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Alone in her room hours later, Riona stood before the door to the royal gardens, holding in her mind the image of the carefully pruned hedges and tree-lined walkways that filled the palace grounds. The sky was dark, the moon hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. What little light managed to escape was weak; she could see only a few yards before everything faded into darkness. Her hand drifted to the door handle.
She paused when her fingers made contact with the cool metal. The quiet, peaceful gardens were no more than an illusion, taunting her with the possibility of freedom. They were crawling with guards, all waiting for her to attempt an escape. She had no intention of entertaining them with a chase. Once, she could have killed them all without ever laying a hand on a weapon, but not now. She would never touch that Creator-forsaken magic again.
The room was silent, but she felt the moment something changed—a prickle on the back of her neck, a charge rising in the air. Her hand fell to her side. “You’re late.”
“The waiting makes my arrival so much sweeter,aramati.”
Riona turned. Caelan stood on the opposite side of her bedchamber, framed by the doorway to her sitting room. She had never figured out how he managed to move so silently. Many people would claim it was his training, but none of the other spies she’d met during her time as the Emperor’s prisoner had Caelan’s preternatural stillness. None of them moved as he did, like a phantom in the night.
The corner of his lips rose as she studied him. He had changed into a fresh doublet of midnight blue silk, whorls of slate gray embroidery curling around the collar. Fitted black trousers clung to his legs and tapered into his shiny leather boots, and he wore no weapon that she could see. He moved to the small sitting area before the hearth and flopped into one of the two armchairs.
“Would it temper your ire to hear that every minute I spent outside your door, waiting to come in, was torture?” He propped his legs on the low table before him and crossed them at the ankles. “You put on a good show in the throne room. It’s nice to see that the years haven’t dulled your barbed tongue.”
Riona didn’t move from her place at the door. “What do you want, Caelan?”
“You.”
The simple, unapologetic way he said it sent heat flaring deep within her. He made no effort to hide the desire burning in his eyes as they swept over her. She wore a floor-length gown in the loose, flowing style of the Erdurian Empire, so different from the tight, structured dresses common in Rivosa. The drape of the lightweight silk left no curve of her body to the imagination. Its thin straps bared her arms and most of her back, and the slit up the skirt revealed flashes of her long legs with the slightest movement. Caelan’s gaze dipped to the sliver of her thigh visible through the slit, then rose to meet hers.
“Did you dress up for me?”
“No.”
Yes.
Her heart pounded as he stood and stalked toward her, that infuriating, charming, roguish grin on his lips. With every step, the years and the deaths between them ticked away, until they were once again standing alone atop the stage in a candlelit theater. He reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the curve of her lower lip. Riona stiffened, pressing back against the cool glass of the door, and his smile grew when he heard her breath catch. He knew exactly how he affected her, and he savored every minute of it.
“I love you, Riona,” he murmured. “I have loved you from the moment I met you, and I will love you until my last breath.”
Perhaps it was the emotional turmoil from having to stand before the court and relive their doomed love story, recounting all the precious stolen moments and the teasing little quips. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her now, as if nothing in this world mattered except for her. Perhaps it was something else entirely.
Her resolve shattered.
She closed the distance between them, her fingers threading through his hair as their lips met. His hand slid to the back of her neck, his other arm encircling her waist, and he pulled her flush against him. Desire ignited within her. Damn her, she wanted him—every part of him. Every cruel, kind, manipulative, selfless piece of his broken and battered heart. She would not have him without the shadows that stained his soul. She would not have him without the demons that plagued his dreams.
Caelan’s tongue slipped between her lips and teased her own. A shiver trailed down her spine as the hand on her back slid upward, his fingers grazing her bare back before coming around to cup the curve of her breast. Warmth trailed every place he touched. Riona cursed herself for her weakness even as her fingers dropped to the line of buttons along the front of his doublet. When she reached the bottom, he shucked it off without breaking the kiss, leaving him in a thin linen undershirt. Riona slid her hands under the hem, feeling a tremor ripple through him as her fingers traveled along the hard planes of his stomach, honed by years of swordplay.
Caelan broke away with a ragged gasp. “How you delight in torturing me,aramati,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire.
He dipped his head to kiss just below her ear, tracing the long, graceful curve of her neck. Riona couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped her at the caress of his lips against her skin. She wrapped one leg around him and leaned in close, smiling to herself when one of his hands drifted down to her thigh, teasing the slit of her gown higher. His thumb skated lightly across the tender skin at her inner thigh, slowly sliding higher.
At the last moment, Riona twisted, hooking her leg around him and sending him crashing into the door to the gardens. It rattled on his hinges, one of the glass panes shattering when Caelan’s shoulder struck it. Shards rained to the ground as she gripped his throat and leaned in close.
“Enough,” she hissed, pretending she didn’t see the shock and pain on his face. “You will never have me or my crown. Accept that.”
He swallowed, his throat bobbing under her fingers. “We could have everything, Riona, if you would only relent. You asked me to marry you back in Rivosa. Marry me now, and we can rule together. Marry me, and this will all be over.”
“I will not disrespect Valerian’s memory by marrying the man who could not even look him in the eye as he took my husband’s life.”
Caelan’s expression was imploring. “I have made mistakes, but everything I’ve done was with the intention of bettering my country. Marry me,aramati, and end this war between us before a blade does.”
Riona released him and turned away. More than anything, she wanted to agree and end the war, but she could not. She couldn’t do that to Valerian. “You should leave.”
Glass crunched as he took a step closer. “If I leave,aramati, I’m not coming back. We will give our testimony before the court, and the next time we meet, it will be on opposite sides of a battlefield,” he said, his voice tormented. “I love you. Tell me you do not love me—tell me you feel nothing but hatred for me—and I will leave.”
The words lodged in her throat. Against her better judgment, she turned around and met his gaze. “I can’t.”
