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He backed her against a wall, legs still tight around him. He kissed her deeply. Slowly. Unlike the night before, when she’d been desperate to command, to control, this was all surrender.
The fingers of Rune’s free hand shoved the layers of her skirts higher, exposing bare thigh above her stockings. And then she felt him fumble at his own belt, the buttons of his breeches. With a distant satisfaction, she realized even he was shaking.
“I want you to lose yourself in me,” she breathed. Her hair had come undone; a loose wave fell over her face, tickling her nose when she spoke.
Rune paused and met her gaze. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in tandem with Elma’s. They were both fully dressed, other than Rune’s unfastened breeches and Elma’s rucked-up skirts. But in that moment, she felt fully exposed to him, laid bare to see, all her flaws on display.
His gaze held hers like a gentle embrace. “I already have,” he said.
In one deft motion, he reached between them and freed hishard length; in the next moment, he was pushing her undergarments aside. The crown of his cock pressed against her entrance, teasing. Then he grabbed her by the hips with both hands, angling her toward him, her back pressed hard against the wall. She let her head fall back against the stone, her hips rolling.
With one firm, gasping thrust, he entered her. She couldn’t believe how full she felt, how perfectly he seemed to fit. He kissed her, then let his forehead fall to her shoulder as he made slow, rolling thrusts with his hips.
“Elma,” he murmured into her neck, until her name became a string of nonsense syllables.
She couldn’t contain the build of pleasure inside her, the tightness that grew and expanded to encompass the wholeness of her being. And when she finally came, Rune reached the peak along with her, biting down on the base of her neck as he spent himself in her.
He took her mouth in his, the taste of her blood on his tongue, and she felt so acutely that she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him. As much as sheneededhim. But she couldn’t have him. He was going to leave her when all she wanted to do was cling to him and beg him not to. Suddenly, horribly, she found she couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so strikingly alone.
Seeing something in her gaze, perhaps, or in the tenseness of her body, Rune withdrew and set her gently on her feet, his fingertips still brushing her arms.
Elma bit her lip to bring her back to herself. She wasn’t alone. Rune was still here. She had an entire kingdom laid out before her. Yet, not a soul could she claim as a true friend, an equal.
Rune fastened his breeches and smoothed them down, once more the picture of a hired killer. He watched his queenwith a line between his brows, lips downturned. “Your Majesty…”
She inhaled sharply through her teeth. A moment ago, she had been Elma.
“Are you all right? Have I done something?” His tone was lost somewhere between confusion and surprise.
“All right?” she echoed, unable to hide her scoff. “I am more alone now than I’ve ever been. All that lies before me is isolation and death. My blood is a curse. And you…”
She saw no sarcasm in his expression, none of the laughter she was so accustomed to. “And me?” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—”
“No,” he murmured, taking her head in his hand, his fingers curling in her hair. “I’ll be a thorn in your side, Queen Elma, until I have every reason to believe that Rothen will not invade my kingdom. Until the enemies in your midst are dealt with, until I decide I’m good and ready, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
The relief that flooded Elma was so vast and unexpected that her knees grew weak. While she had always assumed she and Rune would come to blows as soon as the crown was hers, that one of them would lie slain by the other’s hand, Elma could no longer imagine it. She had so vividly fantasized about Rune’s blood on her blade, the life draining from those ice-blue eyes, but now… when she tried to see it, to draw that imaginary steel across his throat, she couldn’t.
Her hatred had curdled into something else. Something terrifying and dangerous, if Elma let it thrive. Something that might get her killed, or worse — heartbroken.
“This is a farce,”boomed Lord Bertram from across the table. He slammed a fist to emphasize his point, causing everyone’s goblets to wobble dangerously.
“You think I'm in the habit of making jokes?” Elma said, her voice threateningly cool. She had called her advisors to meet at first light the next morning, eager to bring the traitors to justice. She had no desire to continue to fear for her life, lying awake in bed and wondering what ice-eyed monster might come prowling to her bed from the shadows.
“No, Majesty, but—”
“Come now,” Elma said, cutting off Bertram’s protest. “I am the Queen of Rothen. Arrows will always be notched and aimed at my neck. A protector is needed now, more than ever.”
“The deal, if I recall,” Ferdinand said, “was that the assassin would be allowed to remain alive until Her Majesty’s coronation. After such time, which has now quite obviously passed, his life becomes forfeit.”
Elma surveyed the room, her gaze catching on each of her advisors’ — Godwin, Ferdinand, Bertram, and Maurice. “Are you questioning your queen?” she said. No one spoke, though Bertram opened his mouth as if to say more. Elma held up a hand. “Of course, you aren’t. You wouldn’t dare, would you, Lord Bertram? Evenyouare well aware that not only am I bound to pardon Rune now that his end of the deal has been upheld, but the agreement does not end there. I have agreed to seek peace with Slödava. Not only that…” She glanced toward the door, where Rune stood, half in shadow.
Now is the time, she thought. If she was ever going to do it, she had to expose her men now or risk losing credibility, destabilizing the throne. If she knew there were traitors in her midst and allowed them to continue…
The advisors watched her keenly, no doubt hoping thatthis hesitation was a sign of weakness, a slip-up. “I have received evidence…” Elma said, the rest of the sentence catching in her throat.
Rune perked up as she spoke, understanding that she was about to have her advisors arrested for treason. Elma ran her fingers over the parchment in her skirts, Cora’s evidence. The places her maid had seen Bertram and Ferdinand, the conversations she’d overheard, the documentation of money being sent to Slödava — an assassin’s payment.
