Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
P eople gasp and whisper at my declaration.
Anassa’s attention pulses down our bond, and I slam the iron wall down between us, unable to handle or process what I’m feeling at this moment, let alone how she might react.
I’m used to facing down a bloody beating, or an empty stomach, or my mother’s ravings. I’m even getting used to the threat of death and dismemberment, being part of this crazy place, participating in these insane Trials.
But the weight of the whole ballroom’s eyes on me is another thing entirely.
If it weren’t for Killian’s arms around my hips, I might have already bolted. Instead, I lean back into his solid weight for a moment, letting his reassuring presence ground me.
“Shall we?” he purrs into my ear, and the pleasurable shiver that races down my spine does wonders to dispel the anxiety about our audience.
I pivot in his grasp, placing my hands for a waltz. It’s only then that I realize even the music has died down in the aftermath of my declaration. Killian must realize the same, because he signals sharply to the musicians on their riser, and they awkwardly launch back into the song they had been playing before.
Curious noble couples make their way to the dance floor around us, using the waltz as an excuse to come closer, examine this Rawbond who dares to touch their prince. I fix my eyes on the elegant lines of Killian’s neck, his powerful shoulders. Pretend that nothing beyond him exists in this moment.
“Your training must be going well,” Killian whispers to me and my eyes fly up to his. He’s smirking. “I’m not sure I’ve ever danced with a partner who’s gripped me quite this hard before.”
I laugh and relax a fraction. The whirling of our steps and the floating music and the tension leaving me gives me a curious sensation, as if we’re in a dream, or a vision.
That’s when it finally sinks in. No more hiding. No more sneaking. I’m his, and he’s mine—and now everybody knows it.
No taking that back.
Things are only going to be more complicated for a while. But with Killian’s strong arms around me, claiming me, it’s suddenly hard to care.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, holding me close enough to kiss. His thumb traces little patterns on my waist, silently echoing the desire in his eyes. “You look like a queen in this dress.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For saying that, and for the dress. It’s absolutely perfect.”
His gaze on mine is steady. “It’s perfect for you. And yet, all I can think about is taking it off you,” he says.
“While everyone’s watching ?” I whisper, playfully scandalized.
He grins. “Definitely not. All the delicious wonders under that dress are for me and me alone.”
Killian doesn’t let me go when the song ends. We dance the next one together, and the next, and the next. At some point I try to find my packmates in the crowd—seeking out Izabel’s face, in particular—but when I spot her and Tomison, they’re chatting at one of the food tables, eyes turned away from the dance floor.
I should probably talk to her, find Venna too and explain myself, but just staying upright feels overwhelming at the moment.
And through it all, there’s Stark, a dark presence lurking at the edges of the room, watching us with unwavering focus.
I don’t know what his problem is—and right now, I don’t give a damn. Even the burn of his predatory gaze can’t pierce the bubble of happiness that surrounds me and Killian.
Eventually, he says, “I think it’s time you met my father, don’t you?”
The glow of romantic delirium abruptly dims, cut by a bolt of raw anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” Killian whispers with smiling reassurance. “I’ll be right there with you. Just smile and try to be deferential.”
I nod and allow him to lead me to the dais where the King holds court with a dozen lounging nobles.
Smile and be deferential. Sure. No problem. I can do that. Even though the king is the cause of so much of my and my family’s misery. I can pretend, for Killian.
Right?
King Cyril looks up as we approach, but doesn’t rise from his ornate, throne-like chair. The wolf-pommel sword lies across his lap, as always, displayed for everyone to see. He’s wearing a different crown than usual, something ornate and even more flashy, with dozens of multi-colored gems embedded in the spires of gold.
Audelie sits on his lap again, quiet and exposed in her sheer dress. She doesn’t meet my eyes, though her head is held high. I wonder, briefly, what she thinks of this.
While Killian introduces me with princely formality, I meet the King’s pale, eerie gaze. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him up close. I can see where Killian gets his features, though King Cyril’s face is harder and lined with age.
As I bow to him, the King’s assessing gaze turns almost invasive. Like he’s mentally stripping me down to my component parts, weighing each one’s ultimate value.
Like I’m not a person so much as a product he’s thinking of purchasing.
“Ah, yes,” he drawls when Killian’s introduction is finished. “The commoner Rawbond. I’ve heard much about you from my son, though nothing quite as impressive as your ruthless efficiency during the Purge Trial.” His gaze sharpens with memory—and a horrible gleam of pleasure.
