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“Do you think now is the best time to be letting your guard down?” I challenge.
In a lightning-fast movement, he whips an arm around me and switches our positions so he is in the chair and I’m seated on his lap.
“I think my reflexes are still just fine,” he says with all the arrogance of his title.
I raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles, the sound reverberating through me. His eyes are glazed over with something warmer than inebriation, the pupils so wide they have nearly overtaken the crystal blue I love so much.
His relaxed smile and the pressure of his strong arms around my body calm me a little, enough to not be quite so irritated with him anymore.
“How was dinner?” I ask breathlessly as his hands roam my thighs, gripping my hips.
“It would have been better if you were there,” he sighs, a bittersweet smile replacing the confident grin he wore only a moment ago.
I know it wears on him as much as it does me. All of the hiding. All of the pretending.
“Your sister was there,” he adds a moment later, his fingers kneading into my back, tugging me closer to him. “There’s something different about her and Remy. Something has shifted.”
I try to process that, but all of my thoughts become hazy as he presses his mouth against my neck, the gentle scrape of his beard warring with the warmth of his lips and tongue.
“One day,” he says, his lips skating down to my shoulder, moving the fabric of my gown so that he has more access to my skin, “you will sit with me at that table and everyone will know that you are my wife.”
His tongue slides across my collarbone, dipping lower on my chest, and my breath hitches.
“My Queen,” he continues, and I tilt my neck back to give him more access. “When all of this is over, you will be at my side for every dinner. Every ball. Every event.”
He emphasizes each of his words with another drag of his lips, another caress of his hands. My mind is reeling from each touch, the warmth that flooded my core now a fully raging fire.
I trail my hands up his shoulders, pulling his face up to meet mine. My mouth brushes over his, my breath a whisper of touch against his skin. His eyes are hooded with desire, but I don’t close the distance yet.
Slowly, I remove his crown, setting it on the table next to me.
I trace the warrior braids along his scalp. He leans into my touch, his beard gently scraping my wrists as I admire his unnaturally handsome features.
Finally, I pull him closer until my mouth connects with his. His tongue separates my lips, moving against mine like I am the best thing he has ever tasted.
I devour him in return, savoring him as I slide my fingers under the hem of his shirt. We break our kiss long enough for me to tug the fabric over his head, exposing his broad, muscular chest.
Then I’m leaning forward to bite down on his bottom lip. He growls into my mouth, lifting me up off the chair to carry me to our bed.
For at least a little while, we are content to forget the rest of the world. There is no widower king. No Madame. No looming death or terror.
Instead, everything is a blur of touch and taste and pleasure and the satisfaction that comes from knowing that Einar belongs to me just as much as I belong to him.
* * *
I’m not entirely surprised when Aika shows up unannounced at our rooms, Remy at her side.
I am, however, somewhat shocked to see that the shift Einar mentioned is more than a subtle, subjective thing.
For one thing, she and Remy are almost…getting along.
When she opens her purse and lets out the monkey, it makes a beeline for Einar’s crown, still resting on the table from when I took it off after dinner.
“Pumpkin!” she hisses, and Remy chokes on a laugh.
“That’s a good name for your monkey,” I comment, much to my sister’s chagrin.
“He’s not my—”
