The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 64: Starveiled Intentions

The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 64: Starveiled Intentions

The cars curved down from Ravenrest’s cliffs like a black ribbon, engines purring in practiced unison. City spires dwindled behind us, replaced by rolling hills that gave way to pine-choked slopes and the glimmer of Silverrow Lake. The air changed the lower we went—cleaner, brighter, touched with salt-mineral sharpness that clung to the back of my throat.
Cassie leaned her head against the window, watching the treeline blur past. “So this is the commute now?” she muttered.
I groaned. “Apparently. No more late-night drives with greasy fries and bad music. We’ve been upgraded to ‘Duchess Express.’”
Her laugh was quiet but real, citrus curling into vanilla in the small space between us. “At least the seats are heated.”
The motorcade slowed as the lake came into full view—an expanse of crystalline water stretching farther than my human-born eyes could measure. The sun broke across its surface like a thousand shattered mirrors. At its heart: our island. Pines spiked high over the ridge, their tops mist-wreathed, and halfway down the slope the slate-gray stone of the lake house gleamed, glyphwork glowing faintly even from here.
My stomach clenched. Saints, that was ours.
The convoy rolled to a stop at the private dock, and Roran was already out of the lead car, scanning the horizon with one hand resting on his blade. Kael stayed close to us, too close, eyes on every ripple of water like it might birth an assassin.
A sleek boat waited at the dock, polished wood and silver fittings that screamed money I hadn’t realized was mine until yesterday. Staff in Summer livery bowed as we approached. “Your Graces. Welcome to Silverrow. The launch is ready.”
Cassie’s eyes widened. “Boat?”
“Island,” I croaked, tugging at my sleeve seam until the stitches bit. “We live on a godsdamn island.”
She smirked as we stepped onto the deck, the lake stretching wide around us. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Firefly.”
The boat cut through the water smooth as silk, leaving the dock and the mainland behind. Wind tangled my hair, the air cool and wet, carrying the clean mineral scent of the springs that misted somewhere beyond the ridge.
And then the house loomed, climbing out of the pines and stone like it had been carved from the island itself. Verandas spilling toward the water, tall windows glinting like watchful eyes, and behind it all—white steam rising in curls, promising hot springs that had haunted more than one of my daydreams.
The dock on the island was private, lined with lanterns that shimmered faint gold even in daylight. As we stepped off the boat, the front doors opened—not for me, though I felt the tug of recognition, the way the land always bent under my skin—but for her. For Cassie.
The lanterns flared brighter as she set foot on the dock. The wards breathed out warmth, bending to her presence like she carried magic she didn’t own.
My chest locked, then released in one long breath I didn’t know I was holding. Saints, thank the Veil. The house would answer her. Not just me.
Cassie glanced back, brows raised. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said too quickly, too shaky. My mother had bent Emberhall to my will by sheer force, Selene wore it like a second skin—but this place, this demesne, opened for Cassie like she belonged here too. My consort. My wife. The relief hit so hard it almost hurt.
Inside, the skeleton staff waited in the entryway, bowing low in practiced unison as the doors swung wide.
“Welcome home, Your Graces.”
A woman stepped forward from the line of bowing staff, breaking their symmetry without breaking her own composure. She was tall, her posture blade-straight, the silver streaks in her dark braid glinting against her black-and-emerald livery. If the rest of the skeleton crew looked faintly uncertain, she didn’t.
“Your Graces,” she said, her voice clear but not unkind. “Ilyra Mossfen, seneschal of Silverrow. Your mother entrusted me with this house until you were of age. With your permission, I will introduce the current staff and see you settled.”
Her words landed like stones in my stomach.
Until you were of age.
Cassie leaned a fraction closer, her pinky brushing mine as if to say,
breathe
.
“Yes,” I said, forcing my voice even. “Please.”
Ilyra’s nod was a perfect half-bow. “This way, Your Graces.”
