I start to make her a cup of tea, realizing as I pour the water that it’s tepid. “Tea’s gone cold.” She grins, and suddenly the water in the kettle is steaming again. “I could get used to this limitless power of yours,” I tell her, then pour cream into the steaming mug before handing it to her.

“How do you take your tea? You’re always making mine. I’ve never noticed what you make for yourself.”

“Hate the stuff. I think it tastes like burned water.” She nearly spits out the tea she just took a drink of in her laughter.

“First, you don’t get why chocolate cake is the best food ever, and now you don’t like tea? How can you possibly be my mate?” she teases.

“More for you,” I growl, and I can see her body tense with need at the throaty noise. I scoop her up again, unable to keep my hands from her, breakfast forgotten as we find new ways to learn one another’s bodies.

Nemesia

While mates are said to be random, at the discretion of the gods or fate, certain pairings appear to be part of the very fabric of our world. Thayarian rulers often find themselves with a Velmaran mate, specifically a powerful light channeler, and often the strongest light channeler alive during their rule. None know why fate favors these matches so frequently, and neither the Andomer nor the Elestren lines have ever offered their own explanations for the phenomenon.

The Traditions of the Fae

“Can we have dinner again tonight?” Genevieve asks me suggestively after lunch as I settle back in for a long afternoon of research. Even though I love her office, I try to spend some of my time out in the archives so people don’t grow suspicious of where I am. Her eyes are bright with mischief and lust, and it stirs my own desire. She’s proven to be an excellent lover, despite her lack of experience. Teaching her new things has been more exhilarating than I expected. There’s an urgency to her need, like she feels she needs to experience everything before it slips away from her.

“I’d like that,” I say with a knowing smile, and she blushes. “I have a few more texts to show you, as I’d like your opinion on their meaning,” I add loudly to protect our cover of researcher and librarian, though I’m not sure anyone cares what Genevieve does with her time. She’s as forgotten as the books deep in the archives detailing royal coin balances throughout the centuries.

“Yes, I would be happy to assist you,” she says, the innuendo clear, and my thighs turn slick. Genevieve walks away, hips swishing in her gown. I stare at her ass until she turns the corner.