Chapter 25 #2
She cries out, her body arching, but I keep her pinned in place, her knees pressed tight to her chest so every inch of me drives in deep. The angle is perfect—every stroke hitting that spot inside her that makes her gasp.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” I snarl, my hips snapping hard against hers. “Made to be fucked like this. Made to be mine.”
Her nails dig into my forearms, her moans turning ragged. “So deep—”
“Exactly where I belong,” I growl, pounding into her harder, the bed creaking beneath us. “You feel that? That’s me owning every part of you. No one else will ever fuck you like this.”
I lean down, my chest pressing against her bent legs, my mouth at her ear. “You’re going to come for me again, and you’re going to scream my name while you do it.”
My thrusts turn savage, my hand sliding between us to rub her clit in hard, fast circles. She’s already trembling, her body clenching tightly around me.
“Come on, Astra,” I urge, my voice a low growl. “Show me who you belong to.”
She breaks, crying out my name as her orgasm rips through her, her walls spasming around my cock. I keep thrusting, chasing my own release, her tightness squeezing me until I spill inside her again with a deep, guttural groan.
When I finally ease her legs down, she’s winded, boneless, her skin flushed and glistening. I keep my cock buried inside her as I lean over, my lips next to her neck.
“You think I’m done with you?” I roll my hips, slowly and deliberately, pulling another gasp from her. “No, Astra. I’m nowhere near done. I’m going to fuck you again…and again…until you can’t remember your own name—only mine.”
The early morning light cuts through the palace corridors in sharp angles as I make my way to my office, my boots echoing against the polished marble floors.
The familiar weight of exhaustion has been replaced by something else entirely—clarity, satisfaction, the kind of bone-deep contentment that comes from having thoroughly claimed what’s mine.
Like most mornings lately, Astra is still asleep in our bed, sprawled across silk sheets like something out of a painting. The memory of her beneath me, around me, completely undone and mine, sends heat spiraling through my chest even now.
I sit behind my desk, the heavy burden of political intrigue replacing the satisfaction of last night.
Reports are scattered across the mahogany surface—fragments of information about a bloodline that supposedly doesn’t exist, references to “systematic eradication” that turn my stomach, investigations into what Draven has been up to, accounts of the losses the Tashina family is now facing since they’ve lost favor with the Crown Prince.
I’m three pages into a particularly cryptic document when heavy footsteps echo in the corridor outside.
Unhurried, familiar, unmistakably authoritative.
The door opens without a knock, because of course it does.
My father strides in like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He is dressed simply this morning, no royal regalia, but his presence still fills the room like he’s wearing the crown. Luna trots in behind him and leaps onto my desk to perch near the window.
“Working early again?” he asks, settling into the chair across from my desk without invitation.
“Someone has to.” I don’t look up from the papers. “What do you want?”
“Can’t a father visit his son?”
Now I do look up, one eyebrow raised. “Not at this hour. Not unless there’s a crisis.”
He shrugs, and Luna abandons my desk to jump onto his shoulder, curling up like she belongs there. The sight of my mate’s cat choosing my father over me—over her—sends an irrational spike of annoyance through my chest.
I blink at this unexpected betrayal. “What are you doing with Astra’s cat?”
“Mind your own business,” he says, scratching behind Luna’s ears with practiced ease. She melts under his attention, purring loud enough to wake the dead.
The rude dismissal rankles me, but before I can respond, he continues. “The tutors are being rather discourteous to your mate. You should deal with it.”
My eyes narrow. “She doesn’t need tutors.”
“The hell she doesn’t.” His voice carries the sharp edge of authority that still makes me straighten automatically. “Now that you’ve brought your mate here and want her to be the future queen, you must give her the arsenal that will protect her. Not make her the laughingstock of the kingdom.”
The words incite my possessiveness and anger. “No one would dare—”
“They already are.” His tone is flat, matter of fact.
“When was the last time she attended a court function? Met with the noble ladies? It’s been, what, six weeks now since she arrived here?
Seven? And in all that time, she has done nothing but hide in her garden like some exotic pet you keep locked away. ”
The questions hit like accusations because that’s exactly what they are. Six weeks. Has it really been that long?