The staff filed forward one at a time, bowing or curtsying as they gave names and titles. A steward with ink-stained fingers who smelled faintly of beeswax and parchment. A cook, flour still on her apron. Two maids whose eyes flicked between me and Cassie like they couldn’t quite believe we were real. A groundskeeper and his apprentice, both lake-weathered and silent. Barely enough to keep the house breathing.
Each one murmured
Your Grace
like a prayer as they passed. The uniformity was almost worse than the mismatched titles back at Starveil.
Cassie caught my eye and tilted her head, lips twitching.
You’re spiraling again,
her expression said.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, too fast. My sleeve seam was already frayed from my nails.
Once the last name had been spoken, Ilyra inclined her head again. “If it pleases Your Graces, I will conduct you on a tour of Silverrow, answer your questions, and explain the staffing requirements of each wing. This will aid you in determining where you wish to reside most often and what appointments must be made.”
Cassie’s lemon-vanilla steadied me in the back of my throat. She murmured just loud enough for me to hear, “Translation: house tour plus homework.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “Fantastic.”
Ilyra’s gaze flicked between us but she didn’t comment, only gestured toward the nearest corridor. “If you’ll follow me.”
Behind us, Roran and Kael were already fanning out, murmuring about blind spots and ward strength, their boots too loud on the cedar floor. No clinking plates, no staff trailing us — for once it was just us and the seneschal as we stepped into the first hall.
The corridor opened into a hall that looked like it had been stolen from a dream and then set down on this island just to mock me. Vaulted cedar beams arched high overhead, their edges carved into curling vinework that shimmered faintly with inlaid glyphs. Sunlight poured in through windows tall enough to make me feel small, glinting off lakewater beyond.
“This is the Great Hall,” Ilyra said, her voice calm, measured, like she wasn’t dropping the weight of history on my shoulders. “It was built to hold two hundred for feasts, or fifty for council. The hearth is Veil-fed; it will never die while the house recognizes its masters.”
My throat closed.
Masters.
Cassie leaned in, her shoulder brushing mine, lemon and vanilla cutting through the woodsmoke tang. “Firefly, you look like you’re about to faint. Don’t worry, we’ll never have two hundred people here. A hundred tops.”
I snorted, too sharp, the sound cracking out into the hall. One of the maids near the door jumped.
Ilyra’s gaze flicked to me, then Cassie, then mercifully back to the architecture. “The gallery above connects to the private library and observatory. The east wing holds guest suites and reception chambers. The west leads toward the baths and the springs.”
Cassie’s eyes lit with something that had nothing to do with logistics. “The springs?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Ilyra said smoothly, bowing her head a fraction. “They flow directly into the southern grotto. The waters are considered… restorative.”
My face burned hot, because all I could think about was the promise I’d made Cassie weeks ago under starlight, and the way her grin sharpened like she remembered too. Saints save me.
We moved on, the staff trailing at a respectful distance, Roran and Kael prowling like shadows stitched too tight to our heels.
The library was next, all rich wood and shelves that stretched two floors high, ladders sliding smooth as thought. A chandelier of star-cut crystal hung low enough to catch the flecks in my vision, refracting them into a thousand sparks.
Cassie’s mouth quirked, her voice low. “You’re going to live in here, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” I muttered, even as my fingers itched toward the nearest spine.
Ilyra’s voice cut neatly through the distraction. “The library was last catalogued fifteen years ago. Some volumes have not been opened in centuries. A librarian should be appointed, as well as a pair of junior attendants to preserve the collections.”
My stomach lurched. Appoint a librarian? I could barely keep my own journals in order.
Cassie caught my look and smirked wider. “You’re spiraling again, Firefly.”
We walked through the guest wing next—rooms lined with silk-draped canopies and wardrobes already dusted with cedar to keep moths away. Every suite had its own carved glyphplate near the door, waiting for me to name who belonged there. Saints, even the doors wanted orders.
Then came the baths.
Steam curled into the air the moment Ilyra opened the archway, carrying minerals and warmth that sank straight into my skin. The floor was polished stone veined with silver, the pools shimmering in tiers, some large enough to hold a crowd, others intimate and shadowed. The faint hiss of water against rock made it sound alive.
