To Scale the Emerald Mountain (The Willowbane Saga #1)

43. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ALEC

E llya was not particularly intrigued by the council meeting; that was obvious.

I cannot say that I blame her. They are usually quite tedious and needlessly long-winded.

The councilors did relent to my decision on Cescily stepping up much easier than I had anticipated. My shoulders are looser knowing Quinndohs will be in the hands of someone so capable, knowing that she will get the credit she deserves.

Small mercies are often the ones that bring us the most peace.

The joy and excitement Ellya showed when I took her around the palace was its own form of magic, as if she was seeing it all for the first time again. I could not help myself when I asked if she thought she could be happy here.

Only hours ago, she was still drowning in her pain and determined to reject me, reject us. When she told me she will be happy anywhere that I am, my heart swelled and the uselessness I have been wallowing in for months eased.

But a small part of me is fearful that her distance and coldness could still return.

All I want is to see her happy .

Ellya sits across from me now on her bed, devouring fried pastries and laughing—the soft chime reaches deep to ignite life into parts of me I never knew were there.

She tells me about the times she and Cescily would sneak out in the middle of the night as teenagers to drink ale in the city taverns, Cescily compelling the barkeeps to serve them and the patrons to pay them no mind.

Of course, I knew. Kraeston and I would follow them, wearing glamours, ensuring they did not get into trouble and stumbled home safely.

My look of horror fades when I can hold in my rouse no more, and my lips tilt with ill hidden amusement.

Her eyes go wide, and she throws a dough ball at me. “You knew! You knew the whole time!”

I laugh and pop the ball in my mouth, chewing with relish. “Of course, I knew. Do you really think I would not know that my underage mate and baby sister were traipsing drunk around the city in the middle of the night?”

Ellya feigns displeasure, but I see the smile she fights.

“Not only did I know,” I pull her forcefully into my lap and lift one of her hands, sucking the dusting of sugar from her delicate fingers. “But I was always there.”

Her mouth goes wide in mock outrage. She tries to push away from me, but I hold firm, refusing to let her go.

“Do not act like you are not shining on the inside right now, knowing I was always there to protect you, should you need it.” Her smile and following kiss are confirmation enough.

We lay together, talking about everything, our conversation and banter as natural as it has ever been. We laugh until our sides ache as we rehash her trying to knock me unconscious out of irrational jealousy at the sight of an empty house.

As our peals of laughter fade, Ellya’s gaze turns heated. She straddles my lap when she asks me just how many times I have fucked my fist to the thought of her recently. I caress her thighs with my thumbs, communicating my deep desire through the gentle strokes.

I give her a flirtatious smile. “You might think less of me if I told you.”

Her eyes sparkle as she leans into my neck, saying with her sultry breath against my skin, “I want to see it.”

I am pleasantly surprised by her boldness in her inexperience. Squeezing her hips, I rock her against me and I begin to immediately harden. Ellya watches my face with anticipation, waiting for me to reply.

Wetting my lips, I tell her, “I have already told you, I will give you everything you want.”

Her pupils dilate a fraction, and she scoots back to work the laces on my trousers while I reach behind my back to pull my shirt off. I lift my hips and pull down my pants, making my cock spring free. She looks down at me—hard and pulsing—and her eyes widen at the size of me.

When I have myself in a firm grasp, I tell her, “Lay back. Place the backs of your thighs on top of mine.” I work myself in slow, deliberate strokes as I watch her obey my command and prop herself on an elbow.

Ellya reaches a hand down to start gathering the skirts of her flowy dress and bunches it in her hand, but she stops just short of baring herself to me .

“Show me, Elly,” I say, my breathing increased. I go to grab one of her soft thighs, but she bats my hand away.

“I told you to touch yourself, not me,” she chides.

My cock pulses in my hand with her dominance and glee shines in my eyes.

She likes to play games.

Pulling my hand away, I tuck it behind my head to keep myself from temptation. “I will not touch. Now, show me.”

Ellya gives me a coy smile and begins lifting her skirts again, pulling them around her waist until she is fully exposed to me.

“Fuck,” I grit through my teeth and stroke myself faster at the sight of her swollen, glistening cunt. So close that if I were to barely angle myself forward, I would slide right in.

And gods, do I want to.

Working myself from root to tip, my wrist flicks when I reach my thick head, and repeat. I am already pulsing beneath my touch as I watch her wetness increase. Inhaling a ragged breath through my nose, my senses are coated with her sweet earthy and floral scent, making my heart quicken.

