She whimpered, raising a leg against my hip, a silent plea to be lifted. I smiled against her lips. Demanding, as always. But I wasn’t ready to give in.
My hand brushed against cold steel, and I broke the kiss, smirking down at her.
“This?” I tugged the blade free from the fabric she had wrapped it in, lifting it to her face.
Tallon’s dagger gleamed in the faint light, dousing me with icy clarity. Her mouth snapped shut as I recoiled, stepping back, gaze locked on the familiar weapon. The emerald hilt glittered, the wolves chasing a stag etched into the steel, clear as the day I gave it to him.
The morning after his mother’s burial.
“Why do you have this?”
“Give it to me,” she snapped, reaching for it.
The blade stayed just out of her grasp as I tossed it in my palm. The weight was familiar—one I knew well, having picked it out myself.
“Did he give you this?”
Jealousy twisted my gut. Had they been closer than they let on? After the assassination, did he offer it as a sign of protection? Did she care for him, while I kissed her like some common wench in an alleyway?
“It belongs to me!”
“It was Tallon’s. Early wedding gift?”
She snarled, grabbing my neck and hauling me down to her. Fury scorched her kiss, and I lowered the dagger. She jumped, wrapping her legs around my waist before I could lift her. Her hips collided with mine, and I hissed at the searing torture.
“Don’t you dare—” she growled, sparks dancing in her wild eyes, “—mention my wedding again. Unless you’d like the reminder of me laying with another man, thinking of you.”
The dagger clattered to the cobblestone. I threaded my hands through her golden hair, slamming her back into the wall. With a sharp tug, I exposed her pale neck and nipped at the soft skin. She squirmed against me, clearly pleased she’d riled me.
I didn’t want to think about her in another man’s bed, least of all my withering son’s.
She let out a strangled moan as I brushed the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. Her fingers threaded through my hair, nails scraping down my nape, sending a jolt of exquisite agony through me. Her legs tightened around me, grinding deeper, and I bowed my head against her shoulder.
Not here.
Not now.
My breath caught, a wild hunger rising inside me. Blood burned in my veins. I needed her in every way—by my side, at my table, in my bed.
But I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Somehow, I pulled away, a tortured groan slipping from my throat as she found her feet. Turning my back on her, the weight of my position settled heavily on my shoulders. King of Radaan, I reminded myself. I didn’t take women in alleys.
No, I would bring them to my rooms, splay them across my bed like a feast.
“Did Tallon give it to you?” My voice thickened with longing, but I fought it back. I stooped to pick up the discarded blade.
“No.” She choked out the word, clearing her throat.
When I turned, she was smoothing her skirts and fixing her disheveled hair. A blush stained her cheeks. Her lips were swollen from our embrace. Gods, if I didn’t get out of this alley, I would do far more than kiss her.
“That’s all I needed to know.” I hummed, tucking the dagger into my belt.
“I want a blade.” Her voice edged with concern.
I paused, studying her face as the hunger within me ebbed. Shadows marked the skin above her cheekbones, and she bit her lip, gaze falling to the ground. I understood that need—the desire for a weapon to feel safe, to believe she could defend herself.
