Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
I woke up some time later in bed, head resting on a pillow and a pile of blankets tucked around the outline of my body. On the bedside table, the flower had been plucked from my hair and laid atop a note:
Gone to find the others. Please don’t leave.
The please was underlined. Twice.
I sat up and yawned, then realized my arms were free of the crusted sand and dried blood from the fight in Ignios. Luther must have wiped it off before moving me to bed. He’d even set out a clean change of clothes beside a pitcher of ale and a silver dinner cloche emanating a delicious smell. I leapt up and wasted no time ravaging the food in rather embarrassing fashion. When I finished, I padded to the washroom to find a hot bath already drawn.
My stomach fluttered as I peeled off my bloody, ruined clothes and sank into the steaming water. Even in the midst of his own inner unrest, he was always protecting me, always thinking of me, even in the smallest of ways.
The woman he loves .
Taran’s words echoed in my thoughts as the heady buzz from the ale sent me in and out of sleep. I might have stayed there all night—I might have stayed there all year —until I heard voices drift in from the other room. I finished washing up and reluctantly abandoned the water’s comforting warmth.
For the first time in weeks, I was clean and rested, my mind finally clear enough to take stock of the mess I was now at the center of.
I was not ready to be a Queen—my catastrophic Period of Challenging had proven that much. I didn’t have the right temperament or the right upbringing, and I’d been pushing away the few people willing to serve me. I was better equipped to start a war than to end one.
But the Crown sat atop my head nevertheless. Ready or not, my reign had begun, and so had the war.
It was time to start building my army.
I nodded firmly to myself and wrapped a towel beneath my arms, then marched out of the washroom—and straight into Luther’s chest.
His broad hands caught my hips to keep me from stumbling backward. He’d cleaned himself up as well, his fresh clothes and clean hair smelling strongly of his woodsy musk.
“You’re back,” I said.
“You’re awake.” His gaze wandered over my bare skin, sending a rush of heat everywhere it roamed. “It’s healing well.”
I blinked, distracted by his murky expression. “What?”
“This.” His right hand slid up my side and grazed the swell of my breast. My breath hitched.
It was an effort to tear my eyes away from him. When I did, I saw that the wound I’d taken in Ignios was gone, with a patch of new, pink skin in its place.
“Oh. Right. Yes.” I scoured his body for injuries, but nearly every inch of skin was covered in thick fabric. Even his throat was wrapped in a heavy scarf. “And yours?”
His face darkened. “Fine.”
I frowned. “If they’re still bothering you, I can make a salve—”
“They’re fine. Taran’s back, if you want to check his wounds.”
“Any news from Zalaric?”
“Not yet.”
We stood in silence, eyes locked. Though I made no move to leave, his grip tightened on my hip, as if I was being dragged away and he was fighting to hold on.
I drew in a breath, and his focus dropped to my mouth. His fingers grazed over my collarbone, lingering for a moment over my crescent-shaped scar, then traced the column of my throat, curving around my nape. He pulled me in like he might kiss me, then paused, forehead creasing as his lips hovered a breath from mine. His mind seemed far away, waging some internal battle he refused to let me join.
As the carousel of emotion spun across his face and I waited to see where it would stop, for a moment, his mind appeared to me like a cloud of smoke, as if the simplest wave of my hand might lay open his soul.
The urge to do it was thrilling—to finally know all his secrets and unearth the truth of why he’d been pulling away. It would be treachery of the darkest kind, a violation for which I might never atone—but if it was just the tiniest glimpse...
A shudder passed over me. What in the Flames was I thinking? Even if I were willing to betray Luther in such a horrific way, I couldn’t read minds .
“You’re shivering.” He pulled back and ran his palms over my arms in long strokes. “You should get dressed.”
“I should,” I agreed.
Neither of us moved.
A crackling energy buzzed in the air between us, my heart thundering against my chest.
“Looks like we’re finally alone,” I said, barely above a whisper. I leaned closer until my chest brushed against his. The movement jostled my towel, causing it to slip an inch. Luther’s hands stilled.
