Lost Heir (Blood Weaver Trilogy #2)

Chapter 6

6

T he relief of shedding the journey's grime in a bath left me feeling rejuvenated, yet the solitude of my chambers was stifling with the knowledge that the court ladies were watching my every move. With Selene comfortably settled in her own room and Viktor tasked with the delicate matter of staffing, the Eastern palace's corridors echoed with a silence that spoke volumes of my isolation. Each step felt calculated, a stark reminder of the scrutiny that waited around every corner.

Seeking a small reprieve, I ventured to the kitchens and returned laden with simple comforts—a bowl of grapes and a modest jug of wine. It wasn't the luxurious A Thousand Roses wine from the Rose Petal Lounge, but it promised a semblance of solace for my solitude.

The sight that greeted me upon my return to my chambers, however, was anything but solitary. Caelan, perched on the edge of my bed as if he belonged there, stirred a mix of irritation and surprise within me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low, a blend of curiosity and caution coloring my words .

His gaze swept over me, a smile playing on his lips as he noted the changes in my appearance. “You look … different. In a good way. You look like Princess Lyanna again,” he observed, his eyes lingering on the subtle transformation wrought by a dress and my freshly braided hair.

A snort escaped me at his approval, laced with a hint of derision. “I'm guessing you prefer me this way,” I retorted, moving past him to place the wine and grapes on my desk, enacting a barrier between us.

“I do,” he confessed, unabashed. “This is who you are. Who you should have been all along.”

His words, meant as a compliment, felt like chains tightening around me. I braced against the desk, the wood creaking under the force of my grip.

Caelan glanced at the wine with open disapproval. “You really shouldn’t drink so much. Why don’t I get one of the court ladies to bring you some tea instead?” he offered.

His suggestion was the spark that lit the powder keg of my frustration. Spinning around, I blocked his path, the word “No!” a sharp rebuke. “I don't want tea. If I did, that's what I would have brought.”

“Lyanna—”

“Caelan, stop!” The plea burst from me, a mix of anger and desperation. “Please, just stop. If I wanted someone to dictate my choices, my mother is more than capable of doing so.”

He paused, his advance halting as he processed my outburst. “I'm not trying to control you, Lyanna. I'm trying to help,” he said, his voice softer, an attempt to bridge the gap that had opened between us.

Yet, in that moment, the gap felt like a chasm. His presence in my chamber was an unwelcome reminder of the liberties he’d already taken and the autonomy he threatened. His proximity, once a source of comfort, now felt like an intrusion, a challenge to the independence I’d fought so desperately to reclaim.

I found myself cornered, both physically by Caelan's imposing presence and emotionally by the weight of his accusations and expectations. Exhaling a frustrated breath, I leaned back against the desk, the cool wood a minor relief against the tension that crackled between us. “I know you believe you're helping, but this—this constant oversight is suffocating, Caelan. I can't live like this.”

His reaction was immediate, a mix of hurt and anger sharpening his words. “So, it's suffocating when I do it, but if it was Ronan, you'd be fine?” His voice was a low growl, his jealousy barely contained.

I met his challenge head-on, my patience fraying. “If it was Ronan, he wouldn’t be telling me what to do,” I shot back, standing my ground.

Caelan scoffed bitterly and closed the distance between us, his movements deliberate. “You think you know him so well, but you don’t, Lyanna. He’s a—”

“You don’t know anything about him!” I exploded. My voice rose and I pushed him away, needing to reclaim my space.

He paused and surprise flashed across his handsome features before he regained his composure, his gaze sharpening. “And you do?” he challenged, skepticism lacing his tone. “Wasn't Ronan the one who deceived you with his lies? Or did I get that part wrong?”

I furrowed my brows. “How did you—”

Caelan's frustration boiled over, and his pacing became a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. “Nothing is a secret around here, Lyanna! When will you get that through your thick skull?” His warning was clear, tinged with a protective fervor that bordered on possession. “And just as a warning, don’t even think about going to the Northern palace to see him. Don’t give the rumors credence.”

I couldn't hide my irritation, my voice laced with defiance. “I'm well aware of what I should and shouldn't do.”

“Good.” He started toward me again.

Before I had time to react, Caelan took ahold of my wrist, pinned it behind my back, and pulled me flush against his chest. I attempted to push him away with my free hand, but his grip was firm.

