Chapter 22: Steam & Surrender
Steam clung to Teresa’s skin, a second clinging, wet skin. The scent of jasmine from the infused pools did nothing to cleanse the metallic taste of fear from the back of her tongue. Lucien’s warning echoed. Professional blades. Accidents. She leaned her forehead against the cool, veined marble of the bath’s edge, trying to press the images out: Nate falling from a tower, his body still and broken on the cobbles.
The rustle of the entrance curtain, soft footsteps on wet stone. She didn’t turn. Only a few had access here.
“They said you’d retreated. A headache,” Amberley’s voice came, smooth as the oil swirling on the water’s surface. “You don’t look pained. You look hunted.”
Teresa opened her eyes. Amberley stood at the pool’s edge, naked, her dark hair loose and dripping, emerald eyes seeing too much. The water lapped at her ankles. The kind, diplomatic princess was there in the set of her mouth, but beneath it was something sharper, hungrier.
“It’s nothing a good sweat won’t cure,” Teresa deflected, her voice echoing in the cavernous, steam-hazed room.
Amberley stepped down into the pool, the water rising over her thighs, her hips, the dark triangle of curls. “Lies don’t suit you, Teresa. Not with me.” She moved closer, until only inches separated them in the chest-deep warmth. “I heard about the list. My father’s spies are better than your father’s.”
A cold spike shot through the heat. “Then you know it’s not a game.”
“I know you’re on it.” Amberley’s hand came up, not to cup her face, but to trace a fingertip along the tensed cord of Teresa’s neck. “And I know your captain is, too. The handsome, brooding one. Nathaniel.”
The mention of his name, here, now, felt like a violation. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” Amberley’s fingertip trailed lower, over Teresa’s collarbone. “Do you fuck him, too? Or do you just wish you did?”
Teresa’s control, so carefully maintained in the library with the twins, shattered. She grabbed Amberley’s wrist, not to push her away, but to hold her there. “What do you want?”
“I want you to stop thinking.” Amberley closed the distance, her body pressing Teresa back against the slick marble wall. “For five minutes, stop being the heir. Be something else.” Her mouth found Teresa’s, not a gentle exploration but a conquest. Her tongue pushed past Teresa’s lips, hot and insistent.
Teresa groaned into the kiss, her hands sliding up Amberley’s slick back, fingernails digging in. It was anger, it was fear, it was a need to feel anything but the creeping dread. She kissed back with equal ferocity, biting Amberley’s lower lip, earning a sharp gasp that turned into a moan.
Amberley’s hands were everywhere. She cupped Teresa’s breasts, thumbs scraping over taut nipples, then one hand slid down her stomach, through the wet blonde curls. Teresa spread her legs under the water, the movement causing a small wave. Amberley’s fingers found her, already slick with more than bathwater.
“So wet,” Amberley breathed against her mouth. “Is this for me, or for the fear?”
“Just shut up and fuck me,” Teresa growled, her head thudding back against the marble.
Amberley obliged. Two fingers plunged inside her, curling upwards, stroking a deep, urgent rhythm. Her thumb pressed hard circles against Teresa’s clit. The pleasure was brutal, immediate, a counterpoint to the chaos in her mind. Teresa gasped, her hips rocking, driving Amberley’s fingers deeper. She clutched at Amberley’s shoulders, her dark hair, pulling her closer, as if she could absorb her solidity.
“That’s it,” Amberley whispered, her own breath coming fast. “Use my hand. Come on my fingers. Let it go.”
Teresa was close, so close, the tension coiling unbearably tight. She ground herself against Amberley’s hand, the water sloshing around them. Her release tore through her with a silent, open-mouthed cry, her cunt clenching rhythmically around Amberley’s invading fingers. For a few seconds, there was only pulsing heat and white noise.
As the waves subsided, Amberley slowly withdrew her hand. She brought her glistening fingers to her own mouth, tasting Teresa without breaking eye contact. “Now,” she said, her voice husky. “My turn.”
She turned Teresa around, pressing her front against the cold marble. “Hold onto the edge.” Teresa obeyed, fingers gripping the slick stone. Amberley’s body pressed against her from behind, one hand snaking around to resume its work on Teresa’s oversensitive clit, the other guiding Teresa’s hand between Amberley’s own legs.
“Make me feel it,” Amberley demanded, her voice a ragged command in Teresa’s ear.
Teresa reached back, her fingers finding Amberley’s soaked folds. She pushed two inside, feeling Amberley’s inner muscles clutch tightly. She mimicked the rough rhythm Amberley had used, her thumb finding the hard nub of her clit. Amberley moaned, her hips stuttering against Teresa’s hand, her own fingers working Teresa into a second, dizzying peak. They moved together, a frantic, slippery collision of bodies against the unyielding marble, the steam thickening around them, their choked cries echoing off the gold-leafed ceiling.
It was there, in the throbbing aftermath, with Amberley’s forehead resting between her shoulder blades, that the curtain was yanked aside.
“Your Highness, we need to—” Nate’s voice cut through the steam, hard and urgent, then died.
Teresa froze, still pinned between Amberley and the wall. She turned her head just enough to see.
Nate stood rigid at the entrance, his weathered face a mask of shock that quickly solidified into something unreadable. Just behind his shoulder, Prince Callum’s bright green eyes widened, then crinkled with a kind of delighted astonishment.
“Well,” Callum said, the single word dripping with implication. “This explains the ‘headache.’ And here I was, coming to offer my condolences.”
Amberley didn’t move away. She rested her chin on Teresa’s shoulder, a possessive, languid gesture. “Do you mind? We’re having a moment.”
Nate’s jaw worked. His gaze, usually so guarded, was fixed on Teresa with an intensity that felt physical. She saw the conflict there—the guard, the protector, confronted with the woman, vulnerable and exposed in every sense. He’d seen her like this before, but never with another. The intimacy felt like a betrayal, even though they had no pact.
“We need to talk,” Nate said, his voice stripped of all emotion. “Now. The eastern consul’s men have been asking questions in the lower city. Specific questions. About your schedule. About the structural integrity of the old bell tower.”
All the heat, all the hazy pleasure, drained from Teresa’s body, leaving her cold in the warm water. She pushed back from the wall, gently dislodging Amberley. She turned to face them, naked, water streaming down her skin, but every inch the princess. The aftermath of sex was gone, replaced by icy clarity.
“What kind of questions about the bell tower?” she asked, her voice steady.
Callum’s smirk faded. “The kind that suggest a rope might be cut during a routine inspection. Or a guard might be… persuaded… to look the other way.”
Teresa stepped out of the pool, water sluicing from her body. She grabbed a linen sheet, wrapping it around herself, not out of modesty, but as a uniform. “Amberley, your father’s spies. Can they trace the payment? Find the blades?”
Amberley, still in the water, studied her. The allure was gone, replaced by a calculating sharpness. “Perhaps. For a price.”
“Name it.”
“A seat on your small council when you take the throne. And a private audience tonight, after this business is done.” Her eyes flickered to Nate, a challenge. “To finish our discussion.”
Teresa ignored the implication. She looked at Nate. “We can’t wait for them to make their move.”
“No,” Nate agreed, his eyes finally breaking from hers, scanning the floor as if reassembling his duty. “We set a trap.”
Callum rubbed his hands together, a renewed glint in his eye. “Now that’s more like it. A hunting party. I’m in.”
Teresa nodded, a plan beginning to form in the hollow where her fear had been. “Then we hunt.” She looked at the three of them—the guarded captain, the cunning princess, the flippant prince. An unlikely cohort. “But we do it my way. And the first move is ours.”