My mind keeps imagining Ellya’s delicate hands groping herself; exposing her small, firm tits to me; her fingers rolling over her pink nipples before sliding down the pane of her tight stomach to run through her dripping wet cunt.

I wonder how many times she has touched herself like that while thinking of me.

My breathing is heavy and my strokes turn more frantic and hurried as tightness builds in my spine. “Touch yourself,” I pant, my voice gravelly.

I imagine her slicking her fingers with herself before strumming her clit until she shakes and calls my name as she comes; imagine her tight clit drawing in and jumping with each pulsing wave of her orgasm.

Fire burns in her eyes as she watches me. Ellya barely shakes her head, her soft curtain of purple hair brushing the swells of her breasts enticingly. She gives me another coy smile that nearly drives me mad.

Her denial of my request makes me want it more.

“Let me see you touch my cunt,” I growl possessively.

Another slight shake of her beautiful head. Ellya’s emerald green eyes blaze as she holds me in her iron clutches.

“Do not pretend you have not rubbed those greedy little fingers against yourself to thoughts of me before. Touch my cunt as you watch me pleasure myself. Do it. Now.” I use the commanding tone I do as king, the same one that made her rub her thighs together beneath the council table.

But she is enjoying her power over me too much.

“You told me you would beg for me, my king.” She has never called me her king before. My cock hardens further, and an involuntary groan escapes me hearing it wrapped in her honeyed voice. “Beg.”

I let out a bitter laugh, damning my words as I continue to pump myself harder. Beads of moisture have begun to develop at the slit of my head, and I know that I am close.

Her toying with me is bringing me to a level of pleasure I have never felt before.

“Please, Ellya, let me see you touch yourself,” I desperately plead on ragged breaths, digging my fingers into my shoulder to keep from reaching out to her.

My leg twitches and my spine begins to arch forward as I hold back my load .

“I am begging you. I need to see you run your soft fingers through my cunt. Please, Elly. Please. Please.” My breaths stutter and sweat breaks out over my brow as I jerk myself faster.

Ellya smiles before slowly running a hand down her body, and I groan loud at the sight.

When she slowly dips the tip of one finger—just barely—into her tight little cunt, I lose control and come hard on a deep, throaty growl. I throw my head back; my eyes flutter and roll in the back of my head. The force of my climax is so strong, the first few spurts of thick, hot fluid land on my neck and chest.

As I pump myself dry, making primal noises I have never made before, Ellya watches me confidently like the little fucking minx she is. I know at this moment all those creeping blushes up her neck have had nothing to do with embarrassment or shyness, but more her own burning desire for me.

When my orgasm finally ends, and I am a panting mess covered in sweat and my own cum, she watches me with pure satisfaction, making my inner beast purr.

“Do you like seeing a king come so completely undone for you, Ellya?” I ask her breathlessly.

She gives me no words, and I suck in a sharp breath when she leans over me, her tongue passing over a long rope of cum on my chest, cleaning it off. She swallows it down audibly, and I stare at her in rapt awe.

“Now I’ve had a chance to taste your salt, too,” she says in a sultry voice.

I can’t help but laugh before I pull her mouth to mine, greedily tasting my pleasure on her tongue .

In the bathing chamber, I clean myself up before pulling on a clean pair of my loose pants that I had stashed for moments such as this.

She was right—I was being presumptuous.

Upon returning, I find Ellya changed and in bed, laying on her back. I climb in next to her and lay my head on her breast, hugging her close to me. The melody of her heartbeat against my ear stokes the light in my chest, the flame dancing to new heights while she runs her hands through my hair.

“I love your hair,” Ellya tells me as she strokes me tenderly.

Humming, I nuzzle in closer to her, bathing in her scent. “This has been one of the best days of my life, Elly.”

Her fingers slow. “You do remember that I stabbed you in the heart today?”

I chuckle against her soft skin. “How could I forget?”

Ellya begins her ministrations again. “How do you feel now?”

“Tired and a little weak, but I have suffered worse.”

That is not entirely true. The excruciating pain I felt when my breath returned was unlike anything I have experienced before. It felt as if my heart had been splattered with a fiery hammer.

Even my wounds from the lonyx paled in comparison to coming back from death.

Purging the contents of my blood-filled stomach burned like acid, scorching my flesh raw, and the taste has not yet fully faded. But for what came after, it was worth the momentary suffering.