“Caelan!” I gasped, surprised he would manhandle me this way.

“Lyanna, why won’t you look at me? Why do you only have eyes for a barbarian like Ronan?” he murmured, his gaze lingering on my lips.

My patience frayed past the breaking point. “Let go , Caelan,” I insisted, my voice a mix of warning and anger.

“Why?” he whispered, his lips inching closer to mine. “Do you think I don’t know that he’s already touched you in ways he shouldn’t?”

“You don’t know anything!” I retorted sharply, struggling against his grip. “Release me.”

“And if I don’t?” he muttered. His eyes, dark and searching, fixed on mine, seeking an answer that was obvious to everyone but him.

“I am a blood mage, Caelan, and a damn good one, too.” The threat spilled from me, cold and clear. “If you don’t release me this instant, then I won’t apologize for what happens next.”

His gaze pierced me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead on the spot. Before he could speak, the doors to my chambers burst open with a resounding boom.

Someone cleared their throat. “Your Highness?” Viktor called out from behind Caelan. I peered over his shoulder to look at my guard. “Is everything all right?”

My gaze shifted from Viktor to Caelan and I grinned. “Everything is perfectly fine. Caelan was just leaving.”

Caelan’s grip on my wrist tightened, no doubt leaving a bruise before he released me with a sneer, taking a step back and putting distance between us. “This conversation is not over,” he whispered before spinning on his heels and pushing past Viktor, nearly knocking him over as he stormed out of my chambers.

Once he was gone, Viktor quickly closed the doors and rushed toward me. “Your Highness, are you okay?” His gaze dropped to my wrist, which already bloomed with Caelan’s fingerprints.

“I’m fine. Thank you for coming in,” I assured him, massaging the tender skin.

“I would have been here sooner, but I was down by the river, meeting with the laundry maids.” He winced. “I should have been here.”

I waved off his concern. “Don’t worry, Viktor. It would have happened at some point. Were you successful, at least?”

He nodded. “I’ve swapped out the current court ladies with new ones, and I sent their promotions to the senior lady-in-waiting with your seal. There shouldn’t be any issues.”

“Thank you, Viktor,” I sighed. “I feel as if I can breathe properly for the first time since I arrived.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said. “But …”

I frowned. “But what?”

“Would you like me to send a message to our guest in the Northern palace?” he inquired.

While I appreciated his offer to send a message to Ronan, I knew better than to have anything in writing. In the wrong hands, any missive could be used against me. No matter how innocent the contents may be.

I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. I’ll see him at the banquet in ten days.”

“Very well, Your Highness. Before I go, let me introduce you to the lady-in-waiting who will accompany you and handle all your needs. She is a mage warrior—”

Viktor’s introduction of a mage warrior masquerading as a court lady caught me off guard. “A mage warrior?” I echoed. “Wouldn’t becoming my lady-in-waiting be a demotion?”

He affirmed with a solemn nod, his gaze earnest. “Well … yes, it would be. But from my recent observations, Your Highness, I would feel more comfortable leaving someone more capable by your side in case I’m not around,” he said delicately. “Female warriors are rare, and Tessa is exceptional. She readily agreed to be your main lady-in-waiting.”

“Oh,” I managed, the reality of my situation settling in. I knew what he was getting at. With all the danger that surrounded me, I needed more than a mere court lady by my side. I needed a bodyguard.

“Tessa!” Viktor called, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious chamber. “Come in.”

The doors parted and a young woman strode in, dressed in the lady-in-waiting’s customary uniform of sky blue and pink. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight chignon, with silver hair pins as decorations. Tessa approached and stood beside Viktor before offering a deep bow.

“Your Highness,” Tessa began, her voice steady and sure, “I am honored to meet you. My duty is to ensure your safety, a responsibility I accept with all seriousness.”

Her declaration, sincere and forthright, momentarily eased the tension coiled within me. “Thank you, Tessa.” The gravity of her role—a protector in the guise of a court lady—sank in. “I must admit, I'm surprised you'd accept what many might see as a lesser position.”

Tessa's response was immediate. She lifted her head and met my gaze directly. “To serve and protect you, Princess, is no demotion in my eyes. It's a privilege I embrace wholeheartedly.”