Cassie went still beside me, awe flickering in her crystalline eyes. Then her hand found mine, her thumb brushing deliberate across my pulse. “So this is where you plan to corrupt me?” she whispered, only for me.
Heat surged to my face, hotter than the pools. “Cassie—”
Ilyra, either oblivious or merciful, continued without pause. “The springs are Veil-linked. They cleanse wards and replenish sigils. Staff will need to be hired for their upkeep and for security, as they are one of the most vulnerable access points to the house.”
Roran grunted approval, already muttering about sight lines again.
By the time we reached the private suites—the ones meant for me and Cassie—I was drowning in the weight of it. Bedrooms bigger than entire mortal houses. Balconies overlooking the lake. A wardrobe chamber that could have fit my entire human school’s gymnasium. And all of it humming, waiting,
listening
.
Listening to us.
Ilyra closed the carved doors to the suite with a soft click, turning back to us with the kind of composure that made me itch. Her braid didn’t even have a hair out of place.
“Your Graces,” she began, “for Silverrow to function as it once did, the following appointments must be made.”
Her tone was even, professional. My pulse, however, spiked like she’d just announced a trial.
“You will require a full kitchen staff: a head chef, three sous, six line cooks, and appropriate servers for formal meals. A housekeeper to oversee cleaning crews, which should number no fewer than twelve. At least two ladies-in-waiting, drawn from noble houses, to attend Your Graces in public and private functions. A librarian to maintain the archives. A groundskeeper team of six, with a master gardener. Stablehands, though the stables are empty at present. And, most crucially, an expanded security complement. Captain Roran and Lieutenant Kael may advise on exact numbers.”
She paused only long enough to let the weight settle before continuing. “Administrative staff as well: a financial comptroller, a scribe to manage records, and an assistant steward for daily household logistics.”
My stomach clenched so loud I swore everyone heard it. “That’s… that’s an army.”
“Not quite,” Cassie murmured at my side, though her lemon-vanilla scent told me she was just as rattled. “Feels like it, though.”
Ilyra inclined her head slightly, her voice still maddeningly calm. “A duchy of this stature cannot function without proper hands. While you need not appoint all at once, I strongly advise you begin with a chef, a housekeeper, and at least one attendant each.”
My throat burned. Attendants. As if Cassie needed someone trailing her just to hold a parasol. She was going to hate this.
But Cassie only squeezed my hand, hard enough to say
we’ll survive it
, before aiming her most diplomatic smile at Ilyra. “Thank you. That’s… a lot to think about.”
“It is, Your Grace.” For the first time, Ilyra’s expression softened. Just barely. “I would suggest you take time to walk the springs this evening before making any decisions. Silverrow was built for restoration as much as duty. It will do you no harm to let the waters ease your thoughts before the weight of them settles too deeply.”
Her bow was crisp. Her dismissal clear.
Cassie’s lips brushed my ear as we turned to follow. “Translation: she knows we’re drowning and she’s telling us to go take a bath.”
I snorted, cracked and sharp, but the sound eased something tight in my chest.
We followed Ilyra back through the cedar halls until steam thickened the air, curling around us like beckoning hands. The mineral tang grew sharper, soothing and invasive all at once. Lanterns lined the carved archways leading down into the springs, their glow reflected in the rippling water below.
Cassie’s hand slid into mine. “You promised me the springs, Firefly.”
Her grin was wicked. The steam rose hotter around us.
And for the first time all day, despite the avalanche of duty still waiting, I felt a thread of heat cut through the overwhelm.
The steam hit us first—wet and curling, clinging to my skin like it already knew too much. The springs stretched in tiers down into the grotto, stone walls veined with silver glyphs that pulsed faintly with Veillight. Water spilled in slow rivulets from pool to pool, each one shimmering a different shade: pale gold, soft green, deep violet.
Cassie let out a low whistle. “Firefly, you undersold this place.”
Her hand was still tangled with mine, warm even through the heat. I dragged her toward the nearest pool, sleeve seam biting under my nails. “I promised you the springs. I didn’t say I’d describe them properly.”
