“And I,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper, “cannot wait to take you home.”
His hand slid from her hip upward—languid, questioning. When she didn’t stop him, his palm brushed the underside of her breast. They both inhaled sharply. Her eyes fluttered closed. The water softened everything, each touch gliding, each sensation amplified.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered.
She nodded. “It feels . . .” Heat scalded her cheeks. “It feels good.”
How strange, to speak pleasure aloud. To let someone know he was affecting her. But she trusted him. Trusted he wouldn’t use this against her.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
His hand cupped her breast fully, thumb circling the peak. She gasped—a small, helpless sound that undid something in him. His other hand cradled her face, and he kissed her. A claiming and a surrender at once.
The water lapped around them as she pressed closer, skin sliding against skin. His palms travelled her back, her hips, her thighs, mapping her by touch. When his fingers found the place between her legs, she broke the kiss with a moan, her forehead falling to his shoulder.
“Alexander—”
“I know,” he murmured against her ear, his touch gentle but sure. “We have time. But I’ve waited months to touch you like this.”
His body told the story his words didn’t: the hard length of him pressed against her hip, the tremor in his hands, the ragged edge of his breath. He wanted her. Knowing that—feeling that—sent a pulse of heat through her that had nothing to do with the bathwater.
“Come,” she said against his lips. “Let me wash your hair. Then I want you to put that crown on me.”
He laughed—a real, disbelieving laugh—and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I love you,” he said. Inherlanguage. “I’ve missed you so.”
She pulled back. “You learned Xûengua,” she whispered, looking up. “For me.”
His eyes darted away. He looked almost bashful, a faint flush colouring his neck. An intriguing shade for an Alpha.
“A clumsy attempt. A Talharen family in the merchant district helped me. I was a poor student who couldn’t do their efforts justice.”
He admitted it quietly, as if confessing a trivial thing, but to her, it waseverything.She’d arrived on his shores armed with knowledge of his world, a bride determined to carve a place for herself through sheer usefulness. She had never dared hope for a reciprocal effort.
“You are perfect,” she said, her voice thickening.
And then, she kissed him.
Moments later, they emerged reluctantly, trading warm water for soft robes. Her maids had laid out fresh garments and discreetly retreated—a silky nightgown for her, loose pants and a robe for him.
Alexander stood by the lacquered table where the box waited. His hand rested on its surface, not yet opening it. When she came to stand beside him, he lifted the lid. In the intimacy of her palace, the limyerite seemed less like stone and more like captured twilight, the raven feathers etched with impossible delicacy.
His eyes, a summer sky after a storm, held hers. “This crystal is from the heart of my land.” His fingers traced the edge of one gleaming feather until he found the captured crack deep within the pristine crystal—a flaw that fractured light into a minuscule, dazzling prism. “The artist offered to hide it, or cut it out.”
His other hand came up, thumb brushing her cheek. He lingered on her dark mark, then swept down, his palm coming to rest on her hip where it often ached to compensate for her leg. He held her there, connected at her flaw and her strength.
“I told him the flaw is what makes it singular. Proof of its journey, a story written in its heart. It catches the light in a way perfection never could. It is what makes it breathtakingly beautiful.”
A sob broke from her. She had already claimed the limp and the mark. They were not faults to be forgiven but celebrated. The limp taught her balance; the mark taught her courage. Together, they made her.
And he saw them as she did now: proof of her survival.
With a reverence that made her throat tight, he lifted the wreath. She felt its cool weight when he crowned her. His touch was gentle as he cupped her tear-damp cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. She leaned into his palm, eyes fluttering closed,imprinting the sensation. When she opened them, the world had fallen away. There was only him, and the awe in his blue eyes.
“Alexander,” she whispered.
It was all the invitation he needed.