Her words, infused with a sense of honor and duty, offered a sliver of comfort. “Then I am grateful for your service.” I offered her a genuine smile, a small gesture of appreciation for the warrior who had willingly stepped out of the shadows to be my shield.

As darkness enshrouded the Eastern palace, marking the end of my first day back in Valoria, the surreal nature of my return settled over me. Accompanied by Tessa, my new protector and chief lady-in-waiting, I explored the familiar yet altered corridors of my childhood home, introducing myself to the new faces assigned to attend me. Freed for the moment from my mother's scrutinizing gaze, I found a semblance of peace.

“Your bed has been made, Your Highness,” Tessa announced, deftly turning down the covers of my large bed, her movements efficient yet gentle. “Would you like me to brush your hair before bed?”

I picked up the hairbrush and positioned myself in front of the vanity mirror, a simple act of normalcy. “No, it’s fine, Tessa. I haven’t had these sorts of luxuries in ten years. It will take a while for me to adapt. But in all honesty, I hope I don’t,” I admitted softly, running the brush through my hair .

Tessa paused, her reflection joining mine in the mirror as she knelt beside me, her presence comforting yet unobtrusive. “Why, Your Highness?”

As I met her gaze in the mirror, a silent understanding passed between us. “I don’t want to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Forget what’s normal,” I confessed, the brush pausing mid-stroke. “Here, living in the palace where you’re waited on hand and foot, it’s not normal. Everyday citizens don’t live this way. For the last ten years I didn’t live this way. I’d rather do things on my own the way I’ve gotten used to.”

Tessa let out a soft sigh, her understanding clear. “I understand, Your Highness,” she cautioned, her voice low. “I just hope you’re aware that Her Majesty would not agree. Within the confines of these chamber walls, your wishes are paramount. However, beyond them, adherence to royal customs is advisable to avoid Her Majesty’s ire.”

In the hushed ambiance of my chamber lit only by the soft glow of bedside candles, I placed the brush aside and turned to acknowledge Tessa's presence. Her silhouette was framed by the warm light, her expression a blend of duty and concern. “You’re right. Thank you for the reminder,” I conceded, feeling the weight of her advice settle over me.

“Ready to change into your nightgown?” she inquired, moving gracefully towards the wardrobe, her hands poised to select the fabric of my repose.

“Yes,” I agreed, my fingers working at the clasps of my dress. With a fluid motion born of necessity, the dress pooled at my feet, a whisper of silk against the cool stone floor. Gathering it, I draped it over the vanity chair.

Viktor's voice, muffled by the chamber doors, intruded upon the tranquility. “Your Highness?” he called, his tone respectful yet urgent .

“I’m undressing!” I called back. Tessa, understanding the delicate timing, assisted me into the soft embrace of my nightgown, its fabric a gentle caress against my skin. “Come in!”

The doors opened and Viktor poked his head inside. “You have a visitor, Your Highness.”

I frowned. “This late at night? Is it Selene?”

He shook his head. “It’s the guest from the Northern palace,” he whispered.

My eyes widened and I turned to Tessa. “Please give us a moment.”

Her hesitation was palpable, her loyalty clashing with her duty. “Are you sure, Your Highness?” she questioned.

“Yes. I’ll call for you if I need you. Thank you,” I said. She left with a backward glance that spoke volumes of her concern.

After a few seconds, the doors opened wider and a cloaked figure stepped inside, shutting the doors behind him. He paused for a moment before turning around to face me. Pulling back his hood, Ronan stood before me, a mischievous smirk splayed across his face.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed so Viktor and Tessa wouldn’t hear me.

He shrugged. “I thought I’d pay you a visit.” He slowly walked around my chambers, looking around as he sized me up and down, taking in my pink silk nightgown. “Cute nighty,” he said as he walked around me.

I wrapped my arms around myself. “This is inappropriate, Ronan,” I stated, a vain attempt to marshal some semblance of propriety.

He snorted. “As if I haven’t seen all of you already.”

My face flushed and I avoided eye contact. “Ronan,” I warned .

His laughter, rich and unapologetic, filled the room. “Okay, I’ll stop,” he whispered as he hovered behind me, his chest to my back. “I’ve just missed you.” His lips grazed the shell of my ear, making me shiver.

The reminder of the risk his presence posed was barely audible, a whisper against the gravity of his closeness. “You shouldn't be here,” I breathed, the danger of discovery looming over us. “Leave before—”

“No one’s going to know,” he said as his hands caressed my bare arms. “I jumped the wall instead of coming in through the front gates.”