“Uh-huh.” She crouched at the edge, trailing her fingers through the water. The surface rippled like it wanted her, glyphs flaring brighter under her hand as if Cassie was magic after all.
My breath hitched. Relief and want tangled sharp in my ribs.
She belongs here. The Veil knows it. The house knows it.
She looked back at me, a grin curving her mouth. “Well? You dragging me in or what?”
“Saints, Cass.” My voice cracked as I pulled my shirt over my head. My cheeks burned, though not from the steam.
Her blazer hit the rocks first, then her blouse. Her skirt followed. She didn’t hesitate, just stripped bare and stood in the lanternlight like a dare.
Heat punched through me. Fae never blinked at nudity, at bodies, at claiming each other wherever they wanted—but seeing Cassie shed those last scraps of human modesty for me? Saints, I thought my chest might burst.
Boots, layers—all of it ended up in a pile beside hers. She stepped into the water with a hiss, steam curling off her skin, and I followed without thought.
The heat wrapped us whole, but Cassie was hotter still. She was already on me, straddling me under the water, her mouth crushing to mine. Lemon-bright, merciless, desperate. Her nails raked down my back hard enough to make me gasp; my hands found her hips, dragging her flush until there wasn’t space for air between us.
Her thigh slid against me, deliberate, friction sparking down my spine. Saints, I was already wrecked, already clawing for more. Last night hadn’t satisfied a damn thing. It had lit a fuse that was still burning.
“Firefly,” she whispered against my mouth, breath ragged. “You’re insatiable.”
“Because of you.” My voice broke into a growl. I bit down on her throat, savoring the sound she made when my teeth grazed skin. “You think I’ll ever be done with you now?”
Her answering moan was muffled as I gripped her ass and hauled her tighter against me, grinding until she was trembling in my lap. She rocked once, twice, nails digging deep, gasping my name like it was both curse and prayer.
I pressed my mouth to her ear, feral, desperate. “Let me ruin you, Cass. Right here. Right now.”
She trembled, her body arching against mine, her lips parting—
And then a sneeze cracked the air.
We froze.
Both of us turned in perfect horror toward the archway where Roran and Kael stood shadow-straight. Kael had her blade half-drawn, one hand still braced loose on her hip, and a smirk tugging at her mouth that told me exactly which of them had sneezed. Roran looked like he wanted the floor to swallow them both, his glare sharp enough to flay.
Cassie went scarlet. She scrambled back so fast she nearly slipped, water sloshing up the tiles. “Saints above. We’re being
watched.
”
“Consort,” Kael began, too smooth, “our oath compels us to—”
“Don’t you
dare
finish that sentence,” Cassie snapped, voice cutting like glass.
I bit back a laugh that cracked into a groan. My blood was molten, my body aching, and all I could think about was dragging Cassie back into me until the guards had no choice but to watch.
Instead I leaned in, lips brushing her ear, my voice low and wrecked. “They’re ours, Cass. Bound to us. We’re stuck with them for life. So maybe we should stop worrying about privacy and let them watch when I fuck you senseless.”
Her breath hitched. She shoved my shoulder hard, scandal bright in her eyes—but her blush betrayed her. “Mira—!”
I smirked, feral, desperate. “Tell me you don’t want me right now.”
Her jaw tightened, her chest heaving, and saints, the silence between us said enough.
Roran cleared his throat, the picture of strained professionalism, though his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh. Kael didn’t bother hiding her smirk.
Cassie groaned into her hands. “We’re never going to survive this.”
I licked the seam of my teeth, fire pulsing hot in my chest. “Speak for yourself.”
She pushed back against the edge of the pool, trembling, her hair plastered to her throat. “Not here,” she whispered, thin and fragile. “Not with them watching.”
The words landed like ice water, but not enough to douse the fire still burning through me. Sparks licked along my arms under the water.
I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. Respect her. Even when every part of me screamed
mine.