“Diem,” he breathed.
A desperate urgency took over. I closed the distance between us and poured my need for him into a feverish kiss, fingers knotting in his hair and clutching at his sweater.
Whatever had been holding him back vanished as our lips collided in a fury of taste and tongue. He hauled me into his arms, then staggered forward until he had me pinned hard against the wall. My back arched in teasing defiance, crushing my body to his.
Large, commanding hands worked their way up my thighs and slipped beneath the edge of my towel, kneading my flesh and easing my legs apart. Every touch sent me spiraling, writhing, pleading. My hips rolled against him and drew a groan from us both.
“The nights I have spent dreaming of you,” he murmured against my throat. “Of this .”
Eager sounds whimpered out of me as he tasted his way across my skin like he might devour me, consume me. My mind had gone hazy, unable to think past the throb of hunger that grew with every rough sweep of his hands and insatiable press of his hips.
The grinding of our bodies loosened my towel, and it fell to the floor, leaving me naked in his arms. Luther let out a low, animalistic sound. He pulled me away from the wall and set me on the washroom’s marble countertop, then leaned back for a better view.
I flushed and wrapped my arms over my waist. I’d never been ashamed of my body, but the partners I’d been with before were all mortals who shared the same scars and curves. The partners Luther was surely used to—well, I couldn’t bear to think about that.
“I lied,” he said, his voice stilted. “Before.”
My shoulders hunched. “About?”
“I said looking would be the least of what I would do once we were alone.” He gently peeled my arms away until I was bare once more, his eyes full of wonder as they drank me in. “But this... you ...” Muscles leapt on his throat. “I could look at you forever, and it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.”
My skin felt too tight, ready to burst, my body incapable of containing the firestorm of emotion sparking inside.
The newness of it left me unsteady. Lust, I understood. Lust, I could control, I could wield like a sword and shield. But these feelings I had for Luther... this was no mere lust. This, I had no idea what to do with.
My godhood, on the other hand, knew exactly what it wanted. The voice purred and paced, hissing at me to stop being a coward and take what I desired. The corner of Luther’s mouth quirked up in a knowing smile, and sparks of light danced at my fingertips as my magic swirled in blissful response.
I summoned my courage and looped a finger into his belt. “What if I want you to do more than just look? ”
He fixed me in a predatory stare. This Prince was a hunter, and I felt every bit his prey—trembling, waiting, wondering if I’d make it out of this alive.
His hand brushed against my knee, then began a slow trek up my leg. His thumb trailed with exhilarating pressure along my inner thigh. As he neared my hips, his touch dangerously close to my core, my lashes fluttered and my gaze dropped down.
His hand stilled. “Look at me.”
I did.
He nudged my knees. “Open.”
I did.
“Wider.”
I did, and my mouth went dry. There was nowhere to hide. Everything was bared to him— everything .
His other hand rose to my chin and tilted it up. “That’s my girl.”
A confusing excitement seared through my blood. It would surprise precisely no one to learn that, with my previous lovers, I’d craved control. Henri once teased that I treated sex the way I treated a fight—never retreat, never surrender. I made up for it with enthusiasm, and my partners had always been more than happy to submit.
With Luther, I had expected the same. He was so committed to serving me, I’d imagined that when we finally crossed this line we’d been dancing, our dynamic would stay the same: a headstrong Queen and her obedient Prince.
But this was something else. Something I’d never truly had before—a worthy opponent. The man staring at me now, lips parted and pupils black as night, had no intention to submit .
And I liked it.
A lot .
“Eyes on me, Bellator,” he ordered as his palm slid between my legs. We both sucked in a breath at the revealing wetness he found. The hard callouses on his palm from years of wielding blades created excruciatingly sweet friction against my slick skin. His fingers circled in a way that had my body arching and my hands clawing at the marble.
A satisfied rumble built in his throat. His touch turned deeper, harder, more demanding. One finger pushed inside me, then another.
I writhed against him, and his watchful eyes caught every tiny reaction. His movements adjusted—faster or slower, harder or lighter—as he shrewdly studied the nuance of my pleasure. In minutes, he had worked me into a panting, trembling frenzy.
