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Almost like he had read her thoughts, his hand came up to move an errant raven strand, tucking it behind her ear with a soft gaze. His callused fingers grazed the tip of her ear, making her eyes flutter and breath catch once more.

His full lips tipped up in a charming, lopsided smile. Thumb smoothing her cheek, a look of pure male satisfaction crossed his emerald gaze. He pressed his thumb to her bruised lower lip as he rested his fingers below her chin. Tilting her head, he dropped one last lingering kiss to her lips—a ghost in comparison to the wild one they had shared moments ago—before he moved away completely.

The air felt cold and icy without his familiar warmth. Areanel found herself reaching for him. A subconscious action. She yearned for his touch. Longed for the way he worshipped her.

‘I have no desire to rush anything. And when I take you, love—’ his hoarse tone amplified his words tenfold ‘—I intend to make you scream. I’ll have you shuddering beneath me in pleasure. You will be begging for release.’

Areanel watched, stunned, as Rymedur moved further away.

Taking a few steps back, he made his way to the door and raised his hands in surrender. With a mischievous lopsided smile, he said, ‘I will have you later.’ And with that, he turned his back on her and left.

Areanel stood aghast. How dare he!

She scoffed at his retreating form, but heat seared through her body and fog clouded her mind, making her lips tug upward and into a smile.

Her once-worried and anxious thoughts no longer plagued her mind. Damn that man and his perceptive nature.

Areanel took in deep, steadying breaths. Turning to the mirror, she chuckled, shaking her head at the sight that welcomed her. Damn him, indeed. Smoothing out the stray strands of soft raven hair, Areanel pulled at the top of her corset, readjusting herself so that she didn’t look so dishevelled.

Lifting her chin, she held her own gaze and began to build a wall around her mind. There were not many people Areanel could be vulnerable in front of, but Rymedur was an exception. The love between them was forged, not given by some Fates. Areanel took pride in that fact. She and Rymedur had chosen to love one another. It hadn’t been handed to them. That meant something.

Steadying herself, she let her fingers tentatively graze her necklace—cool against her warm skin. Dropping an arm to her side, Areanel looked herself over once more before moving to leave, but as she was about to turn, she felt something tickle her Achilles’ heel.

Lifting her skirts, Areanel exposed her leg through the slit of her gown and peered down at the dark whisp near her heeled shoe.

Phantom touch licked at her ankle before snaking its way up her leg, coming to rest on her wrist. The inky guest wrapped around her forearm. Dark against her skin, the shadow looked no different to a bracelet. Golden light filled her chest, creating a loving warmth. Areanel smiled down at the shadow, no doubt sent by its master to reassure her, and a single thought appeared: how had she ever believed that this man would not be worthy of her love?

In a swirl of fabric, Areanel turned to the door. With another deep breath, she marched out of the room, prepared for battle.

Chapter 8

Rymedur

The Council Hall of Andrea was filled with lords when the royal siblings arrived.

Rymedur had already taken his seat. Clad in a dark blue, fitted shirt and black leather pants, he lounged back in his chair, ankle resting on one knee with his head leaning against the high back of his wooden chair.

He had been waiting a while for all the lords to take their seats. Lost in his thoughts, wishing he’d had his way with Areanel while he had the time, he was bored out of his mind. The lords arrived minutes ago.

Only when he heard the councilmen’s mummers cease and saw them rise (all bar one), bowing at the waist from the corner of his eye, did he lazily look towards the large arched doors.

Lowering his head, Rymedur sat straighter as he watched his wife and brothers-in-law glide into the room.

He had helped her dress, knew she looked lovely, but with the added embellishments, she looked regal. Adorned in a floor-length ebony dress that looked more like armour, with dark blue flourishes and a silver-and-blue circlet on her brow, his wife looked like she was ready to fight a political battle. He saw the subtle shift in her behaviour as soon as she crossed the threshold. Her mask slid into place. Cold and indifferent.

The princess was ready to face her father’s swarm of vultures.

Very rarely did they meet in such a manner—with all lords, including Rymedur, present. He thought it was odd; he was not usually accepted within the council hall, but the lords had paid him no mind, too busy mummering to each other—no doubt just as confused by the sudden call for all lords to assemble without the king in attendance. Where was the old tyrant? And why had he called for all of the lords but not all of his children?

Dressed similarly to Rymedur, the king’s sons strode toward the large oak table, taking their respective seats.

Rymedur found it odd that only the biological children—born to both the King and Queen of Andrea—were allowed to sit at the council table alongside the lords.

The king’s other sons had been ostracised.

Rymedur’s gaze bounced to the empty wooden chairs that lined the walls on either side of the overly large table—simple and low-backed, the only difference was in how the chairs curved up on either side to a point, two spikes protruding from behind. The only evidence that they were the king’s sons, it was a symbol for those born from the king’s harem.

Areanel had been afraid that she would have the same difficulties as her mother when it came to bearing children, and had explained to Rymedur that her father and mother had only borne a handful of legitimate children due to those difficulties. It was why the former queen had chosen to use magic to conceive the youngest twins.