I would welcome a lifetime of suffering if it would ease Ellya hers.

“We have a busy day tomorrow, are you ready for me to leave so you can sleep?” I ask, and her fingers still again.

“You’re leaving?” She does not sound particularly happy with the idea, her displeasure producing grin from me.

Hugging her tighter, I say, “Only if you would like for me to. I would much rather stay here and hold you.”

“I want you to stay,” she says quietly.

We do not sleep and instead talk late into the night. I am surprised when she opens up to me about her time with Locane without me asking. Although I saw everything he said and did, I only saw from his perspective.

My hands clasp hers against my chest while she pours her heart out about the fear and self-doubt he instilled in her. How she is still struggling to not see the truth in the midst of all his lies.

Ellya in turn listens to me talk about my own stories with Locane—so different from hers.

Stories of us as boys, when we were always together. When he was more than my brother, more than my best friend. When we were truly two halves of the same whole, like our mother would always tell us.

Staring vacantly at the ceiling, I tell Ellya about how even before our powers developed, we could communicate without speaking. Well into adulthood that connection lasted, only having to communicate mind to mind when we were not directly in front of each other.

Ellya begins to stroke the panes of my cheeks as I tell her about the person Locane used to be, carefree and spontaneous, much like her father. Locane and Milo were always getting into trouble, close in the way Kraeston and I are close, and I was always forced to ground them while growing up.

She never looks away from me as I tell her about how Locane used to laugh easily and care deeply. He used to sing while he cooked and baked for our large family, spending hours preparing lavish meals or time-consuming pastries and desserts. He always beamed with pride at everyone’s enjoyment.

Ellya nestles into my shoulder while I recount how vividly I remember the day that Locane began to shift, shortly before I left for the Mother Continent to find a path for myself. I relive the raging argument we had because I was angry with him for falling under our father’s spell; and he was angry with me for not aiding them.

One of her hands rests above my heart as I share my regret for my cruelty in calling Locane weak and spineless. For telling him that he was lacking in everything that made for a good man—a good king. I tell her about the guilt that has eaten me every day since uttering those words and leaving, even when I knew that he was struggling, even when I knew that he needed me.

My hand has found its way into hers when I tell Ellya about when Father died and Locane fled. How he left nothing but that frantic note telling me that I was right, Father was right: he was no king. My guilt only grew after I read those words. Guilt not for what I had said to him, but because I knew that I would be a better king than he, and everyone else agreed.

After that admission, I cannot find it within myself to continue and Ellya does not pry. She only gazes at me while she strokes my hair. Having admitted these things to her, I am unburdened, having never shared them with anyone, not even Kraeston. I have fiercely tried to defend Locane for all these years, despite his flaws.

He will get my defense no more.

The sun has nearly risen by the time we fall quiet and drift off to sleep, both lighter than we had been before our long discussion. We wake late in the morning, sleep heavy and grumbling. Ellya only puts up a mild fight about going to her appointment.

“What am I supposed to say to this person without telling her what your brother did?”

“She can be trusted. She is aware of the family history. Cescily and I have both spoken candidly with her many times,” I tell her as we eat a late breakfast.

“You know, I don’t need an escort. I can find my way there.”

My brow arches at her skeptically. “I have no doubt in your abilities to navigate the city. I am going with you to hold you accountable to your promise, as well as support you at such a raw time. It will be good for you.”

Ellya sighs heavily and absentmindedly pushes around her food with her fork, not eating. “Do not fret, my clove. We will do something fun after,” I tell her with a knowing smile.

She perks up instantly. “What are we going to do?”

“There is an abandoned village of ruins not far from here. We shall go there for you to more safely discover how deep your new power runs.”

She goes quiet and begins to chew on her lip.

“What is it?”

“Is Nana around?” she asks me softly.

“I do not know, I have been with you. I can reach out to her, if you would like,” I offer. Ellya watches me hesitantly, words obviously stuck behind her teeth. “Do not be afraid to speak to me, Elly. What is on your mind?”

“Would you be terribly offended if Nana went with me today instead?”

Offering her a smile, I reach out for her hand. “I would not be offended at all. In fact, it would bring me great joy to know that you are comfortable with Mhaylene again. You two are so close, and she has missed you terribly.”

A small tear slides down her cheek, and I wipe it away as I reach out to Mhaylene to communicate Ellya’s wishes. She arrives minutes later, and I watch them leave, arms linked, both looking as serene as I feel.