He is quiet for a moment, then nods once. “There is something else you should know,” he says.
I watch him.
"Mysin is alive."
Something cold moves through me. I should not be surprised. Of course Sevrin didn’t kill him.
"Sevrin kept him," he continues. "In the dungeons."
"He will not remain there," I say. "I will kill him."
Colsar studies me, something measured moving through his expression. "You are certain?”
"Yes." A pause. "But let him not ruin today’s small victory.”
I shift then, moving to sit in his lap, my hands lifting to frame his face as I look at him fully. "Today I was everything I was supposed to be," I say quietly.
He watches me.
“Everything but what I want to be,” I add, softer now. “Badly.”
“And what is that?” he asks.
“Yours,” I say. “In the way that we both need.”
Something in him changes at that.
He moves, guiding me back slightly as the space between us draws closer, something unspoken passing between us that shifts everything without a word. He lowers himself into the chair beside the bed and watches me, waiting, but there is nothing passive in it. His shoulders tense, his hand tightening briefly against the arm of the chair as if he is already holding himself in place.
“Show me,” he says.
I meet his eyes for a moment, aware of what he is asking, aware of the choice I am making in answering it. Something in his expression deepens as I hold there, as though he is measuring the distance between intention and action, and finding that he wants the answer before I even move.
Then I do. I slide off the bed and lower myself to the floor, my knees pressing into the rug as I begin to crawl toward him, slow at first, then with more certainty. The closer I get, the more I feel the shift in him, the way his breathing changes, the way his focus is entirely on me. By the time I reach him, there is nothing restrained about the way he is watching me.
He shoves his pants down, freeing himself, and I reach for him. His hand closes around my wrist before I can touch him, firm enough to stop me, not enough to push me away.
“No,” he says quietly. The word comes lower now, roughened by something he is no longer trying to hide.
And I stop. Waiting.
A sound slips out of me before I can stop it, my body tightening at the refusal instead of easing. His hand closes in my hair, pulling my head back just enough. “Open.”
I comply, mouth parting as he pushes in, hard and deep. I choke a little, eyes watering as he thrusts, each motion rougher, the wet sounds growing louder in the quiet room. He grabs my wrists, pinning them behind me with one hand as he drives into my throat. Finally, he finishes, hot liquid spilling down as I swallow, his length still filling my mouth.
He holds there for a moment, looking down at me with a fierce, possessive intensity. Then he pulls out slowly.
I lick my lips, staring up at him. “I am yours,” I say quietly.
Something in him darkens. The glyphs along his skin glow faintly in the candlelight.
“Prove it.”
I lean forward, tongue tracing over the base of him, then lower, finding the tight ring of skin below. He jerks back, but I’ve already gone too far. “Fuck…” The word comes low, strained, his hand tightening in my hair like he’s deciding whether to stop me.
“This was not—” he begins, the words breaking off as his breath changes, uneven in a way I have never heard from him.
“Hmm?,” I say innocently, knowing he can barely form words, my hands stroking him as he hardens again under my touch. I press deeper with my tongue, ignoring his half-protest as his breathing turns to low moans.
