She needed a break from her guards, and the manor was the one place I could offer her that. If only for a few days.
We retreated to a cramped room beneath the stands, rinsing off the grime before heading to my quarters for a proper bath.
He settled beside the basin, his eyes fixed on me, lips pressed tight. “It’s dangerous,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but something about the way he spoke made me feel compelled to answer.
“Nothingwill happen.” I splashed cold water across my face, the chill biting into my skin.
Please, don’t let me yield to her.
It was the truth. This had to remain a dead end. Stolen kisses were one thing—shameful, disgraceful—but the thought of going further with her? That was a line I dared not cross.
But it would be so easy. She wanted me. The way she kissed me, her hands drifting over me when I held her close. The soft gasps as I traced her skin.
Yet it couldn’t go further. It shouldn’t have even come this far. If I lost control and took her, the consequences would be worse than war. If I claimed her, we risked a child. The contract would be void. My name—tarnished. My god—forsaking me.
And there would be no hiding it. Tallon would know on their wedding night.
The thought of the healers inspecting the sheets made my stomach turn. They would announce she wasn’t a virgin, and she would be sent back to Draconia—shamed, discarded, her worth diminished.
What would her father do? Even if he didn’t know the truth, he would blame Radaan. And then I’d find myself at war on two fronts.
I couldn’t afford to lose control around her. Too much was at stake, and it was too easy to forget that.
“Do you want me to step in?” Greaves asked, his voice flat. There was no teasing, no challenge in his tone. He wasn’t probing; he was offering a lifeline. If I faltered, he was asking if he should risk his position—his duty as a bodyguard—to protect my reputation and hers.
I rubbed my face with a towel, my frustration rising. “Greaves, if I cannot be trusted to keep my trousers on, how can the people trust me to rule a kingdom?” I shook my head with a grimace. “No, it will be fine.”
He sighed, stepping up to the basin. “It’s supposed to be a vacation.” He splashed his face with water. “Somehow, I think I’ll get even less sleep.”
Darius watched me too closely. His sharp gaze dissected each movement, every shift in my posture. I kept my distance from Nienna as she sat beside me, her presence too close for comfort.
I hoped he hadn’t seen the flash of desire or recognition in my eyes when she walked down the aisle. Her skirt, split into panels, parted at the waist to reveal gold breeches beneath her deep green dress.
And the dagger strapped to her thigh.
My blade. Pressed flush against her skin, yet displayed for all to see. It was her silent challenge to the court: I won’t cower. I have teeth. I have claws.
A dark pulse of satisfaction stirred within me, as if I had marked her, claimed her, for all to witness. Though no one knew—and she wasnotmine.
She belonged to the disgraceful sot who lay in his bed, a drunken mess.
I treated her with the respect her title demanded, cautious with every word and gesture. I had to remind myself—she was the princess of Draconia, nothing more.
The lie gnawed at my resolve, each breath a little heavier. How long before Elohios would strike, or worse, abandon me? I needed to shift Darius’ focus, quell the growing storm in my chest, and avoid the twitch that threatened my eye all night. I gestured to a servant, ordering Fyrn’sol to the dais.
Nienna’s gaze shifted, a smile threatening the corner of my mouth. She was intrigued. Never before had I called her friend to my table.
Fyrn descended the stairs, her wine-colored gown rustling with each step. She glanced at Nienna before dipping into a curtsy at the bottom. I nodded, and she gathered the fabric of her skirts, climbing toward us with careful steps.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice steady despite the slight furrow in her brow. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, betraying a trace of nerves.
I tucked that observation away.
“Evening, Fyrn’sol. How is your mother?” I asked, aware of Darius chewing next to me. He would catch anything I didn’t.
Her hand clutched her dress, fingers twitching with uncertainty, as she glanced at Nienna. “Gayle’sol is well… as far as I know, my king. Do you have news?”