My body was alive in a way I’d never known. Each breath hung on the stroke of his fingers, my heart seeming to pound in time with his movements.
I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. I felt entranced, entirely at his command—yet somehow free. Unchained. Invincible.
I thrust my hips against his hand, and he grunted his approval. His other hand mapped my body, touching every line and curve in a slow, methodical path, as if committing each one to memory. Each time he passed over one of my many scars, his nostrils flared wide.
The mounting pressure threatened to crack me open. Pleasure merged with my magic and infused my aura, igniting the air around us with a silvery shimmer. His eyes widened in surprise, and it gave me a small thrill and more than a little comfort to know some part of this was new and unexplored for him, too.
I reached for the button on his trousers, and he grabbed my wrist.
“Let me touch you,” I pleaded.
“No.”
His voice was soft, but firm. Unyielding.
“Luther—”
His fingers plunged deeper, and my protests garbled into moans. My control slipped, my head falling back as my eyes squeezed shut.
He buried his face against the curve of my throat. “There’s so much more I want to give you,” he breathed into my skin, sounding nearly as shaken as I was. “So much more you deserve. At least I can give you this.”
I had the vague sense there was something wrong with his words, but I was drowning in need, and the thought floated away before I could catch it.
The pressure built and built and built, excruciating and elating. I was a bomb, a volcano, a match in a powder keg, fire eternal and passion aflame. My fingernails dug into his arms as I trembled on the precipice of release.
“Please,” I begged.
“Tell me what you want,” he growled in my ear.
It took every last shred of willpower to force my eyes open and lean back until our gazes locked.
“You,” I whispered. “All of you.”
Something heart-wrenching filled his expression. His fingers curved into that perfect place inside me, and all semblance of control imploded. Release shuddered through me as I cried his name and collapsed, trembling, into his arms.
More magic poured from my hands unbidden, glowing cords that twined around him and drew him closer. A fond smile touched his lips as he happily obliged, nestling my pleasure-wracked body to his chest. He worked me through each cresting wave with slow, tender strokes, and I clung to him as if his touch were the only thing keeping me whole.
He brushed my hair back from my face, his touch warm and achingly gentle. “Perfect,” he said so quietly I thought he might be talking to himself. “You are so perfect.” His eyes shone with affection, though a discomforting darkness lurked at the edge.
“I am very naked, and you are very dressed,” I joked, trying to laugh off my unease. “Why is it you and I never seem to be unclothed at the same time?”
My hands moved down his chest, and his back stiffened. He gave me a chaste kiss, then began to back away. “Get dressed. Come join us in the parlor.”
I pouted and tugged him back. “The others can wait a little longer.”
I toyed with the hem of his sweater and began to lift it away. He jerked back violently, nearly crashing into the wall behind him. He tried to recover quickly, smoothing his hands over the fabric and bending to grab the towel I’d dropped, but the muscles in his shoulders were still tight as a spring.
He offered the towel out to me. I ignored it, frowning. “Luther, what’s wrong?”
“We should get back to the others.”
“Why won’t you let me touch you?”
“We just did quite a lot of touching.” He gave me a look that was surely meant to be teasing, but it came across strained.
“ You did a lot of touching. Do you...” I slid off the counter, wrapping my hands around myself as my insecurities resurfaced. “Do you not want me to touch you?”
His hesitation said too much.
“Of course I do, but we’ve been in here long enough. Alixe and Taran are waiting.”
He held out the towel again, and again I ignored it. He sighed and set it beside me, then turned to leave.
“Wait,” I called out.
“I’ll meet you in the parlor.”
“Luther, stop.”
He continued across the room, heading for the bedchamber door.
“Your Queen commanded you to stop,” I snapped.
He halted immediately, frozen mid-step.
I blinked a few times, shocked at my own words. Shocked that it had gone that far.
I took a deep breath and forced my voice to soften. “Look at me, Luther. Please.”