“I’ve seldom seen a Rawbond dispatch one of her comrades so unhesitatingly,” he purrs. “You were grace and brutality personified, my dear. One could almost imagine you enjoyed ordering that woman’s death. It’s always nice to see a little girl-on-girl action.”
The edge of sensuality in his tone makes my stomach lurch with disgust. He speaks of Perielle’s death like it was staged specifically for his pleasure.
Bile rises in my throat as I force myself to give the response expected of me.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m… honored that my performance pleased you.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.
He nods in regal acknowledgment, apparently satisfied with my gratitude. Then something subtly shifts in his demeanor. The king’s eyes flick between me and Killian, that assessing gaze taking on new weight.
“Killian, your choice is acknowledged with due approbation.” He gives me a smile of kingly satisfaction. “Be honored, Meryn Cooper.”
I blink in confusion as Killian bows beside me, then places a hand on my waist and guides me down from the dais.
When Killian turns to smile at me with triumph glowing in his eyes, I realize what just happened.
The king has formally approved of our relationship.
I know I should be happy, but the words still tug at me. Due approbation? Why did he say it like that?
“That was a little weird,” I mutter.
“It was,” Killian agrees. He leads me off to the side of the ballroom, where he fetches me a glass of sparkling emberwine. I down it in a single gulp, eager to forget the loathsome weight of the king’s gaze.
“Steady there, kitten,” Killian teases, then his gaze sharpens, the intensity making me flush. “Don’t get too drunk. I have plans for you.”
I blush, looking around to see if anyone has heard him. The nobles and Rawbonds nearby are pretending to carry on their own conversations, but I can tell they’re just disguising their sidelong looks.
“Tell me about these plans,” I murmur, stepping closer.
Killian’s mouth quirks, one hand tightening around my hip in a way that makes my thighs tighten. “I’d rather show you.”
A thrill of arousal pulses through me. “Yes, please.”
“Excellent.” He pulls me close and whispers, “There’s a servant’s entrance over by the west balcony. We’ll slip out when nobody is looking.”
We make our way to the entrance, Killian driving off curious nobles with nothing more than a look.
A few minutes later, we’re safely ensconced in his chambers.
Killian guides me into his bedroom and then lights the fireplace himself rather than calling on his servants. It’s an intimate gesture that reminds me of our days in the city—back when he was just Lee, a palace messenger stealing romantic moments with a bloodied street fighter.
Damn, so much has changed. He’s a prince, I’m bonded to a direwolf, and the king himself just authorized our relationship before the entire court.
Again, I tell myself I should be happy about King Cyril’s public approval, but a lingering uneasiness pushes the feeling away.
As the warm firelight casts the room in a rich golden glow, words bubble up inside me.
“Killian… your father…”
Killian straightens from the fireplace and turns to look at me. “Yes?”
“The way he talked about Perielle’s death,” I begin hesitantly. “He spoke of it as though he enjoyed it. I killed Perielle out of necessity. For the good of the pack. But King Cyril made it feel… dirty.”
Killian’s face darkens. “I know. I’m sorry, Mer. He’s…” He sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it onto a nearby wingback chair. “My father’s bloodthirsty nature is precisely why things must change.”
Brow furrowing, he crosses to the window and looks out over the world beyond—the kingdom he will someday rule.
Moonlight silvers his handsome profile as he murmurs, “I want to change it. The current system—all the bloodshed, the cruelty. I want to believe there’s a way to fix it. With the right ruler at the helm. One who doesn’t view death as a form of entertainment.”
He turns to look at me and something in his face makes my heart stutter.
“You could be that ruler,” I murmur, my mind drifting briefly again to my traitorous thoughts when I was in the city earlier today. That Killian will make a much better king than his father.
He smiles a little, then crosses the room to me, holding my gaze with a gravity that tightens my throat.
Killian takes my chin firmly in his fingers, tilting my face up until our lips nearly touch. His breath is hot against mine, and my lips part, hungry for his touch. But instead of kissing me, he spins me around, hooking his chin down over my shoulder, pressing bruising kisses into my neck.
“I could be that ruler,” he growls. “And you could be by my side.”
My breath catches—we haven’t talked about this, not truly, since I found out who he really is. All our conversations about our future from the time we spent together as Meryn and Lee are so distant, now that everything has changed. Now that we have changed.
I want to have this conversation, but my mind goes blank as he takes my earlobe into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth. Sharp sparks of heat gather at my core, and I press back into him eagerly.
He’s already rock hard for me. The layered material of my dress doesn’t do much to disguise his length, pressed firm against my ass.
