Page 140 of Reign

The door to my heart burst open, and everything I felt for Fitzroy—everything I’d tried to barricade behind hatred—rushed out, flooding me with affection for him from head to toe.

Slowly, I edged nearer, desperate to kiss him, hoping he felt the same longing for me.

But before I could reach him, a yawn escaped me. I hastily covered my gaping mouth as Fitzroy smirked at my lack of decorum.

“It’s late. We should retire,” he declared, rising and extending his arm. “May I escort you to your bedchamber?”

Without hesitation, I took it. “That would be most gallant,” I replied, now more than ever, struggling to hide the feelings I harbored for Fitzroy.

Together, we walked through the eerie corridors of the castle. Though I wasn’t usually afraid of the night, an unfamiliar sense of foreboding gripped me, prickling at my nerves. The flickering torchlight cast distorted shadows on the stone walls, which danced like restless spirits. I clung tightly to Fitzroy’s arm, fearing something malevolent might be hiding in the dark corners and alcoves. Even upon reaching my chamber, I hesitated to let him go, unnerved by the moonlit halls.

“Would you care to come in?” I whispered, the mere thought of being alone sending a shiver down my spine.

He nodded and followed me inside, quietly closing the door behind us.

Fitzroy settled on the chaise lounge, silently watching me as I began to get undressed—a change from his usual demeanor. As I unfastened the pearls from my neck, I caught his eye in the mirror; his expression was unreadable, offering no clue to his thoughts. Before, I would’ve assumed he was quietly passing judgment. But now I wondered if he was admiring me.

Usually, Bronwyn aided in my dressing and undressing, but Fitzroy’s presence stopped me from calling for her assistance. Instead, I fumbled with the lace at the back of my gown while Fitzroy chuckled softly, deepening my frustration.

“Would you care for some help?” he finally offered.

“Please,” I said, exasperation clear in my tone as I wrestled with the restrictive layers.

His warm breath brushed against my skin as he carefully loosened the lacing up the back of my gown. When his hands reached for my neck, I instinctively clutched the locket to my chest.

“I never take this off,” I whispered, fearful that if it ever left me, I’d lose it.

“Understood,” he replied, his voice somehow huskier than usual. “Do you grant me permission to help remove the rest of your garments?”

Heart thumping, I nodded.

This was not unlike the evening when Fitzroy helped dress me, yet undressing felt more intimate.

Once my gown, kirtle, and underskirts were shed, Fitzroy knelt before me, his gaze meeting mine as I stood clad in nothing but my sheer chemise. With a gentle touch, he removed my velvet slippers, cradling each foot as he unfastened the garters just below my knees and rolled down my stockings.

After both of my feet were bare, Fitzroy rose to his.

“Good night, Niamh,” he murmured, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

As he headed for the door, I knew I had to find a way to make him stay.

“Do you need help undressing?” I asked, trying to stop the desperation I felt from seeping into my tone. “Let me return the favor.”

Fitzroy lingered for a moment as though debating my offer.

He turned back to face me. “If it won’t inconvenience you.”

I shook my head as we moved toward each other, meeting before the crackling fireplace. My fingers traced the golden clasp of his fur-lined cloak before unfastening it, letting the heavy damask fabric pool around his feet. Carefully, I lifted Fitzroy’s long silk tunic over his head, my breath hitching at the sight of him bare-chested for the first time. His lean, athletic frame was dusted with dark hair, accentuating his composed yet rugged presence. Lowering myself to my knees, I unlaced his boots and slipped them off, before reaching for his belt. With careful hands, I unbuckled it, sliding off his breeches and hose so he sported only his undergarments.

I rose to my feet, standing face-to-face with Fitzroy. The gods had taken their time carving each of his features—he was breathtaking in the firelight.

I met his gaze briefly, but my traitorous eyes drifted to his lips, desperate to know if they felt as soft as they appeared.

After many long moments of gazing into his eyes, silently willing him to make the first move, I resolved that I could wait no longer.

With tentative fingers, I placed a hand on the back of his neck, drawing him in closer. Our lips met, and the sensation stole my breath. Somehow, they were softer than I’d imagined.

The hairs on my arms stood on end as he reciprocated the kiss, delicately gliding his tongue against mine. Fitzroy’s hands found my hips and slid to my rear, tenderly squeezing as he pulled me tight against his chest.