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My heart dares to swell with hope. “You’re sure?”
“I am.” He grins and grabs my clammy, bare shoulders with both hands. “You’re actually going to save us with this crazy plan of yours. It’s already working, and the brides haven’t even arrived yet.” A squeeze. “It’s like the lands know they’re on their way and it’s preparing a warm, blight-free welcome just for them.” His excitement is palpable. “You should come see it for yourself.”
“I will in the morning. I’m… a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
He takes in my bare chest, the trousers slung low on my hips.
“Oh, fuck.” He tugs on his collar, grimacing. “I didn’t realize. Pass my apologies along to Vessaryn for the intrusion.”
“Will do,” I lie.
He turns on his heel and vanishes through the staff corridor just outside my bedroom.
When I return to the bed, Gwyn is already dressed.
“Ready to call it a night?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest and leaning against one of the bedposts.
“We both have long days tomorrow, so we should probably get some rest.” She barely makes eye contact with me as she fastens the silken tie to her robe, hiding her perfect skin from view. “Tonight was fun. I’m glad the potion worked.”
“If you leave now, we’ll never know how long it lasts,” I say.
The ache in my chest at the thought of her walking away catches me off guard—since when am I this desperate for her company?
Her smile is tight, not quite reaching her eyes.
“If I don’t leave now,” she says, coming over and patting my cheek, “I’m not sure I’ll be of any use to you tomorrow. I’m already incredibly sore in areas I didn’t know I could be sore.”
I capture her hand and kiss each knuckle. “I’m sure there’s a tonic for that.”
She pulls herself from my grip. “Goodnight, Riven.”
I watch her leave, fighting the raw instinct to chase after her and keep her close. Ignoring the ache of that persistent pull, I crawl into bed and bury my face into the pillow where she laid her head.
Chapter 19
GWYN
I’m so fucking sore.
But I love it.
I love the aching in my muscles. I love the tenderness of the bruises on my wrists and waist and the love bites on my inner thighs, all neatly hidden beneath the glittering, midnight blue dress Lettie helped me into, not once questioning the markings adorning my skin like jewels.
I press through my sleeve on the bruise on the inside of my wrist. The tiny burst of pain summons forth memories of last night when Riven caged me in his bed, wringing orgasm after orgasm from me with his fingers and mouth and cock as we tested the potion.
We could’ve battled for dominance over one another for hours if Arkyn hadn’t interrupted our tryst, banking all my heat at the mention of Vessaryn.
Riven’s lover.
No wonder the healer was so rude to me.
She must see me as a threat to whatever relationship she has with Riven, but the real threats are the potential brides currently buzzing about the sunlit parlor.
I’ve spent the better part of twenty minutes staring out the window into the gardens while they filter in one by one, arriving with some sort of fanfare—fluttering hand fans, jeweled gowns, and carefully rehearsed curtsies—only to be disappointed when the king they’ve come to seduce is not in the room with us.
There are at least ten of them. All gorgeous and giddy, mingling amongst themselves. Some express precisely how long they’ve dreamed of becoming the female who tames the iron-hearted king, while others voice their concerns over Riven’s notorious reputation as somewhat of a bigot. I nearly tell them he cannot be tamed and isn’t a bigot, not really, but I bite my tongue for the sake of playing my part.
To them, I’m just another candidate.