In three short steps, Killian walks us forward until we’re against the wall, still worrying my skin with his teeth as we move. I lean against the tapestry covering the wall, breath coming fast. The fibers of the weaving tease my already-flushed skin, goosebumps pebbling up and down my arms.
Killian yanks my dress up and over my head, tossing it to the floor behind us. Then, he pins my arms in place and presses himself against me, his cock straining against the material of his dress pants. With his other hand, he makes short work of my breast bindings, which soon fall to the floor, followed quickly by my underthings. I shiver, arousal pulsing through me.
The sudden cool air against my naked skin, against my folds, makes me gasp. Panting, I twist my neck to look back at him and he smirks. “Naughty girl,” he rumbles, his voice making my thighs clench, wet heat already spreading down from my core.
He presses even closer, so that my nipples graze against the tapestry in front of me, the scratchy weave against my sensitive skin making me cry out. Without warning, his hand is suddenly there between my legs, fingers moving in confident strokes up and over my clit, down to my entrance, dipping inside, then pushing harder, stretching me.
“You’re mine,” he says, mouth hot against my ear. His hand presses my wrists even more firmly into the wall, hard enough to ache, but the sensation only makes me more turned on.
“Say it,” he instructs, his fingers playing with my clit lightly, then pulling away to wrestle with the fastens of his pants. “Say you belong to me.”
I gasp, desperate for his touch to return. “ Killian .”
“Who do you belong to?” His voice is rough, and he knees my legs open. He presses against me, into me, the thick head of his cock stretching me even more, but then stopping, teasing me.
“I’m yours,” I gasp, bucking my hips, trying to ease him further inside of me. “I’m all yours!”
“And now everyone knows it.” His teeth sink into my neck and then in one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside of me.
I cry out, startled by the fullness, seeing stars for a moment.
“You’re my good girl. Mine ,” he purrs, then licks the same spot on my neck his teeth just teased, his voice and words and teeth and tongue sending liquid heat through me until I can barely stand.
My knees weaken and I lean my weight back into him. His cock sinks impossibly deeper at the changed position and I cry out, “Please.”
“Please what, kitten?” Killian moves his hips subtly and I stretch even more around him, my core clenching down at the sensation. His free hand comes up to tangle in my hair, and he grabs at the choppy ends, twisting his fingers and pulling my head back hard until his lips are against my cheek. “Beg.”
“Please, fuck me ,” I moan, and he finally does, drawing out of me almost entirely before slamming back in to the hilt.
My body presses into the wall, my cheek pressed against the rough weaving, my breasts and belly flush against the wall. Killian’s hand drops from my wrists and he grabs my hips roughly, lifting me up with every stroke, only to slam me down on top of him as he pushes in, deeper than I’ve ever felt before.
I’m moaning, sobbing almost, incoherent. Then suddenly he’s gone, and I pivot to see him moving back toward the bed.
“Get over here,” he orders, and I move before I realize what I’m doing, desperate for his hands back on me, his cock back in me. I move to get onto the bed but he catches my hips and drags me backward, bending me over the mattress, my feet on the floor, my face pressed into the plush blankets and furs.
Before I can get my bearings, he’s inside me again, driving into me faster and harder with every stroke. I try to twist to look at him and he presses me firmly into the bed with one hand, and I moan against the blanket.
“Fuck!” I cry.
He’s breathing hard now, too, his pace picking up until I can hear that hitch in his breath that means he’s going to come. I grind myself against the edge of the mattress, my swollen clit throbbing with pleasure as he slams into me again and again.
I’m so close, almost at the edge…
“ Fuck , Meryn!” Killian shouts, and then he spills his hot seed inside me, filling me even more. Desperately, I try to reach my hand down to touch myself, needing my own release, but he grabs my hand and puts it back above my head.
“Don’t move,” he orders, and then pulls out, cold air rushing over my back and legs where he was pressing against me just a moment ago.
Then I feel it—his hand cups my folds, catching his come as it spills out of me. His fingers, soft but insistent, circle my clit, dip inside of me, teasing, getting me closer and closer before pulling away.
“Please, Killian, please,” I sob into the blankets as he fucks me with his fingers, my core clenching over and over, so close to the edge.
When he finally allows me my release, it rips through me like a shockwave.
Killian flips me over to face him, one hand coming up to play with my nipple lazily, then pinch it hard.
The sensation almost puts me over the edge a second time, and tears come to my eyes, my breath going ragged. Killian sees the tears well. Watches them spill over.
He says nothing—just gathers me up into his arms and pulls me fully onto the bed beside him, pillows me against his chest, holding me while I weep in silent relief.
I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.