“Fine,” I ground out, voice pitched low. “But the second we’re behind a locked door, Cassie, I’m not stopping.”
Her crystalline gaze flicked to mine, sharp enough to cut, and for a single breath I thought she’d climb me again and prove me right. Instead she looked away, muttering, “You’re impossible.”
Kael chuckled under her breath. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Cassie’s groan was muffled in her hands. “Insufferable. Absolutely insufferable.”
Roran, dry as bone, added, “We’ll double perimeter checks.”
Cassie hissed at me, flicking water at my shoulder.
I let it land, soaking through, and laughed, low and rough. “Later,” I promised, and even I wasn’t sure if it was to her or to myself.
From the archway above, Ilyra’s voice carried down, mercifully oblivious. “Dinner has been laid, Your Graces. If you would care to eat before your return to Emberhall.”
Cassie groaned again, this time in defeat. We dragged ourselves out of the pool, steam rising off our skin like proof of what almost happened. Towels appeared in the hands of staff before I could even ask, more bows, more
Your Grace.
As we dressed, my stomach betrayed me—growling so loud half the room turned their heads. Cassie’s grin curved sharp. “Guess the duchess is hungry for more than one thing.”
I elbowed her, cheeks flaming. “Shut up.”
Dinner waited in a side hall, a long oak table laden with bread, roasted fish from the lake, vegetables glazed with honey and spice. Enough food for ten people, though it was just us, the skeleton staff hovering at the edges, and our ever-present shadows lurking in the corners.
I stared at the plates until Cassie nudged me into a chair.
“Eat, Firefly. You’ll need your strength.”
“For ruling?” I muttered, biting into bread that tasted too rich to be real.
Her eyes glinted, lemon-bright. “For surviving me.”
Heat rolled through me all over again, hotter than the springs. Saints, dinner wasn’t going to cool me down.
The drive back to Ravenrest Heights wound in silence, too heavy to break. Lanterns lined the cliffs, each flare reminding me Emberhall was waiting—looming, patient, impossible to ignore.
The gates parted as if they’d been watching for me. They always did. Emberhall never resisted me. It just watched, calculating.
Inside, everything was exactly the same. Banners hung heavy with fire sigils, stone floors gleamed, the air carried its familiar scent of sun-warmed marble and smoke. Home. Except it wasn’t, not anymore.
My mother stood waiting at the base of the stair, cloak draped like fire caught in fabric, braids precise, crownless and still commanding. She didn’t need to announce herself to dominate the space. She
was
the space.
“Duchess,” she said first, that faint edge of amusement in the word. Then, softer: “Daughter.”
Something cracked in my ribs. The words I’d been holding back spilled raw. “I’m scared.”
Cassie’s hand found mine, steady citrus and vanilla grounding me, but I didn’t look at her. My eyes were locked on my mother’s, those amber-gold mirrors that had weighed me my entire life.
“Good,” she said simply. Not dismissive—sharp. Cutting. “Fear means you grasp the weight of what you’ve been given. But Mira—” her voice firmed, steel beneath velvet, “you are eighteen now. You are an adult of the royal line. A Duchess of Starveil. A Queen of the Glow Court. A Princess of Summer. That makes you ready, whether you believe it or not.”
“I’m not,” I whispered, sleeve seam twisting until threads bit. “I don’t know how to run a demesne. I don’t know how to hire staff or manage levies or hold audiences. I—” My throat locked tight. “I still feel like—”
Her hand rose, halting me. Not cruel. Not indulgent. Final.
“No one is ever ready,” she said. “Not I, not Selene, not the queens who came before us. Readiness is not a feeling, Mira—it is a demand. And you will rise to it, because you
must
.”
My chest tightened. “Selene never doubted herself.”
At that, my mother’s expression shifted—softer, sharper all at once. “Do not measure yourself against your sister. Selene has had ninety-eight years to be shaped by expectation. She has never known exile. She has never fought tooth and nail to be seen as legitimate. She has not endured the tests the Courts threw at you—tests you
overcame.
” Her eyes held mine, unflinching. “You are more prepared today, at eighteen, than she was at twice your age. That is why I entrusted Starveil to you.”
