A knock froze us both.
We turned in unison, wide-eyed, staring down the door. Me, bare from head to toe. Him, disheveled on the floor. One nudge and whoever stood behind the wood would get an eyeful.
“Kal?”
“We’re fine, Greaves!” he snapped.
With a smirk, I crawled off the mattress, tying my hair into a knot as I strode across the room.
“Sun above, woman.”
His voice drew my attention, and I peered over my shoulder, catching his head over the edge of the bed. His hair stuck up on one side, but his eyes were locked on my rear. I grinned and added a little sway as I padded into the bathing chamber.
He let me bathe in peace, despite longing for him. There would be plenty of times to make use of the tub, but routine grounded him. This was as new to him as it was to me. I had no years of solitude to break. He did. It would take time to unlearn them.
When I stepped from the bath, he leaned against the doorway.
I wrung my hair, water dripping back into the tub. “Like what you see, dear king?”
His gaze smoldered. Fully dressed, the picture of control. The man was nothing if not efficient.
“I think I do.” His voice curled low. “Careful. Kings tend to take what they want.”
The memory of a similar warning on the balcony surfaced. Then, he hadn’t dared act. Neither had I. Now? That world had burned. We stood in the ash of it, remade.
I pulled my dress over my head, fabric cool against damp flesh. After tugging it into place, I gave him a backward glance. “Could you?”
He pushed off the wall, a slow prowl. Fingers brushed my lower back, light as a breath. He took his time lacing the gown. When he reached my shoulders, he nipped my skin—then kissed away the hurt.
When his lips found my neck, heat pulsed low in my belly. I swayed, aching.
But he only tied off the final cord.
“Be calm,” he whispered, his hips nudging against my backside. His breath stayed steady, measured, but his body betrayed his calm composure.
Then he retreated, walking into our room without a glance.
I needed a moment to breathe, to pull the storm inside me into a bottle, to pretend I wasn’t seconds away from removing my dress for a repeat of last night. Once the air around me cooled, I followed him.
He stood over his mantle, fingers trailing over the golden links. He glanced at me, jaw set. A silent question lingered in his eyes.
Besides Greaves, had anyone helped him don it?
I let my hair fall wet against my back, nudging him aside. I lifted it with care, though its weight felt disjointed. Awkward and heavy. Not an easy thing to place on anyone, but with his help, I managed to settle it across his shoulders.
He said nothing, working his jaw as I fastened the clasps. Knowing his thoughts were churning and not being privy to them was a new form of torture.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
He blinked, looking down at my hands. “Aside from Greaves and my parents, no one has placed the mantle on me.”
A pleasant flush warmed my cheeks, and I bit back my smile. This moment was mine. Something Eldeiade never touched.
I clipped the last chain, and he caught my hand. Lifting it, he pressed a kiss to my knuckles—silent thanks.
Then, he picked up my mantle.
It was lighter than his, shaped to move with me. Still, how the gilded scales draped felt as if they’d slip off any moment. The chains swayed, brushing my breasts, and his fingers skimmed my chest, deliberate and slow, stoking the fire inside me.
