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Hot blood coated her fingers. She pressed the heel of her other hand to Rune’s erection, sighing with satisfaction at the desperate little sound he made. It was infinitely intoxicating, Rune’s willingness to do this with her, to bleed for her. Once, they had been at each other’s throats. Once, they had been enemies.
They were enemies no longer, though the spilling of blood remained.
And now, Elma realized, with a spark of clarity, that the bloodletting was a promise. Mutually assured tenderness. Elma knew then, the tang of Rune’s blood filling her senses, that she could have opened her chest and shown her beating heart to him, and he would not harm it. Instead, he would light her from within, melting away the years of cold and ice until she was herself again.
“If you don’t remove my breeches in the next two seconds,” Rune said, voice shaking slightly, “I’m going to die.”
“If you die,” Elma said breathlessly, reaching for the fastening, “I’ll follow you into the after and drag you back here.”
“Elma,” he murmured, and kissed her with teeth and tongue, making the removal of his breeches even more difficult.
When, at last, he was free of his clothes, Rune set about dealing with Elma’s dress. It was a more complex affair, but Rune’s fingers were surely made, Elma thought, to remove her garments and toss them on the floor. As he unlaced her bodice, he kissed her neck, murmuring in her ears. He ran his hands up her thighs, brushing her stomach with his fingers, and as the last of the dress came off, he kissed each of her breasts with a hungry mouth.
She gasped at the sensation, wanting him desperately. His body heat scorched her skin as they lay back on the bed, and he braced himself on his elbows, skin against skin. His blood, already drying, clung sticky to her breasts and stomach. His erection pressed to her lower belly, and this time, it was her turn to feel like dying.
“Please,” she said, opening her mouth to him, allowinghim to engulf her, arching her back against the bed to grinding her hips against him.
Groaning, he slid a hand underneath her body, lifting her to meet him. He adjusted himself to hover at her entrance, pressing, teasing. She wasn’t about to let him do this to her, not again. Elma wrapped her legs around his waist and, with a well-practiced leverage of weight and movement, rolled him onto his back.
He let out a breathless laugh, eyes bright with amusement and lust. He was so clearly happy to be controlled by her, to let her command him. Before he could react further, Elma lowered herself onto his hard cock, almost painfully slowly, until he was deep inside her. He filled her so perfectly, and Elma had to bite her lip to muffle her choked moans of pleasure.
Rune’s eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head back into the mattress as if in agony. His fingers fisted in the blankets as he said, voice taut, “God, Elma, if you don’t start moving, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” she said and rolled her hips ever so slightly.
In response, he bit his lip so hard that a pinprick of blood appeared there. “Never mind,” he managed, his breaths coming shallow and fast.
Elma loved the way he looked spread out beneath her, his flushed tan skin, the needy lust in his expression. She loved the way he felt inside her as she rocked against him slowly, riding, savoring the tightly building pleasure.
“I’m going to come if you’re not careful,” Rune said after a few moments, his voice hoarse and utterly wrung out.
Elma’s own pleasure was threatening to reach its peak, the tightness between her legs growing sharper, more urgent. She sped the motion of her hips, angling herself to allow him evendeeper, grinding harder. As she did, she leaned down and delicately licked Rune’s open wound.
As she had hoped, this was his breaking point. And as he lost himself, growling Elma’s name as he came, she, too, fell over the edge, almost destroyed by the sheer magnitude of their shared pleasure.
When, at last, they came down to Earth again, they stared at one another, breathing hard.
“That was…” Rune said, breathing hard, his chest heaving and sweat-slick.
Elma only smiled and kissed him.
They fell asleep curled up together on the bed. When Elma woke in the middle of the night to pull the blankets over them, she paused, studying Rune’s face, gentle in repose. A coil of undeniable warmth grew in her chest. This was what it felt like, then, to bloom unharmed in a frozen wasteland. This was softness and trust.
The next morning,Elma woke to news of the Rothen army camped on Slödava’s doorstep.Herarmy. Though she wondered if the use of her banner was only some half-hearted attempt by Godwin to sow confusion and resentment between her and the Slödavans. This was his force of arms, not Elma’s, no matter who wore the crown.
Queen Hildegard called Elma and Rune to one of the palace’s great towers, which afforded a view of the city spread out below them, the pale Frozen Sea beyond. Clustered at the edges of the sea, dotted with rising columns of smoke and tiny tents with flags of green and gold, was the Rothen army. From here, it looked like a plague of vermin, scratching at the doors.
But Elma knew better. Those were trained warriors, manyof them since boyhood. To fight and to die for one’s kingdom… there could be no better fate.
“He can’t be planning to lay siege to the city,” Elma said. “Your scouts were right — no ballistae. Perhaps he isn’t quite the brash fool I thought he was. He came here to intimidate. He still thinks he can win me over.”
“Or the siege weapons are still a day’s ride out,” Rune mused.
“It doesn’t matter,” Elma said.
Queen Hildegard wordlessly handed Elma a steaming cup of coffee from the breakfast tray. Food and drink had been brought up by the servants, but Elma found herself unable to eat. Her gut would not stop roiling. Delicately, she sipped her coffee, peering out over the rim of her cup to regard the army below.
“He’ll be waiting for you,” Rune said. “Do you still plan to go and speak to him? You know I’d happily creep into his tent and slit his throat if that’s what you want.”
