I blinked, confused, and my husband fixed his guard with a flat stare. The barest curve touched his mouth before Greaves slipped out.
Kallias helped me stand. “Let me see.”
“I assume that’s for the blisters?” I whispered as my dress slid to the floor.
He crouched, eased the garment over my boots, shook it out, and folded it neatly. “Soft,” he said, eyes tracing my bare skin, “but not fragile.”
I gathered my hair and lifted it from my back, giving him an unobstructed view of everything he’d sacrificed until Reem was his again.
A twitch crossed his eye before he masked it. He drew my trousers down over my hips, hands rough, warm, achingly familiar.
Mine.
He guided me onto the furs, then studied the inside of my thighs. “I know these legs,” he said, voice sinking into that low, husky register I felt everywhere. “No open wounds.”
Cool salve met overheated, tortured skin, stark against the heat of his palms. He worked with care, measured and gentle in his administration. I lay still, breath shallow, offering only the occasional hiss when he found a tender place.
“Sleep like this.” His voice caught, desire locked tight behind his jaw. “Give your skin a break from any friction.”
That last word lingered, heavy with everything we craved.
As if crossing a line of no return, he pulled a thick blanket over my naked body. His breath deepened, and his gaze darkened with all the things he refused himself.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He shut his eyes and drew his hands away, fists clenched. “I’ll be back.”
Something inside me dipped at the promise and the distance in it. I wanted him beside me until dawn.
He rose, loosened his tunic, and took his sword from the lone chest at the foot of the furs. One last look, a rough swallow, then the flap flew open.
“Claus, guard the queen. Greaves, with me.”
Chapter Nine
Kallias
Lust was addictive. Passion and love were her sisters. None were inherently wrong. Yet I never failed to put myself into situations that tested my limits.
My sword clanged against Greaves’, the sound ringing sharp as sweat slid down my temple. He grunted at the impact, rolled beneath the strike, and swung for my weak shoulder. I pivoted, sparing the aching limb, and deflected.
This was my own doing.
When we spent the day in Mon, I visited the temple of Elohios. The stone halls felt right. Welcoming. Secure. There, I prayed and made a foolish vow.
I would not take my wife until I retook my capital. Radaan would see us wed beneath the blessing of our gods.
The oath bound me, and I dared not risk Elohios’ favor for a single night of heat and want.
Nienna had always marveled at my god’s light, calling it magic. I summoned none of it—I only asked. I prayed, and the divine either answered or turned away. Their will alone decided.Through blessing and guidance, we built Radaan on structure and tradition.
The same structure Tallon defiled.
Greaves’ blade slipped past my guard. I leapt back, smacking it aside a breath too late. Groans of disapproval rippled outward.
Our clash of swords had drawn a small crowd. Veterans stood beside boys who’d never seen war. They watched me spar away my burning lust into something sharper. Blow after blow, Greaves and I danced in a dangerous battle. Each step tested restraint and resolve. The precision comforted me in its own way.
Familiarity marked our only weakness. He knew my shoulder pained me. Some days he pressed the advantage. Others, he granted mercy and eased away.
