slim shoulders as I start on the bottom set of buttons. "He was happy to have some other sort of imagery to draw from," she then chuckles, shaking her head. "That and he said my legs were a designer's dream."
I snort in response, nearly agreeing out loud before I stop myself. I think of her legs as I finish with the fastenings. They really are quite spectacular. I've thought about those thighs more times than I care to admit. Many times, indeed. At night. With a certain body part in my hand.
I thought I had lost my mind looking back. I had never been that caught up in someone before. I never had someone reside in my mind like that to where I thought of little else.
Of course, she's my mate. I shouldn't be surprised. I have never felt for anyone as I have felt for her, something so genuine and irrefutable and deep and honest and overwhelming.
My only surprise is derived from the fact that I fundamentally cannot accept that she's my equal. She is better than me in every conceivable way without measure. I'm not sure there's a person in this world good enough for her, but I know for certain it isn't me.
The unsettling thought is pushed from my head when I finish with her buttons, and the witch let's her dress slide down her shoulders, glancing back at me smugly as my ears flare red.
I retract my statement. Nephele Speirling was not at all good. She is stone cold evil, the devil in those gray eyes.
I turn away from her if only to stop myself from acting on that throbbing impulse to look down over her shoulder, busying myself with my own buttons. My silk shirt had already been half opened all night, but I feel a cool sweat drip down my neck as I try to distract my desire.
"Eris?" She asks suddenly as I finish up, and I wonder if her tone is deceptively innocent or not. Still, I cannot resist her when she says my name like that.
"Yes?" I reply, near breathless with a single word, snapping my shirt out of my hands, replacing my slacks with burnt orange, silk night pants with the sweep of my magic.
"Can I ask you something?"
Her voice is so sincere. So serious, without mockery. It's so unsettling that I turn around, praying she has dressed herself.
She has indeed, a lavender night gown so pale it was nearly white. It doesn't make much difference. I'm still nearly foaming at the mouth because, Mother Above, that's my Mate. That's my Mate in a short, low-cut night gown, her eyes heavy lidded with exhaustion.
The worst part is that I don't even long to fuck her in this moment. No, all I want to do is hold her until she falls asleep in my arms, and I can safely say that I've never had that urge for anyone in my life.
I settle for nodding, letting her ask her question instead.
"The blonde one- Mor," she begins, slipping onto her side of the bed, sitting on her feet. "She didn't look at you with the same brand of disdain as the others- perhaps I've read into it too much. I had just... wondered."
By the Cauldron, she's perceptive as hell. "You didn't," I clear my throat, joining her on my side of the- admittedly- large bed. "Read into anything too much, I mean." I clarify to buy myself time. This is a conversation that I really don't want to have.
"Did you love her?" She asks quietly.
I shake my head, laughing briefly. Quietly. "No, I didn't," I tell her honestly. "But her and I were betrothed many years ago."
"Oh," she says quietly, looking away. Was she... jealous? She couldn't be. Certainly, not of Mor.
"It was an arrangement between our fathers," I clarify. "Not dissimilar to how we become betrothed. The leading difference between my engagement to her and my engagement to you is that my marriage with her fell through- obviously."
And that you actually mean something to me.
That you're my Mate.
"Yeah, but why?" Neph asks, tucking a curious leg to her chest, tilting her head cutely.
"If I tell you, I can only tell you half of the story tonight in case Feyre and Rhysand look into your mind tomorrow. I'm sworn into not exposing certain details to Mor's loved ones, and I plan to keep my word," I disclose, embarrassed. "And the half of the story that I can share is not very flattering."
She looks at me thoughtfully, her lips pursing in concentration. "I want to hear the whole story," she says quietly, meeting my gaze intensely. "The truth, ugly or pretty. I want to hear it all when you can tell me. I want to decide for myself with the whole truth."
I could swear I melt in that moment, barely able to form a coherent thought. "I will tell you it all," I vow to her in so many regards, a promise so ancient I can't believe I'm making it. "It might not be immediate, but in time, I will tell you everything Nephele. That I can promise to you as your future husband." As your mate.
She nods, but her eyes almost look moved. In a blink, they return to neutral, the part of her lips the only indication of uncertainty. "Alright," she murmurs. "And I suppose that will have to be good enough for now."
She leans over to her nightstand, blowing out the candle, submerging in night. I can only vaguely make out her silhouette as she leans towards me in the moonlight, kissing my cheek gently. "Goodnight, Eris," she says quietly, her lips leaving my face far too soon, her body returning to her side of the bed. Too far from me. I want to reach out and hold her to me all night, but I refrain, frozen on my side of the bed as I recline tensely to lay beside her.
"Goodnight, Nephele," I say into the darkness, my hand brushing my cheek fondly as I stare at her silhouettes the darkness, my skin ablaze for her.