Slowly, with palpable reluctance, he spun on his heel. His face was fixed in a hard stare, jaw set and eyes cold.
I took a step toward him. “Earlier, you said there was something you wanted to tell me.”
“It was nothing. I misspoke.”
I balked. “Now you’re lying? ”
“I’m not—” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Can you please put on the towel?”
“Forget the gods-damned towel!”
His teeth ground together. “I cannot think straight with you standing in front of me naked.”
I rolled my eyes and walked to the washroom, snatching the towel and knotting it around me. “Better?”
His eyes fixated on the bare hip still peeking out between the folds. His hands flexed at his sides. “Not really.”
I studied his frosty expression, all its harsh angles and severe lines. All trace of the sweet contentment from moments ago was long gone.
Hurt crept its spindly fingers into my heart. How could his emotions change so quickly? Had what we just shared meant so little that he could turn away from it on the flip of a coin?
And then it hit me.
“Luther, if you... if you think... that is, if you’re not interested in...” Nausea rose in my throat. “What we just did... I don’t need to be served that way just because I’m Queen. You are under no oblig—”
“ What did you just say? ”
His dark timbre had my blood chilling in my veins. Never had a simple question seemed so much like a drawn blade.
His eyes met mine, pitch black and pulsing with ire. “You think what just happened was me... serving you? Because you’re Queen ? That I made you come because—what, Diem, I’m just your fucking advisor?”
A blush of shame burst across my cheeks at the disgust snarling his features. But I was the one with the right to be angry, not him.
I forced my back straighter. “What else am I supposed to think? You seem to have no interest in me reciprocating.”
He glared at me for a long moment. Veins popped beneath his skin, his body seeming to vibrate with the effort of holding back.
I shrugged, trying my best to look unbothered, even as my heart collapsed. “If you don’t desire me, just be honest. I’m a grown woman. I can take it.”
“Desire?”
His voice was whisper-soft, dangerous, rumbling with the ominous promise of a blow about to be unleashed.
“You think I do not desire you?”
My cheeks felt hot. “In Arboros, I thought... what we said to each other...” I swallowed thickly. “But now you’re pushing me away, so I—”
He crossed the room in a split second, a snarl ripping out of him. In a blur of motion he had me pinned against the wall, one hand clenched around my neck, trapping me at his mercy. The other hooked behind my knee to open my thighs as he ground his hips forward with near-bruising force. The hard ridge of his arousal was undeniable where it strained against his trousers and dug into the still-tender flesh between my legs.
“Does this feel like I do not desire you?” he hissed.
Something between a gasp and a moan slipped out as a darker, more primal kind of pleasure split through me. The ferocious bite in his voice, his dominating grip on my body, the ruthless savagery in his eyes. This was no measured, guarded Prince. This was Luther at his core, raw and out of control.
He forced my chin up and tipped his mouth to mine. “I did not know what it was to need until I met you. One look from you —just the fucking sound of your voice—and my cock gets hard. One touch of your skin, and I can barely think beyond dragging you into the nearest bed. Every second I’m not inside you is another wasted moment of my miserable life.”
His fingers tightened on my throat—not enough to hurt, just to send my pulse hammering. If I had any sense at all, I might have been scared, but the energy tingling at the peak of my thighs was giving a very different response.
“There is no place in all of existence I would rather be than between your legs, and there’s no part of you I do not long to consume. With my eyes.” His gaze dropped brazenly to my chest. “With my hands.” He squeezed my breast in his palm, kneading the sensitive point until I gasped. “With my mouth.” He kissed me, harsh and insatiable, his tongue sweeping greedily over mine.
When he had reduced me to a mewling, quivering puddle, he released me and took a step back. The loss of his touch was an agony, but his lethal focus still had me entirely in his hold.
“It is not just my body that craves you, Diem. It is my heart.” He clutched at his chest. “My scarred, ruined scrap of a soul. Your smiles, your affection, the way you look at me, the way you see me... that is my lifeblood. I would sooner wither without food or water, sink into the sea until my lungs burst, abandon my magic and let my godhood burn me alive from within than endure one more day of life without you in it.”