I spun around to face him, not realizing how close he was, and stumbled backward. Before I could fall, Ronan wrapped an arm around my back and tugged me toward him. My heart galloped like a thousand horses as I was brought flush against his warm body. I didn’t want to pull away, but I had to. I needed a clear mind when speaking to him.

“Are you going to tell me why you lied to me?” I pushed him away, putting some much-needed distance between us.

He sighed. “If I tell you, will it change anything between us?” he asked as he started circling me again. “You’ll still feel as if I’ve deceived you.”

I raised my chin. “You don’t know that. Maybe I won’t.”

Under the flickering candlelight, Ronan crossed the dimly lit room toward my bed. With a deliberate motion, he shrugged off his heavy boots, one after the other, the sound echoing softly against the stone walls. He then reclined with casual grace on my bed, resting his hands behind his head on the pillow, creating a relaxed, yet decidedly confident pose. The low light danced across his sharp features, casting half his face in shadow and emphasizing the intensity of his crimson gaze. “Fine. But if I tell you, you must fulfill one wish of mine,” he proposed, his voice carrying a weight of seriousness masked by a playful undertone.

“Which is?” I asked, my curiosity piqued yet guarded.

He tsked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wagged a finger at me in a scolding manner. “Not yet, Leila. When I’m ready to make the wish, I’ll tell you.”

I scoffed, feeling the tension rise within me as I crossed my arms over my chest, my posture stiffening in defiance. “I don’t make open-ended deals.”

His challenge hung between us; a gauntlet thrown. “Then I guess you don’t want to know,” he sighed, his voice laced with feigned disappointment. He lay there, an enigmatic figure bathed in the interplay of light and shadow near the bedside candles.

Feeling as if there was no way out, I approached the bed and stood my ground. “Fine,” I sighed, my voice filled with resignation. “But I won’t do anything illegal, or something that goes against my morals, or … sexual.”

He snorted in response, his laughter short and disbelieving. “What do you take me for, Leila? Have I ever ravaged you against your will?”

“I’m just making things clear!” I nearly shouted, my voice echoing slightly in the room, betraying my rising frustration. “So you got a deal. Now tell me. Why did you lie?”

Ronan regarded me with piercing intensity, his gaze searching mine for a moment that felt like an eternity before he exhaled loudly, a gesture of concession. He moved his hands to rest atop his abdomen. “Fine. What do you know, or should I say, what did Mykal tell you about the prophecy?”

“That I need to be sacrificed to the fox demon in order for the Crimson Clan to resurrect him. That … that one of the rituals includes giving my maidenhood to you,” I mu rmured, my voice barely above a whisper, laden with a mix of fear and confusion.

“Did you ever wonder why it has to be me who takes it? Why couldn’t it be anyone else from the clan?” he probed, lifting a brow in a gesture that challenged me to question deeper and look beyond the surface.

I frowned when I realized I’d never questioned the motives behind the ritual. “No, I didn’t. I just assumed—”

“You assumed I wanted to take advantage of you,” he finished for me, his tone somber yet tinged with an underlying frustration. “I get it. But that’s far from the truth, Leila. The truth of the matter is that the one who takes the maidenhood of the Blood Weaver is entitled to one wish from the fox demon.”

“What?” My confusion was palpable, the revelation sparking a myriad of emotions within me.

He sat up and turned to face me directly on the edge of the bed, his movements deliberate, as if preparing himself for the weight of his next words. “The fox demon has resurrection powers. I had hoped—”

“You hoped after sacrificing me and resurrecting the fox demon, you could wish for him to bring me back,” I finished for him, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place in my mind.

“Yes.” His admission was simple, yet it carried the burden of his intentions and the complexity of his plan.

“Then why does it have to be you? So what if that’s your intention—”

“Because the one who makes the wish …”

“Yes?”

He sighed. “Because the Blood Weaver and the one from the Crimson Clan must have feelings for one another … like that shared by the fox demon and moon goddess. ”

I scoffed and began to pace back and forth, my mind racing. “Do you think that makes it all okay?”

