Page 94 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

“What is Okenen doing in response to the ongoing evacuations?” one reporter asks, their voice cutting through the localized hum of the room.

My grip on the podium tightens, knuckles turning white against the polished wood. “We are working closely with Treon to ensure residents are evenly distributed across our systems and that every refugee is housed with full rations,” I reply, my voice steady despite the adrenaline-fueled roar of the Bond in my blood, especially since other men have begun filling our guest wing in preparation for tomorrow.

“Do you think a Ceremony is the right move given the state of the system?” another reporter shouts over the crowd.

I give a polite, practiced smile. “Princess Raea and I have a duty to our kingdoms. In times of war, the stability and strength that comes from a Royal Bond is more necessary than ever.” It’s a half-truth that tastes like copper. We already have our magic, but the world doesn't need to know that yet.

“You sound confident the Bond will choose you, Prince Anders,” the reporter challenges.

I don’t look at the cameras. I look at Raea, and the smirk comes easily. “I am.”

The interrogation continues for what feels like hours. They pepper us with questions about the defense of Ateria, the logistics of the fleet, and the unprecedented choice to host a Kyrr Ceremony here on Malayan soil. I give them enough to satisfy their hunger without revealing the darkness rotting in the warded rooms of this palace.

Finally, the Regils move in, cutting off the onslaught. As we are ushered out of the room, the heavy doors muffling the desperate shouts behind us, I finally take a breath and look at the woman at my side.

She looks radiant—a vision of starlight and steel. Her gown features a white bodice encrusted with intricate gold metalwork that reflects the torchlight like a sunburst. A sheer, shimmering cape falls from her shoulders, making her look every bit the celestial Queen the prophecy demands. Her hair is pinned up in an incredible design of thick, pure white braids interwoven with delicate pearls and gold filigree, framing her face with a regality that makes my chest ache.

The moment we are out of earshot, her own mask she was wearing slips, replaced by a look of sharp concern.

“What happens with the coronation if your father is deemed stable?” she asks quietly.

I slip into an office that never gets used, pinning her to the door. “Don’t want to talk about my father,” I say, already lifting her into my arms as my nose drags along the column of her neck. “I just need to feel you.”

She giggles, wrapping her legs around me. “Our friends are waiting for us.”

Her voice hitches when I bite down on the space where her neck meets her shoulder. She tastes like fresh rain and home, and I can’t wait to get her naked beneath me again.

Every single time I’ve tried, we’re interrupted, or we’re both so tired, we fall asleep the moment we get into bed. My hands grip her ass, but there’s so much godsdamn material between us, I want to rip it off.

She rests her forehead against mine, her palms framing my face. Her skin is warm, and the scent of her skin is the only thing keeping the jagged edges of my temper from fraying completely.

“One more day, then I’m all yours,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with a playful grin.

I make a non-committal noise, my hands tightening on the small of her back. My logic tells me we have a schedule—that our friends are waiting and a room full of noble suitors is expecting a royal welcome—but my blood is screaming a different set of orders.

“You’re mine now,” I growl, pulling her completely flush against me until there isn’t a breath of space left between us. My soul echoes the word, a possessive roar that vibrates through my chest. “These ceremonies, the vows, the politics…they’re just the acts of men trying to put a label on something they can’t possibly understand. You were mine the moment you said yes.”

For it had been there, in my room, that I told her once she said yes, there was no going back. I meant every word. And the moment she said yes, sliding into my lap and claiming me, I had felt the promise become a tether between us.

I fuse my mouth over hers. The light of our Bond flickers to life beneath our skin, a sudden surge of heat that wraps around us like a shield, shutting out the rest of the palace.

With a gaspy moan, she drops her head back, her mouth forming an O when I suck on her neck. Her fingers bury themselves in my hair. “Ry, got…to…go.”

A low laugh slips from me. My hand finds the end of the material before sliding beneath it along her soft skin. She shivers. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she says, shaking her head, “I mean⁠—”

My hands grip her ass, fingers toying with the edge of her panties. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. My mouth presses a kiss over the top of her breast, over her heart, then I set her down, reluctantly taking a step back.

Her eyes flutter open, and she attempts to regain her breath. I lean against the desk after adjusting myself. Fuck I need to be in her.

“Why did you stop?” she asks breathlessly.

“Because once won’t be enough.”

She grins, letting out a soft laugh.

A smirk pulls at my mouth as I reach for her hand. “C’mon, Princess. Let’s go welcome all these poor fools who think they’ll even get a moment of your time.”