“Make sure they have two days to spend what they earn before we depart,” I added. “And we leave at month’s end. No delays.”
Nereus nodded, and Nienna’s gaze drifted to me—down my chest, then up again. She pressed her lips together.
My body burned with the urge to sling her over my shoulder and carry her to our room.
Instead, I stayed seated.
The meeting—if it could be called that—felt easy. No pretense or forced formality. The family tossed jabs, shared opinions without bracing for impact. It reminded me of dinners with the Sols. Untroubled. Honest. Almost joyful.
Eventually, we retired to our rooms.
“No guard,” Nienna muttered, cutting a glance my way. “We don’t have to be quiet.”
“You never are.” I backed her into the room, kicking the door shut.
The kiss landed messy. Greedy. Two bodies aching after a day spent pretending we weren’t starving. My fingers tangled in the laces of her dress. I tugged once, then gave up. I broke the kiss long enough to shove a hand behind me to bolt the lock.
“No interruptions,” I growled.
Her eyes widened, but her lips curled with a devious grin as she retreated a step.
“You want to be caught?”
“By you.” She bit her lip, voice low and coaxing. This was her hesitant place, unsure how to ask, but knowing exactly what she wanted.
I let her drift back, unhurried, unfastening my vest one button at a time. I didn’t stop watching her as I removed my tunic—the shift of fabric, her every breath. My hand slid to my belt. I loosened it, steps closing the space between us.
She hadn’t removed a single scrap of clothing. Still and composed, she waited for me, wordless. Anticipation clung to her like perfume. She liked when I undressed her, made her feel wanted, piece by piece. A gift meant only for my hands.
Heat surged beneath my skin. That hunger in her eyes, that silent plea—it was for me. Not for a throne. Not for a king. Me. Pride swelled in my chest, pleasure racing behind it, snapping at its heels.
But I was in no mood to take things easy. Slowing down wasn’t an option—not tonight. Not after the endless restraint, the hours spent pretending my hands didn’t ache to be on her since dawn.
The buckle slipped free, and I crossed the room in a breath, wrapped my arm around her waist, and tossed her onto the bed. Her gasp cracked through the air, chest slamming into the mattress. Her cry was soft—surprised, not afraid.
I didn’t give myself time to think.
Her skirts bunched in my fist. I yanked her trousers down her thighs—then stopped cold.
Dark bruises stained her legs.
My breath vanished. Veins iced. I stared at the four brown ovals on her thigh, one more across from them.
A handprint.
“Kallias?”
Her voice echoed as if down a corridor. My heart rammed into my ribs.
Red welts on arms. Bruises hidden under crimson silk. Black hair covering what little remained. Whispers and rumors that I abused women—that I was a monster. That my charm masked something vile.
I flinched.
The memories surged—shadows I thought I’d drowned. I tried to shove them down again, but it was like submerging my fist in a jar of water. The more I pushed, the more they surfaced.
Eldeiade had been cruel. Vicious. And when she started the rumors, it didn’t matter what I said. The court believed her. A king who beat women behind closed doors. That’s who she made me.
It took years to undo the wreckage—years marked by silence, strategy, and deliberate distance. I refused her hands, dodged her reach, turned every gesture into a line she couldn’t cross. Each rejection became a quiet tally, a shield forged from restraint. And now… now Nienna wore the evidence Eldeiade once claimed I left behind.
