She writhed, pushing her trousers down. “These blasted boots.”
She kicked and cursed as the fabric caught.
“Don’t move.” I stepped back, giving her distance to free herself.
Within a few heated moments, our clothes lay abandoned in heaps. Skin met skin as I pulled her into the shower, reaching blindly for the cord.
“This,” she said, panted breaths ragged with need, “isn’t a bath.”
I smiled against her mouth, fingers finding the release.
I braced her against the wall, sheltering her as water spilled from the ceiling grate. Cold slammed into me, stealing my breath.
She gasped, leg locking around my waist, gaze lifted. “It’s rain.”
Warmth followed, easing the shock, and the muscles in my back loosened, tension draining with every rivulet.
“I don’t do baths,” I murmured at her neck, careful to avoid her injury.
Her breath hitched as my hand traced the inside of her thigh. “Ever?”
I stilled, studying her through the haze. The bandages were soaked through, fresh blood seeping beneath. Dried crimson coated my fingers, streaking her leg with scarlet.
If she was asking questions, I wasn’t doing something right.
I surged forward, lifting her, and her legs wrapped around me. She gasped, arms sliding along my neck, head tipping back.
She was freedom. Wild abandon. Something in her spoke straight to my soul, unfastening the man beneath the mantle. In moments like this, her body consumed me. Each hitched breath, every muffled moan, the way she bit her lip to hold herself together—it stripped all other thoughts away.
I let my desire consume me, claiming what I needed: that release, that moment when our bodies met with frantic need, racing to the same climax.
She was my light. My freedom. My hope.
She was mine.
Clean and limp with pleasure, I carried her to my bed, but stopped short, arms tightening around her as I glared at it.
“This is yours?” she asked.
The first time she’d been in it followed a failed assassination attempt. She burst into my room, coated in dust and blood. The terror that seized me then carved years from my life. The thought of losing her–
I never would. Not now. Not ever.
“It’s rather small,” I said, acutely aware of how narrow it felt compared to the space we shared in Draconia.
Across the hall, in the queen’s quarters, stood a bed wide enough to share with her handmaid and Greaves besides.
“I’ve never had a use for anything larger.” My teeth ground together as I glowered at it, as if force of will might stretch the frame.
She laughed, nestling into the curve of my neck. “Then you’ll have to suffer my embrace.”
I scoffed as I laid her bare body on the sheets. “It’s your kicks I fear.”
“I donotkick you.” She slid beneath the covers, gaze lingering while I rummaged for clean breeches.
At least Tallon hadn’t destroyed my rooms. That alone surprised me. No outburst of rage, no pointless wreckage? No—he’d been too busy tearing apart everything else.
“How would you know?” I paused, brow lifting as I crossed my arms.