The words struck deep, heavy and terrifying. I wanted to protest, to push them away, but saints, part of me wanted to cling to them too.
“And the mistakes?” My voice cracked small.
“There will be growing pains,” she said, warmth threading through the steel. “You will stumble. That is expected. But you will grow into your titles. You already have.”
It hurt—saints, it hurt—to hear her say it like she believed it more than I did.
Her mouth curved, faint, almost playful. “Emberhall is still your home. You are always welcome here, in your old rooms, in these halls. But—” her gaze sharpened, warning and fondness entwined, “do not come running back too soon. Learn to walk as Duchess first.”
Heat burned behind my eyes. My sleeve seam was shredded under my nails.
Then she tipped her head, eyes glinting with humor. “And when you come back to the Solar, it will amuse me to no end to see you standing as Duchess of Starveil in your mortal school uniform. The High Court has never had a plaid-skirted princess.”
Cassie barked out a laugh before I could stop her, citrus-bright. “Saints, Firefly, she’s right. That’s going to be iconic.”
“Mother,” I hissed, cheeks blazing.
But she only smiled—real, rare, terrifyingly gentle. “You will do well, Mira.”
I blinked fast, refusing to let the sting at the corners of my eyes show.
Cassie tugged me toward the side hall, her voice softer than her grin. “Come on, Firefly. Pets first. Existential terror later.”
Ghost’s howl shattered the tension before we reached the wing. Kit barreled out behind him in a scatter of sparks, Lynnix slipping after them with her ears twitching like she’d been waiting specifically for me.
They tackled me to the floor in a flurry of fur and flame, Cassie laughing above me, and for one fleeting moment it didn’t matter what titles weighed on me. Not Duchess. Not Queen. Just Mira.
The walk from Emberhall to Starveil was nothing. Five minutes at most, our guards shadowing us, the pets trotting happily ahead as though they’d known this was their home all along. Ghost bounded between the hedgerows, tail wagging like he was leading a parade. Kit darted after him, sparks snapping off his paws. Lynnix padded behind, sleek and certain, already claiming the neighborhood with her gaze.
The gates of Starveil Manor swung open before we even reached them, the wards humming low in my bones, recognizing me. Recognizing
us.
Inside, the foyer stretched wide and high, lit in soft firestone glow. No staff lined the walls this time—just silence and the faint echo of paws on marble as our animals scattered in every direction, already busy making the place theirs.
Cassie brushed my hand, her grin soft and tired. “Guess we’re home.”
“Home,” I echoed, though the word still felt too big in my mouth.
We didn’t linger. The long day, the weight of titles and responsibilities, the ache of everything almost between us—it all funneled into one single need. Her.
Our suite waited at the far end of the private wing, doors carved with starburst patterns that shimmered faintly as we pushed them open. Inside, it was decadent: a massive bed, velvet drapes, a fireplace big enough to climb into, and an adjoining consort’s chamber beyond an archway. I barely glanced at any of it.
The doors of our suite slammed shut, and for once, there was no steward waiting, no seneschal hovering, no guards pretending not to eavesdrop. Just us. Just the fire eating through me since the Solar. Since the springs. Since last night.
Cassie barely had time to turn before I had her pinned against the door, mouth crushing hers. She groaned, half fury, half need, nails clawing at my shoulders. “Gods, Firefly—you’re insufferable.”
I bit her lip, hard enough to make her gasp. “And you’re mine.”
Her laugh cracked into a moan, her hands shoving me backward until I toppled onto the massive bed. She crawled after me, straddling my hips, blazer gone, blouse undone, hair a wild halo. Saints, she looked like she was going to devour me whole.
“Think you’re in charge?” she taunted, rolling her hips down against me. “You’ll be begging in five minutes.”
I grabbed her by the waist, flipping us in one motion. She yelped, landed on her back, and I grinned down at her, feral. “Five minutes? Cass, I’ll have you screaming in one.”