He sighed deeply, the sound laden with resignation. “I knew you would still be against it, which was why I never brought it up. Why I told you I’d bring you to the Grasslands and never divulge your identity. Leila—”

“Why does the Crimson Clan have to resurrect the fox demon? What good will it do for your people?” I asked, my gaze piercing his to search for the truth in the depths of his crimson eyes.

“It’s complicated, Leila,” he answered curtly, his voice strained with a mixture of frustration and desperation. “Things in the Grasslands aren’t as simple as they seem. My people … are suffering.”

I furrowed my brows, my curiosity and concern deepening. “What?”

Ronan rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs nervously as he blew out a breath and struggled to find the words. “It’s a deal the Crimson Clan made with Keldara during my great-grandfather’s reign. In exchange for war horses and weapons, we provide Keldara with tributes,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a hushed tone as he lowered his head in shame.

“Tributes?” I repeated, my heart sinking at the implication.

“Women and children, Leila.” His admission was a whisper, yet it reverberated through the room like a thunderclap.

I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand in shock. “Why?”

“Keldara is a military-run country. Their birthrate is fairly low, almost nonexistent. They need …” He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence, but the implication was clear. Keldara had a strong military; alone, the Crimson Clan wo uld never be able to defeat Keldara. But with the fox demon? They might stand a chance.

“If they’re doing this to your clan, why did your people align themselves with Keldara ten years ago?” I asked, stepping closer as I sought answers to the questions swirling in my mind.

“My father was desperate. He wanted to capture you as soon as possible and resurrect the fox demon to save our people. Unfortunately it backfired, and we’ve been searching for you ever since.” His voice was a mix of regret and determination, revealing the depth of his struggles and the lengths he would go to protect his people.

Ronan gently captured my hands in his, drawing me nearer with a tenderness that belied the gravity of our conversation. His eyes, a stormy mix of determination and despair, locked onto mine as he whispered, “I never meant to deceive you.” His voice, barely louder than a breath, carried the weight of his dilemma. “But I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

The crease of worry between my brows deepened as I considered his confession. “Does … does Mykal know the whole truth?” The question emerged from me, tinged with a mix of hope and skepticism.

He gave a noncommittal shrug and his gaze drifted away momentarily. “Honestly, I don't know. The King of Keldara is aware, but who among his advisors is privy to the same knowledge remains unclear. But Mykal must suspect something, given how readily he shared the prophecy with you.”

A wave of frustration crashed over me, causing my jaw to clench tightly. The realization that I was a pawn in Mykal's game ignited a fierce anger within me. Yet, the awareness of my naive trust in him spurred a deeper frustration. If only I had sought Ronan earlier, we might have navigated this maze of deceit more wisely. Still, the thought of sacrificing my life for the uncertain promise of resurrection was a gamble I couldn't fathom taking. It felt selfish, but the personal stakes were too high.

“Ronan,” I began, the resolve in my voice masking the turmoil inside, “why doesn't the Crimson Clan seek an alliance with Valoria? Together, we could challenge Keldara.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, laced with a hint of melancholy. “We're not on good terms with Valoria, Leila. You, of all people, are aware of the rift between us.”

Dropping to my knees before him, I tightened my grip on his hands, seeking to convey my sincerity. “I'll talk to my father. Once I lay everything out for him, he'll surely—”

“No, Leila,” he interjected, his tone firm yet fraught with an urgency that stopped me in my tracks. “It's not as simple as you think. Please, I beg of you, don't share this with anyone. The consequences could be dire for my people.”

My frown deepened at his plea. “Why can't the Crimson Clan simply sever ties with Keldara?”

His response was soft, yet each word seemed to weigh heavily on him. “We've tried, but they have a tight noose around our necks. They’ve threatened us with harming our people who are currently enslaved in their lands.”

A somber hush fell over us, my voice barely a whisper as the reality of his words sank in. “This is horrible,” I murmured, a sense of despair enveloping me. The grim truth of the Crimson Clan's plight was far more harrowing than I ever imagined. “What can I—”

In the dimly lit room, the air thick with tension and unsaid promises, Ronan's strong arms encircled me, effortlessly lifting me from the floor to stand before him. “There's nothing you can do,” he concluded with a touch of resignation. “After everything, it'd be shameless of me to ask.”

His words resonated with a bitter truth I wasn't ready to confront. The sacrifice he hinted at—my life for the salvation of his people—was a price I found too steep, especially with the shadow of uncertainty that my spirit could be reclaimed from the abyss.

