Page 91 of The Crowned Queen

“This is the first time you haven’t flinched when you touch my back.” Her lip wobbled, but she didn’t look away.

“Only because every scar is a time you needed me and I wasn’t there.” Loren brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “But I have never—not for a single breath—looked at you and seen anything but strength and beauty. And if you ever thought otherwise for even one moment⁠—”

He leaned forward, pressing soft, gentle kisses to her face, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips.

“—then I have failed to show you how deeply, hopelessly in love with you I am, Araya Starwind.”

“You still love me,” she whispered, as though it had ever been in doubt.

“Yes,” he breathed, the word torn from his chest as her hips rolled against his. Goddess—she was still wrapped around him. “Yes. I love you. I love you⁠—”

She swallowed his words with a kiss. Loren’s hands fell to her hips, his world narrowing to her lips on his and the erratic pounding of their hearts as she found her rhythm.

“Loren,” she whimpered, his name breaking as her body tensed around him.

“Yes.” He slid his hand between them, finding the spot that made her hips buck, water sloshing wildly around them. “That’s it—” he moved his thumb in quick circles, his pulse spiking as she tightened erratically around him. “Let go, ael’sura. I have you.”

She shattered with a sharp cry, collapsing against his chest. He caught her, holding her in his arms as she shook, her breath reduced to short, wrecked gasps against his neck.

Loren held her there, staying perfectly still as her breathing eased, her racing heart returning to its steady beat. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses across her shoulder. Steam rose around them both, turning the world around them blurry as birdsong filled the air. It took everything he had to let her go when she slid off his lap, but this was about her. Not him⁠—

“Lorendrael,” she mumbled, and his name soft and slurred from her lips might have been the best sound he’d ever heard. He caught her hand, helping her rise on trembling legs. Steam and shadows caressed her reddened skin, the soft murmur of dara’el a contented hum in the back of his mind as she bent forward and braced her hands against the moss-slick stone, glancing back at him over her shoulder with bright eyes.

Loren forgot how to breathe.

He scrambled to his knees, tracing his hands up the outside of her legs as he rose. Her skin was hot against his palms—whether from the water or from him, Loren didn’t know—her soft sigh a siren’s call.

“Are you sure?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the small of her back.

She nodded once, dropping her head to rest between her elbows on the soft, green moss.

That was all he needed.

Loren moved slowly, letting her set the rhythm even like this. Her breath shuddered, a soft cry falling from her lips as he brushed kisses along her shoulders, her spine—worshiping every ridge of scar tissue with his lips and tongue and teeth.

It didn’t take long for her to shatter again, the sound she made pulling him over with her. Loren buried his face in her back, breathing in her sweet, wildflower scent as his heart rate returned to normal. For the first time since she’d been taken from him, he felt at peace. The shadows surrounded them both, quiet and content to bask in the warmth of their reunion. He didn’t need anything else. Nothing but her skin warm under his hands, her sides rising and falling under his touch.

“Loren—”

Loren lifted his head, glancing over her shoulder at the tiny white flowers blanketing the moss around her hands. “Pretty.” He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over the blossoms. Their sweet scent—her scent—rose around them, bringing a smile to his face. “I guess you enjoyed yourself.” He laughed, dropping one more kiss on her shoulder before he straightened. “We should get cleaned up before Finn comes looking for us.”

Araya shook her head, her gaze fixed on the flowers as if they might vanish if she looked away. “I don’t think—” She faltered, her voice tightening. “No, I know I didn’t do that.”

She turned to face him, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“I think,” she said, “that there’s something I have to tell you.”

“I’ve been having dreams.”

“Is that really surprising?” Loren scrubbed his hands across his skin, taking advantage of the thick, unscented bar of soap one of the others had left behind. “Your mind is still processing everything you’ve been through. If you want a sedative⁠—”

“No,” Araya snapped. She blew out a hard breath, staring at the flowers like they might lash out and bite her. “These aren’t like that. They’re like—like the dreams we first shared. Except I’m alone in the middle of all these gigantic trees and there is this palace—well, what’s left of one anyway.”

Loren glanced up at that, but Araya was staring at the flowers without seeming to see them, her brow furrowed.

“Sometimes I’m inside,” she continued, “and I can feel this presence. It’s all around me.”

“It sounds like Tirnavel,” Loren said.