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Caelan stilled. He had a hand on his shoulder, cradling the place where it had struck the glass. “Do you want me to stay?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
Creator damn her. “Yes,” she breathed.
That was all he needed to hear. Caelan took a few long strides and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss, his hands cupping her face, tangling in her loose braids. She leaned into him, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. She could not disrespect Valerian by marrying Caelan, but this was different. This was love and lust, a release of all the pain and anger and heartbreak they’d endured and inflicted over the years.
She loosened the tie at the collar of his undershirt and pulled it over his head, baring his suntanned skin and the myriad scars across his torso and arms. When she lightly traced the crescent-shaped scar that spanned from his rib cage to his hip—one of the wounds he had sustained that last night in the theater—he stilled and pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. His hand joined hers, his fingers lacing through her own.
“No matter what happens, I will never regret saving your life that night in the theater,” he whispered. “You are my perfect torture,aramati, and I would have it no other way.”
Riona studied the scars, afraid to voice the words threatening to spill from her lips. She wanted to tell him that even though she detested everything he had done, she wanted him. That she hated herself for her weakness more than she could ever hate him. She knew better than to indulge the desire burning within her, but as Caelan had said that last night in Rivosa, they never had much self-control where the other was concerned.
And tonight, she wanted to make a mistake.
“Tonight,” she whispered, “I am yours.”
Caelan lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down gently and hovered over her, a hand braced on either side of her head as he drank in the sight of her. His eyes roved from her braids, splayed across the silk sheets, to her lips, and then down to the scar just above her heart. Emotion flooded his face as he dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to the old wound.
“Say it again,” he breathed against her skin.
“I am yours, Caelan. Tonight, and every night.”
His hand slid up her thigh, pushing the slit of her gown higher, higher, his fingers skating along the inside of her thigh. Before it could go any further, Riona gripped his wrist, stilling him. “The guards in the garden,” she whispered, glancing at the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the curtains still parted. “They’ll see.”
Caelan grinned wickedly. “Let them see. Let them tell the world.”
* * *
Riona awoke to bright sunlight streaming through the windows. She lay naked between the sheets, the silk soft and cool against her skin, flushed from his touch. Despite everything, she did not regret it. She would never regret a night in Caelan’s arms. Perhaps in another life, they could have married and ruled together. But in this life, they were limited to forbidden kisses and stolen moments. It should have been enough.
For the good of their countries, it had to be enough.
She rolled over and found the other side of the bed empty. The sheets were in disarray, the pillow still bearing the imprint of his head. Riona pushed herself upright, holding the blanket over her chest, and scanned the room. Empty. She called his name, hoping that he had only gone into the sitting room, but no response came. She was alone.
A note sat on the bedside table, and she picked it up, shifting so she could read it in the light spilling in through the windows. As always, he had left it unsigned, but his hasty, cramped scrawl was as familiar as ever.
I lied yesterday in the throne room. That night on the ship, I went to sleep thinking of Erduria.
But when I dreamt, aramati…
When I dreamt, I dreamt of you.