Her sharp laugh cut off when I sank down, teeth and tongue marking every inch of her chest, hands tearing her blouse wide. She arched, cursing, but I didn’t let her get the upper hand. Not yet.
Her underwear was gone in seconds, flung across the room, and my mouth was between her thighs before she could snarl another insult.
“Saints—Mira—”
I smiled against her, tongue relentless, fingers pinning her hips when she tried to buck away. “Say it louder.”
She did. Over and over, until her voice broke, until she came apart on my tongue, nails dragging fire down my back.
But before I could bask in it, she shoved me off, panting, eyes blazing. “My turn.”
She pushed me flat onto the sheets, yanked my clothes off in a frenzy, and her mouth was on me before I could even breathe. I cried out, shameless, the sound echoing through the suite.
“Loud already,” she teased, her fingers sliding deep inside me, curling just right. “Told you I’d have you begging.”
“Not begging,” I gasped, arching into her hand. “Demanding.”
She laughed, wicked, before sucking my clit so hard I nearly screamed. My whole body went taut, sparks flicking off my skin, lighting the sconces until fire danced along the walls.
“Fuck—Cassie—”
She pulled back just long enough to smirk up at me, her mouth glistening. “Who’s begging now?”
I grabbed her hair, dragged her up, kissed her until we both tasted of me. “Still not me.” Then I flipped her again, both of us naked, sweat-slick, tangled in ruined sheets.
It turned into war.
She made me whimper, I made her scream. She marked my throat with bites, I scratched her thighs until she cursed. We tangled, rolled, clawed, kissed, licked, fucked each other with fingers and mouths until neither of us knew who was winning.
By the time I had her pinned with my thigh between hers, grinding her clit mercilessly while I fucked her with my fingers, she was sobbing my name into the sheets. And when she flipped me right after, her hand inside me, her mouth on my breast, I was the one crying hers like a prayer.
“Say it,” she growled against my skin, her hand relentless. “Say I win.”
I bit her shoulder, half sob, half laugh. “Never.”
She came undone with me still in her mouth. I followed with her hand still inside me. We collapsed, wrecked and ruined, our voices hoarse, bodies shaking.
For a long time, the only sound was our ragged breathing and the distant scratch of Ghost’s paws outside the door.
Cassie groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “We’re never leaving this bed.”
“Good,” I rasped, kissing her collarbone, tasting salt and sweat. “Then we can keep going until one of us actually wins.”
She turned her head, her grin sharp and wrecked. “Oh, Firefly. I already did.”
I laughed, broken and delirious, pulling her against me. Saints, I loved her. Saints, she was going to kill me.
She rolled on top of me before I could even catch my breath, straddling my hips like a conqueror. Her hair stuck to her damp temples, her eyes molten and bright. “Round two,” she whispered, dragging her nails down my stomach. “I’m not finished proving my point.”
A groan escaped me, low and dangerous. “Saints, you’re trying to kill me.”
“No,” she purred, bending down until her mouth hovered over mine, breath hot and lemon-sweet. “I’m trying to own you.”
Her fingers slid between my thighs again before I could even throw back a taunt. My whole body arched up, every nerve raw, the fire under my skin flaring bright enough to make the sconces flicker. “Cass—fuck—”
She pressed a kiss to my mouth, slow and dirty, her tongue sweeping inside as her fingers curled. “Beg,” she murmured against my lips.
I snarled back at her, clutching her ass, dragging her down against me until our hips met. “Not begging,” I gasped, rolling my hips to grind against her. “Not ever.”
She laughed — sharp, delighted — then let out a hiss when I grabbed her and flipped us again, pinning her wrists above her head. Her eyes went wide, then glinted with challenge.
“You never learn,” she said, her voice breaking when my thigh pressed between hers.
“Teach me,” I whispered, and then my mouth was on her breast, biting hard enough to make her gasp.
The sound she made went straight to my core. She tried to wriggle free, but I caught her wrists in one hand, my other sliding down to stroke between her legs, slow and firm until she was arching into me, curses falling from her mouth.
“You like that,” I hissed, nipping her ear. “Tell me.”
