53. Sybilla
Chapter 53
Sybilla
T he words on that parchment had been cutting. But his actions were adding up to something different, something more —something that neither of us seemed prepared for, but neither of us could prevent either.
With nothing between us but clear water and the light of the moon, I’d made my mind up.
I still wanted all of him.
No halfway point, no moderation.
I knew he was capable of more.
“There are plenty of things a prospective husband should loathe about me. For one, I can’t promise to be polite, cordial or patient when I don’t want to be. I won’t be mild-mannered or obedient. I can’t help but curse when I’m angry—”
“Sybilla,” he said, trying to cut me off.
“Let me finish, you insufferable bastard,” I snapped, and his brows lifted with entirely too much interest. Sadistic prick.
A prick that I’d happily climb and let take me right here in the spring. I wanted him too much to deny it any longer. I’d rather be angry with him, than angry without him.
I continued, “I am not without faults—I will fight you, every day, tooth and nail, on everything. My corridor may come before your needs. My duty to my realm may make our discussions heated. And if you even think about touching another, then I’ll be blind and murderous with jealousy.”
The lamplight flickered across his satisfied expression, which made me want to lay my feelings bare.
“But I will also fight for you and your realm just as hard. I will not falter in the face of anything, because I’ve fallen for you. Somehow, no matter how intolerable you act, you’re who I see in my future. I see you leading beside me. Maybe not always together on every matter, but I see you there no less.”
He was quiet, all amusement washing from his face.
A lump formed in my throat. Being naked had nothing to do with how vulnerable I felt.
My confidence faltered.
I’d misread him.
“If you do not feel the same, say so now. We can forget this.”
“I wouldn’t be able to,” he said.
My shoulders deflated. He’d said so few words in response to so many.
“I couldn’t forget you,” he clarified. “Nor would I have been able to let you walk away easily, knowing that you might have wanted something more. I tried so hard to convince myself that I could never be what you want—what you need.”
He stepped closer, intensity flaring in his eyes as he put a finger beneath my chin and tipped my head up. Water from his hair dripped onto me.
“It’s you that I see for my future too. And it has nothing to do with an old book or a prophecy within it. I want you. However you come, however many obstacles you set in my way. I will never be the perfect husband, but I can work on being perfect for you.”
There was no current in the water, yet I felt pulled closer to him. My breasts brushed against his chest. “I have some conditions,” I added.
“Why does that not surprise me?” His hands skated up my arms and left goosebumps in their wake. “Name them.”
“You were right about that list. While I want a child, I want to be ready to be a mother...and I am not. I need you to understand that. However long it takes, I will work to set Caym back until I am sure.”
His hands halted on my shoulders. He looked pissed off.
Will he turn away now?
“You think that still weighs on my decision to want you?” Signature annoyance had leaked into his voice, but also something akin to worry.
I tried to reason with him. “I know the prophecy requires urgency but—”
“Fuck the prophecy. We’ll change it,” he cut me off. He brushed his lips against my ear. “I said I will take you as you come. If you look in that satchel in the cavern, I even brought tonics to prevent conception in case you might consider being with me again. I don’t have conditions, Sybilla. So keep naming yours.”
His lips moved down my neck, dancing across my pulse point. So distracting. My core tightened with anticipation. I wanted so badly to feel him inside of me again. His words were even more distracting—the absolution in them. I would have his heir, but he was giving me control of the timeline and that lifted a weight of stress off my shoulders.
His willingness to offer so much more of himself than I’d ever imagined left me dizzy. A future, a partner, someone to laugh with, fight with, grow old with.
I almost forgot my next condition as he nipped at my shoulder and then kissed away the sting.
“Good then,” I choked out as one of his hands squeezed my waist and I pressed into him. “The next condition is that you will remove that statue from the bell tower.”
This time, he faltered and straightened. His expression dropped to something torn between anger and melancholy. It mirrored the look he’d had on his face when he’d started piecing together Ryn’s betrayal.
I regretted the way I’d phrased that sentence.
“Shit, no,” I continued. “Freya has been in that dark room alone for too long. Don’t you think? She deserves to see the light, to be seen and celebrated. I shouldn’t meddle...but I’ve already told you that isn’t something I can help. It seems she might like the main hall more...or maybe to be in Luz, where she’ll be closer to her homeland?”
He stood stone-still and silent for a beat. Then his posture softened, and his arms abruptly wrapped around me.
Thank the Sources.
My fingers dug into his back, and the weightlessness of being in the water made it easy to hitch my leg up on his hip. One of his arms slipped below my thigh to balance me. His free hand caught in my wet hair before his mouth took mine and I let out a breathy gasp.
There was something decadent about the way he tasted on my tongue—something tender about the way he felt. The last time we’d come together had been so frantic, so rushed. This kiss and his gentle touch were something new to savor.
Our bodies, slick against one another, tangled together. With my breasts pressed to his chest, his length rubbed against where I craved him most, and I groaned into his mouth.
We broke apart only to catch our breath. “Any other conditions?”