Suddenly, his magic sparked back to life, and its potent presence flooded the room. It swirled in the air and encircled my skin, and my godhood crooned in eager response, undaunted by the wrath thrumming in its ferocious energy. I fumbled for breath, suffocated by the mix of his aura and his powerful words.
“Desire?” He gave a dark, throaty laugh. “Desire is a pathetic word for what I feel for you. I require you. I am sustained by you. You are the flame that fuels my fire. Don’t you dare question that—not for a second.”
“Then why are you pushing me away?” I whispered.
He went preternaturally still. Slowly, almost too subtly to notice, the fury faded from his features, replaced by an emotion I couldn’t interpret. Wisps of light and shadow cracked in the icy blue pools of his eyes. I couldn’t tell whether he wanted to take me to bed or take off running.
I wasn’t sure he knew, either.
I pushed off the wall, hating the way his muscles bunched as if preparing for an attack. I stood in front of him, close enough to touch but not doing so. Not yet.
I started with his hands—innocent, simple. A slight brush of our knuckles. My finger, hooked around his. A reassuring squeeze.
Patiently, I waited for him to react. He stared at our joined hands, but he didn’t move.
My hands lifted to his face. I swept my fingers across his sharp cheekbones, his full lips, his broad, angular jaw. I traced the lines of his scar, smiling when he closed his eyes so I could follow its trail across his eyelids.
I raked my nails through the coarse stubble that darkened his jawline, winning a grunt of pleasure from him that emboldened me to keep going.
When my touch moved to his neck, shadows seeped from his palms. They pooled at our feet, then began climbing up the walls. They snuffed out the scattered candles and smothered the light-crafted flowers. Even the faint glow from his eyes disappeared as he closed them, turning the room to moonless night.
Darkness for my touch—these were his terms of engagement. This moment seemed too fragile, too important, to question it aloud.
I blindly tugged at his scarf, loosening it enough to stroke the column of his neck. I looped a hand behind his nape and pulled him down so I could lay a kiss in the hollow of his throat. I felt him swallow, felt his pulse pound beneath my fingers, and still, he made no effort to resist. Encouraged, I pushed myself further.
My hands strayed beneath his collar, following his warm skin over the muscular planes of his shoulders. I gently rolled my thumbs into the hard knots I found until his tension eased and his posture loosened.
As surprisingly good as it had felt to surrender and let him take control of my body, I longed to return the favor. I wanted to cover him in loving hands and tender kisses, then ignite in him the same kind of cataclysmic bliss he’d just given me.
The thought of it made me brave and a little more reckless. I nibbled at his jaw as I dragged my hands over the front of his sweater.
Luther stiffened.
I kept going as if I hadn’t noticed, but his tension remained. We both held our breath as I grabbed the edge of his sweater.
“Arms up,” I said with a teasing lilt, “unless you prefer me to burn your clothes off you again.”
He didn’t move. I waited, still and silent. He didn’t so much as twitch.
My lips grazed his skin in blind search of his mouth. When I found it, I kissed him—light at first, delicate pecks that lengthened into slow, adoring caresses, then heated with an insistence that forced him to respond with his own urgent strokes. A hand tangled in my hair and tugged, angling me to deepen the kiss.
I began to lift his sweater. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, it rose, my knuckles brushing against the rippled steel of his torso, and then—
His hands clamped around my wrists and pushed them away. I heard the rustle of movement, then a cluster of orbs appeared across the ceiling to light the room. Luther stood a few feet away, tightening the scarf around his neck.
“Get dressed,” he said flatly.
My throat burned. “Why are you doing this? If you desire me, why are you pulling away?”
His expression stopped my heart still. There was no warmth, no fondness, no emotion at all. He was an empty husk—the cold, vicious Prince.
“Because life is cruel,” he snapped. “And we don’t always get what we desire.”
He turned to leave.
“Luther, wait.”
He kept walking.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me.”
He reached the door and threw it open.
“As your Queen, I order you to st—”
The door slammed, and I was alone.