“Never,” she gasped, grinding harder against my fingers, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Say it,” I demanded, curling my fingers inside her, thumb circling her clit until she trembled. “Say you like me ruining you.”
She broke then, back arching off the bed, a strangled cry spilling out of her as she came apart again, slick and shaking around my hand.
I didn’t stop until she was whimpering, until she sagged against the pillows, hair wild, lips parted. Only then did I release her wrists and kiss her hard, tasting sweat and citrus and victory.
She yanked me down with her, rolling us so she was on top again, straddling me with a look of pure wickedness. “My turn,” she said, voice wrecked but fierce. “And I’m not going easy.”
“Good,” I muttered, already trembling with want. “Don’t.”
Her fingers slid inside me before I could blink, her thumb pressing hard against my clit, her mouth sucking a bruise into my neck. I cried out, loud and raw, my nails digging into her back as she worked me harder and harder, muttering filth into my ear.
“Say my name,” she growled.
“Cassie,” I gasped, hips bucking.
“Louder.”
“Cassie!”
She bit my shoulder, hard enough to make me scream. “Again.”
I screamed her name until the orgasm tore through me like fire catching paper, my body shaking, voice breaking, the sconces flaring so bright they cast shadows like wings across the walls.
She collapsed onto me, both of us panting, slick and shaking, our legs tangled. “You’re insane,” she muttered into my hair.
“You love it,” I rasped, dragging my nails down her spine.
“I do.” Her laugh cracked into a groan. “But I’m not done.”
I laughed, half delirious. “Then come here and prove it.”
And she did.
We lost count of the rounds. The night turned into a blur of heat and hands and mouths and teeth. She’d pin me, I’d pin her. She’d make me cry out, I’d make her scream. We wrestled for dominance until neither of us had anything left but whimpers and pleas, then started all over again.
By the time Ghost nosed the door open, Kit scampering after him and Lynnix leaping silent as a shadow onto the foot of the bed, Cassie and I were wrecked. The sheets were torn halfway off, pillows shoved to the floor, our bodies slick with sweat and marked in teeth and bruises. I couldn’t remember how many times we’d gone under, only that every time we tried to stop, one of us pushed harder, sharper, meaner, until neither of us could breathe without moaning the other’s name.
Cassie groaned into the crook of my neck, hair tangled, voice raw. “We’re going to regret this in the morning.”
I laughed, low and delirious, still tracing circles over her back with my nails. “Regret? Never.”
But then my gaze slid to the clock embedded in the mantle across the room. My stomach dropped.
“Cass,” I rasped, nudging her shoulder.
“What?” She didn’t even open her eyes.
“It’s… gods, it’s nearly dawn. We’ve got meetings.”
Her lashes fluttered, one eye cracking open, blue flashing in the dim. “…Meetings?”
“With Sylvaris. And Drennath.” My fingers had already found the ends of my hair, twisting the damp strands into knots, tighter and tighter until my scalp ached. “And we’re supposed to start interviewing heads of staff. And ladies-in-waiting. And saints know what else.”
Cassie buried her face in the pillow, groaning like it might kill her. “We’re duchesses, Firefly. We don’t need sleep.”
“Tell that to my legs,” I muttered, groaning as I tried to stretch, every muscle aching from how thoroughly she’d ruined me.
She laughed, husky and wicked. “Consider it training.”
I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of what waited for us pressing down like a stone slab. A duchy to run. Nobles to impress. Staff to appoint. Advisors to choose. All of it staring us in the face.
“We’ve got maybe two hours before we have to be up,” I whispered, still twisting my hair like it might buy me more time.
Cassie snuggled against me anyway, lips brushing my shoulder. “Then we sleep. And tomorrow we raise hell.”
Saints, she made it sound easy. My chest ached, caught between dread and something terrifyingly close to hope.
Two hours. A duchy waiting. And Cassie’s body still tangled in mine.
I shut my eyes, because if I thought about it too much, I’d never breathe again.

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Chapter 64: Starveiled Intentions