“She’s been—”
“Isolated. The court is starting to whisper that you’re ashamed of her, that she’s not fit to be seen in polite society.” His voice turns sharp again. “Is that the impression you want to give? That the future queen of this kingdom is too fragile or too common to face her own subjects?”
Rage builds in my chest, hot and immediate. “I’ll—I’ll—”
“What? Threaten everyone into submission? Lock her away even more than you already have?” He leans forward, Luna adjusting her position on his shoulder with feline grace. “Stop suffocating her with your protectiveness.”
The accusation stings because it’s not entirely wrong. I have been keeping her close, keeping her safe, keeping her away from anything that might hurt her. But the alternative…
“Since when are you invested in looking after my mate?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs; the movement is casual, but his eyes stay sharp. “She has helped make my aches and pains go away. That tonic she gave me a couple weeks ago actually worked, unlike the swill the palace healers kept pushing on me.”
The fact that my father has been spending time with my mate—apparently enough time for her to be treating his ailments—is news to me. When has he been visiting her? How often?
“The palace staff adores her,” he continues. “She’s constantly making treatments for them—headache remedies for the maids, joint salves for the gardeners, sleep drafts for the guards pulling double shifts. They’d probably riot if anything happened to her.”
I’m stunned. I knew Astra was working in her garden, but I didn’t realize she was treating so many of the palace staff. The knowledge sits uneasily in my chest—another reminder of how much I’ve missed while drowning in all these investigations.
“The royal healers want to meet her, but she’s too…reluctant to leave her little sanctuary.”
The criticism in his tone is unmistakable. My jaw tightens. “She’s safe where she is.”
“She’s stagnating where she is.” Luna meows as if in agreement, the little traitor. “A future queen who can’t navigate court politics is a dead queen, Lucian. You’re setting her up to fail.”
The words land in my chest like lead weights. I want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but the truth is, I’ve been so focused on keeping her safe that I haven’t thought about what she needs to thrive in this world.
The Umbra Council looms in my mind—High Inquisitor Draven’s interest in her, the fragments of information about a supposedly extinct bloodline, the way danger seems to follow her like a shadow. How can I expose her to more threats when I’m still trying to understand the ones already targeting her?
“You say the tutors you assigned are being condescending,” I say finally. “If they can’t treat her with respect—”
“Then replace them with ones who will.” His tone suggests that this should be obvious. “But don’t abandon the idea entirely. She needs to learn how to be one of us or she’ll never survive what’s coming.”
What’s coming. The Council’s obsession with her, Draven’s probing questions, the way politics in this kingdom can turn deadly without warning. My father is correct—she needs more than my protection. She needs weapons of her own.
“Fine,” I say, the word coming out rougher than intended. “I will choose new tutors. And if any of them so much as look at her wrong—”
“You’ll eviscerate them, yes, I’m sure.” He scratches Luna’s chin, earning another rumbling purr. “Just remember that she needs to learn how to fight her own battles. You can’t always be there to shield her.”
The thought of not being there to protect Astra makes my insides twist violently. But he’s right. I can’t be with her every moment, and the capital is full of bad actors who will see her perceived weakness as an invitation.
“I’ll handle it,” I say finally.
“See that you do.” He rises from the chair, and Luna protests the loss of her comfortable perch with an indignant meow. “And, Lucian?”
I look up at him.
“Don’t suffocate her with your protectiveness. Your mate is stronger than you think. Stop treating her like she’s made of glass.”
With that, he strides toward the door, Luna trotting after him like a devoted servant. I watch them go, irritation and grudging acknowledgment warring in my chest.
My father is spot on, damn him. Astra is strong—strong enough to stand up to me, to survive everything that brought her to this palace. She deserves better than to be kept in a gilded cage, no matter how beautiful I’ve made it.
But the thought of letting her navigate the court’s treachery without me there to intervene makes my protective instincts roar in protest. Still, she needs more than protection.
She needs purpose, respect, the tools to carve out her own place in the kingdom.
And I need to swallow my possessive instincts long enough to give her what she needs to thrive.
Even if it kills me to watch her fight battles I can’t fight for her.
I’m still contemplating my father’s words when a measured, professional knock echoes through the office.
“Enter.”