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“Good,” I bite out. “I want everyone to know you’re mine and what my intentions are for you.”
Isavelle squirms in my lap. The platters are cleared and replaced with tarts, sugar animals, and fruit. The centerpiece is a dragon made of marzipan. I break off a wing and share it with her, and she eats some grapes and nectar plums as well.
While she’s distracted licking plum nectar from her fingers, I plant a kiss on her throat. “Mm. Good girl for eating your dinner.”
Isavelle freezes and her eyes widen, but a moment later she pretends she didn’t hear me and goes back to licking her fingers.
After that, my mate starts to yawn.
“Are you sleepy? I’ll take you to your room.”
“I know the way, thank you.”
She does, but she hasn’t been sleeping there. I’ll make sure she does tonight because she needs a good rest. I stand up with her in my arms and head for the stairs up to the keep. There’s a hasty scraping of chairs as everyone gets up to bow and curtsy us out of the room.
Isavelle’s scent is thick with embarrassment, and mine turns soothing in response. Her face is buried in my neck and she becomes drenched with it, and she slowly relaxes by the time we reach her room.
We’re alone in the corridor. I loosen my grip, and Isavelle slides down my body until she’s standing on her feet. I wish I could feel her against my clothes, or better yet my naked body, but since I’m wearing armor, I’ll just have to appreciate as much of her as I can.
Isavelle doesn’t immediately move away. Her fingertips trail over my gauntlets as she gazes up at me. “I didn’t expect a man to ever carry me around. Some of the girls in my village would tease me that I’d squash my husband on our wedding night.”
My eyes open wide in astonishment. “What? You’re tiny.”
“No, I’m not. You’re just enormous.”
“I have to bend double to kiss you. Not that you’ve let me kiss you,” I add darkly. I take her waist in my hands and marvel at her, wondering how she or anybody could not think she’s perfect. “When I squeeze you, your lovely body is soft and yielding and you swell between my fingers,” I murmur, and start peeling the cloak from her shoulders, my gaze fixed on her beautiful skin. “I lie awake at night imagining both my hands cupping your ass while I suck one of your br—”
She slaps her hands over my mouth. “Stop that. It’s your coronation day. You’re supposed to be kingly.”
“Mrp mm brmm mmlee.”
She moves her hand from my lips. “What?”
“I am being kingly. What’s kinglier than wanting to bed your queen?”
“I’m not your queen. There will be no squeezing and no bedding. I’m going to find my family and then I’m going home.”
She turns away, but I put my hand against the wall, barring her way, and lean down to speak directly into her ear.
“You are the most disobedient of your kind I’ve ever met. Always talking back. Always arguing with me. You’re my bride and my mate, but you don’t have to believe me just because I say so. I don’t need to persuade you to melt for me because it’s going to happen anyway, and it’s going to be fucking delicious.” I lower the pitch of my voice to a velvety purr. “Soon I’ll be all you can think about, and you’ll beg me to make you mine.”
11
Isavelle
Istare up at Zabriel in shock. He’s leaning over me with a smirk on his lips, his body massive in golden armor and that crown sitting atop his head, looking for all the world like a man who can have anything he wants.
I duck inside my room, my cheeks blazing with heat. Whotalkslike that? Isn’t Zabriel ashamed to talk so openly about squeezing and bedding and craving to touch me? The Brethren taught us that it’s sinful to say such things out loud or want them, even if you’re married. Because…because…I don’t know why, but I suppose people wouldn’t be working hard, praying, and obeying if they were thinking lustful thoughts. Like what that giant of a man looks like in the moonlight with water droplets on his broad, muscular chest.
I moan softly at the memory and heat ripples up my body. What on earth is wrong with me? I’ve never had lustful thoughts about anyone, and I shouldn’t be having them about the King of Maledin. I wish…
I shouldn’t wish because it’s dangerous to wish. A childhood spent dreaming of dragons and fairytale kings has taught me that. I can’t help but remember Zabriel as he held me close just now. Not the way he looked or his aura of power, but the way our bodies seem to hum together.
I wish he were a soldier with dust on his cheek, hauling barrels of salted fish. Maybe I would have let that man kiss me, even squeeze me a little, as sinful as it is, but the King of Maledin?
I’m still wrapped in Zabriel’s golden cloak. My fingers stroke the soft, sleek fabric, remembering the sight of him atop the throne. Whenever he’s close to me, he takes the opportunity to sniff my hair or bury his face in my neck and breathe in. I don’t understand why, but I drag his cloak from my shoulders and lift it to my face.
I smell…nothing. It’s just a cloak, and I throw it aside and go to bed.
