The Saintess and the Demon King novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Ask
Knowing it may cost her the Flame, she asks him for the first thing she has ever wanted; at dawn her hands burn brighter than ever and a Sister of the Temple is at the gate.
Torvin didn't leave right away.
He stood in the doorway with his broken horn catching the firelight and looked at Isabeau, and then at the king.
"There's more," he said. "The Temple's healers walked out of the lower town an hour ago."
She was on her feet before she knew it.
"They can't. I haven't been touched. The High Priest wrote."
"The High Priest wrote to a girl he wanted to keep quiet," said Veyron.
His voice was very even.
"They weren't waiting for you to fall, Isabeau. They were waiting for you to be out of the way."
Torvin went out and shut the door.
The fire popped.
Isabeau stood in the middle of the lord's bedchamber with her hands shaking and her whole life rearranging itself behind her eyes.
She had knelt in a tent to save a city, and the man who raised her had already packed his healers.
The Temple would take the credit if the city lived and blame her if it didn't.
"Then I was never saving them with my purity," she said.
"No."
"Then there's nothing left for it to protect, except me."
He said nothing, and she understood that he wasn't going to help.
He had told her the rules in the tent, and he meant to keep every one.
She looked at her hands.
Twenty-three years of white robes and white light, and she couldn't remember one hour that had been hers.
Tomorrow a Sister would stand in the courtyard and ask the Flame to prove itself in her.
If she was going to lose it anyway, she wanted to know what she was losing it for.
"Veyron."
He had gone back to the fire, and he turned his head.
"Touch me."
"Is that all?"
She knew what he wanted.
Her face burned, and she made herself walk to him across the stones.
"Please," she said.
The word felt enormous in her mouth.
"Please touch me. I want you to. I've never wanted anything and I want this."
His eyes closed for one second.
Then he opened them, and she saw what he'd been hiding all day, a dark red hunger that made her knees go soft.
"Say it again."
"Please."
"Good," he said. "Good, Isabeau. That's the first thing you've ever asked for yourself, and it's mine."
He picked her up.
He did it easily, one arm under her knees.
He laid her down on the black silk.
His hands went to the ties of her robe.
"Take it off," she said, before he could ask. "Please. All of it."
The robe fell open, and he drew it down her arms and left it tangled under her.
She lay there in her thin shift with her nipples hard through the linen, and the fire burned on her bare skin.
Nobody had ever looked at her like this.
He looked at her for a long time, and his hands stayed flat on the mattress on either side of her ribs.
"Beautiful," he said.
"You can't see anything yet."
"I can see enough to ruin me."
He caught the hem of the shift and pulled it over her head.
The air touched every inch of her at once.
She tried to cover herself, and he took her wrists and pinned them gently against the pillow.
"No. Let me see you. You're perfect, my light. Look at these breasts. Look how you answer me."
He bent and took one nipple into his mouth.
She cried out.
His tongue circled it slowly, and then he sucked.
She felt it down between her legs, in a place that had been a mystery to her whole life.
"Veyron, please."
"I know," he said into her skin. "I've got you. I'm going to taste you now. You're going to let me."
"Yes."
He kissed down her belly, slow and thorough, and every inch of her was a revelation.
At her hips he pushed her thighs apart with both hands.
She was wet.
She could feel it, a slickness she had only been told to be ashamed of, and she tried to close her knees.
"Don't." His voice was a growl. "Look at that. Gods, look at you."
"Your pussy is so pretty and so wet for me that I could come just from this."
Nobody had ever said that word to her.
She should have been shocked.
She was so turned on that she shook.
He put his mouth on her.
The first stroke of his tongue ran from her entrance to her clit, long and flat and unhurried.
Her back came off the bed.
"Oh, Flame."
"Mm."
He did it again, and she fisted both hands in the sheets.
Then she reached down and found his horns, smooth and ridged and warm from the fire, and she held on.
He groaned against her, and the sound went through her.
"That's it," he said, lifting his mouth for a breath. "Hold on. Pull me where you want me."
She did.
She pulled him in, and he gave her everything.
His tongue found her clit and circled it, light, then firm, then light again, until she couldn't tell where it ended and she began.
He slid one finger inside her, thick and slow, and she made a sound she didn't recognize.
"So tight," he said, low and wrecked. "Isabeau. You feel like heaven, and I'm the last creature that should be near it."
"Don't stop."
"I'm not going to stop."
A second finger joined the first.
He crooked them, and something bright and sharp broke open inside her.
His mouth went back to her clit, and the rhythm of his tongue and his hand was relentless.
She heard herself begging.
She begged him, over and over, in words she hadn't known she knew.
"Please, Veyron, right there, please, don't stop, oh, please."
"Good girl. That's it. Let me hear you. Let me hear everything."
The pleasure climbed in her.
Her thighs shook around his head.
She tightened on his fingers, and her whole body went white and hot.
She came with his name in her mouth and her hands locked in his horns.
It went on and on.
He didn't let up.
He licked her through every wave, soft now, tender.
She was limp and gasping and crying a little from the sheer size of it.
Then he moved up her body, slowly, and kissed the corner of her mouth.
She tasted herself on him.
"There," he said, and his voice was shaking. "That's what you sound like when you want something."
"I didn't know it could be like that."
"You're not done finding out."
Isabeau turned her face into his neck and breathed him in, smoke and iron and heat.
He was hard against her hip, huge through his trousers, and she could feel how badly he wanted her.
She slid her hand down, and he caught her wrist.
"Not tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because you have a Sister at the gate in the morning, and you need to sleep."
"I want to."
"I know." He kissed her forehead. "That's why I'll wait."
She wanted to argue.
But her eyes were already closing, and his arm was wrapped around her.
For the first time since she was nine, she slept without waking once.
She woke at dawn with her hand against the cold black silk.
Light was pouring into the room, and she thought it was the sun.
It wasn't.
It was her.
She lifted her hands and stared.
Her palms were blazing, white-gold and steady, so bright that she could see the bones of her fingers through the glow.
She had never been this bright in her life.
She should have been dark.
She had asked a demon to touch her, and she'd come in his mouth, and the Flame was supposed to have left her.
"Veyron," she whispered.
He was already awake, sitting in the chair by the cold fire, watching her.
"What is it?"
"I'm burning."
He stood.
The door shook as Torvin's fist struck it from the other side.
"My king. The Sister is at the gate, and she isn't alone."
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