“I'm sorry,” I replied, my voice steady yet laced with profound sadness. There was no other recourse, no other words to bridge the chasm of our dilemma.

“It's okay, Leila. I'll figure it out,” he assured me, lifting his gaze to meet mine, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “As long as you can forgive me. For everything. I can't bear the thought of you being upset with me any longer. These last few days have been torture.”

In a swift motion born of a mixture of frustration and a desperate need to maintain some distance, I withdrew my hands from his. “Still … you kept the truth from me. How can I trust you again?”

“You did once before when I was your enemy. I believe you can find a way to do it again now that I’m your friend,” he countered, his voice a soft but firm challenge. He grasped my arm, pulling me gently yet with undeniable strength onto the bed beside him. My breath hitched as I landed with a soft thud, his body rotating in a blink to hover just above mine, the mischievous sparkle in his crimson eyes igniting a familiar thrill. “Don’t you think I should be mad at you as well?”

A frown marred my features, confusion and a burgeoning heat mingling within me. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

His laughter was low, a sound that vibrated through the charged air. “Oh, no? What about when you left camp, leaving only a letter with Henry as your farewell?” His reminder sparked a memory of the last time we’d seen each other, and my eyes widened. “Remembering now? I told you to stay put,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to stroke my skin just as his hand did, trailing a fiery path up my bare leg as he slid the silky fabric of my nightgown higher and higher with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers racing across my skin.

“What are you doing?” The question was a whisper, my voice betraying the turmoil of desire and hesitation that wrestled within me. “We can’t do this. Not here.”

“And why not?” he challenged, his eyebrow arching in playful defiance. “It’s just you and me. No one is here to stop us this time.”

My response was a gasp, a sound lost in the growing storm of our mutual desire as I squirmed beneath him, the heat of his touch igniting fires all over my skin. My hand found his once he reached my underwear, a desperate attempt to steady myself against the tide of emotions his actions unleashed.

“So tell me, Leila: am I not entitled to be upset as well?” he whispered as he slid his hand beneath my underwear.

I involuntarily spread my legs as he touched me in places I’d never been touched before. My breath hitched and I clutched the bed sheets as Ronan slowly glided a finger inside me.

“Next time when I tell you to stay put—” he murmured as he stroked his finger in and out.

“Ronan!” I gasped as I released the bed sheets and clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to me. “Please,” I begged, not knowing exactly what I was begging for but needing a release, and quickly .

“Yes, Leila?” he murmured against my lips, parting them as he spoke. “Tell me what you need.”

“I-I—”

Slicked in my wetness, he slid another finger inside me and I gasped, clutching him tighter. I felt myself being stretched as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of me. My eyes closed and I felt as if I teetered on the precipice before falling head-first into the abyss.

“Look at me, Leila,” he commanded. When I didn’t open my eyes, he stilled, forcing me to open my eyes and look at him. “When you come undone, I want you to be looking at me,” he whispered.

“Don’t stop,” I pleaded. “Please.”

I’d never felt so wound up and electric all at once. With each pump of his fingers, my hips gyrated, wanting more, wanting him to go faster. My breathing was heavy, and soft moans escaped my lips as I felt myself at the brink.

“Yes,” I moaned. “Faster.”

As I sucked in one last breath, Ronan’s lips crashed onto mine, silencing my scream as my arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer to me. His kiss was all-consuming, as if he needed me to breathe. I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts were running wild not knowing what was right or left, up or down.

A whimpering moan escaped me when his thumb stroked my clit and all I could do was squeeze him tighter. Wanting more. My legs began to shake and I clenched his two fingers as he mercilessly pumped them faster and faster. I arched my back, bringing my chest to his, wanting more of his warmth.

“Ronan!” I gasped against his mouth. “I’m—”

He released my lips and stared deeply into my eyes as I came undone beneath him. Our charged, gasping breaths were the only sounds in my chambers as I orgasmed.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he whispered as his fingers slowed until he stopped once I jerked from the sensitivity. “If I could have you in my bed every night, I think I’d be the happiest man in Asteria.”

My eyes felt heavy, and my breathing slowed as I gradually released him, my arms falling slack beside me. “Ronan,” I muttered in a sleepy haze.

“Sleep, Princess,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

With those parting words, I closed my eyes and fell into a blissful slumber.