“We’ll settle the rest later,” I answered. “We have other things to settle tonight.”
His fingers dug into my hips as he whispered into my mouth, “Bedroll?”
I quickly nodded and squeaked in surprise when he lifted me out of the water. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me to the cavern. He placed me in front of one of the bedrolls. Feeling the press of his hard length against my stomach made my breath hitch when my feet met the rock ground.
Placing a hand on his chest, I pushed him back toward the rolled cushion. Lowering himself, he brushed his thumb along his bottom lip as he looked up at me gluttonously.
My inner thighs were already slick with need, and his unfiltered hunger as his stare dragged down me undid me further. My core clenched when he leaned back on his elbows, waiting for me. I straddled his hips and lowered myself onto my knees. Just one thrust up and he could fill me.
With merciless slowness, he grabbed my hips and pulled me down onto him, stretching me. I nearly broke then—my mouth hung open as a guttural sound left it.
“Do you even understand how beautiful you are when you’re too full of me to speak?”
He lay back, and his hands roamed from my hips up to my breasts. He took my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
I strung curses together beneath my breath, which ended up sounding more like nonsense than language, further proving his point. I had no more words. Only sensations that overwhelmed my senses as he drove up into me.
My hips rolled against him, seeking more.
“Use those filthy words now, Sybilla. Tell me how this feels.”
“Fucking incredible,” I gasped out. “You are incredible.”
He reached up and hooked one finger into my mouth to pull me by my lower lip to his. When he kissed me, it was a brand that would never leave me—a day without him in it wouldn’t go by without me noticing his absence.
“More,” I demanded between kisses. I tried to rock against him faster—hurried and reckless.
The moment had required no planning yet was heavy with so many commitments to each other. The only future I cared about was one where we tried to make it out of this mess alive so we could have more moments like this one, again and again.
“Slow down,” he said and grabbed my hips to hold me still as he thrust into me with labored breath. “I don’t want this to end so soon.”
Those words tore at a part of me that I’d long guarded. He loosened his grip, and we continued with a slowness that was more tender than hurried, more…just more.
“This is never going to end. You told me that before.” I leaned down and kissed him.
The faint groan he let out into my mouth was indulgent to all my senses. The stubble that rubbed my chin, his sounds, the smell of spice and smoke—it all enveloped me, and I couldn’t get enough. He thrust up, and I had to grip his hair to hold off my release.
“No, it isn’t,” he answered. Another thrust. Another groan.
His mind’s wards dropped. I felt every sensation he did, and he felt all of mine, too. Humming with each other’s pleasure, we toed the edge of release.
“We can’t keep fighting it,” I said. He answered by flipping me with one arm onto my back and driving into me deeper.
I gasped out, “Fuck…”
“We can’t,” he agreed and sucked in my lower lip, swallowing my string of curse words. He had no complaints about my vulgar language now.
My legs circled his waist, and there was nothing more I could say as he pushed into me once more and my walls around him clenched. Crying out, my resolve to hold out cracking, I tumbled over into a wave of pleasure. He buried his head between my neck and shoulder, riding out the end of my release.
He lifted to look me in the eyes as a satiated groan escaped his lips and he spilled into me. He wasn’t a man of many words, but as he pulsed inside me and his eyes searched mine, all his unspoken sentiments dawned upon me.
He’d never wanted to filet me.
He did not hate me.
He feared losing me.
He might even love me.
Krait used his Shadows to uncork the wine, and I unwrapped the cheeses with ravenous enthusiasm. He handed me a small vial of yellow-colored liquid that tasted awful but gave me the peace of mind that our romp wouldn’t have the consequence of a child. Not yet.
It would be on my terms.
We laid out the other bedroll and set up a small picnic there. Once half the loaf was gone and we’d eaten away at the skinned fruit, Krait watched as I took a drag of the wine bottle and settled down next to him.
There, naked, lying on his side and propped on an elbow, he looked like a painting. My very own debaucherous work of art—one that I could run my hands over. I’d sunk my fingers into the hair on his chest without thinking, and he smirked.
“You aren’t scared of this? It could go poorly.” I bit my lower lip.
He shrugged. “We have worse things to fear. Whatever comes next, there isn’t a soul alive that I’d rather face it with,” he said before taking the wine bottle. He stared at me with some indescribable intensity.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” This time, there was no sharpness to my tone; there was only curiosity.
“Marry me,” he answered.
I raised my brows. “That has already been settled.”
Our betrothal felt different now. It felt real. I’d skirted marriage for so long, yet I had no doubts this time.
“Tomorrow,” he clarified as he handed me the bottle.
I sat up on my elbow. “Tomorrow?” I balked, staring down at him as he relaxed into the bedroll.
“Yes.”
“Here?” I asked.
“Does it matter where?”
“No,” I answered. “No, it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow. Tonight even.”
His expression softened before he reached over and drew me to him. The bottle was discarded, spilling onto the rocks beside the bedroll. We fell asleep to the sound of the waterfall and each other’s hammering heartbeats.