5. Boundaries and Bargains
BOUNDARIES AND BARGAINS
The dawn crept in like a nosy old aunt, sliding fingers of sunlight across the bed and over Allora's cheek.
She stirred, stretching languidly in the warmth, feeling smug.
Victorious. She'd done it—she'd used her body as leverage, her cunning tongue, that irresistible charm she was so proud of, and she'd won.
As far as she was concerned, she was unstoppable.
She could probably seduce her way right onto the throne if she wanted, Malec chained up in the dungeon, sobbing for her touch while she strutted around in furs and jewels.
She smirked to herself, picturing him behind bars, begging her to visit.
Maybe she'd make him wait a year or two before she deigned to let him kiss her boots.
She was so caught up in her devious little daydream that it took her a moment to realize the room had changed around her, and not in a good way.
This was not her room.
It looked similar at first glance—tall black iron windows, heavy curtains—but the colors were wrong.
Her chamber was green and cream, soft and serene, while this space was draped in rich charcoal and deep bronze, every surface meticulous and masculine.
The air even smelled different, darker somehow, tinged with leather and the faintest trace of clove.
Her smugness curdled. Slowly, she turned her head.
And there he was.
Malec, sprawled beside her on his back like he owned the whole world, silver hair mussed, chest bare, a look of utter serenity softening his angular features. He looked... peaceful. Relaxed in a way she'd never seen him. Like every tension that usually coiled through his body had finally released.
What. The. Hell.
Her heart leapt into her throat. No. No, no, no, no, no?—
She ransacked her memory, sifting through the fog of last night.
The bath. The bargaining. His hands on her hips, her mouth on his throat.
That moment when she'd thought she'd won, and then...
the wine. Multiple goblets of that sweet orange blossom wine he kept pouring.
The way her edges had softened, the world going hazy and warm.
Her carefully constructed walls crumbling as exhaustion and alcohol pulled her under.
Oh gods, I got wasted.
Mortification crashed over her in waves. She hadn't been drugged. She'd been drunk. Stupidly, carelessly drunk. And instead of triumphantly returning to her own chambers to savor her victory, she'd apparently stumbled right into his bed like some besotted fool.
She tried to sit up, but an iron band of muscle slid around her waist, yanking her back against the heat of his body.
Fuck. It's awake.
She twisted to look at him, prepared to see anger or smugness or that cold calculating look he got when he'd been bested.
She'd manipulated him, after all. Seduced him into promising her what she wanted.
He should be furious. Humiliated. Plotting revenge.
Instead, she was met with the most infuriating expression she'd ever seen: a lazy, contented smile.
His sun-warmed amber eyes were half-lidded, warm and soft in a way that made her chest constrict.
There was no rage or bitterness or wounded pride.
Only pure, unadulterated contentment, as though he'd woken up on the best morning of his entire life.
"Good morning, my beautiful dark canariae," he murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep. "You look... edible."
The tenderness in his tone made her want to scream. Where was the argument? The cold fury? Why wasn't he throwing her manipulation back in her face?
Her scowl could have shattered glass. "Get out."
Malec hummed in the back of his throat, unconcerned, and nuzzled the curve of her shoulder like a cat seeking warmth. "No."
"No?" she hissed.
His smile widened, the dimple she hated peeking out. "No. I've decided to indulge myself."
He tucked a wild curl behind her ear as though she hadn't just threatened to eviscerate him.
His fingertips traced the delicate shell of her ear before dragging down her jaw with excruciating gentleness.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this.
Soft, sleep-warm and still tasting of me. "
There was passion in his voice that twisted a knife in her gut. Not possession, though that was there too. It was yearning. Pure, unfiltered yearning that he wasn't even trying to hide.
Heat shot up her neck, fury and humiliation tangling in her chest. She shoved at his shoulder. "I said…get out!"
He chuckled, the sound low and maddening, and had the gall to look amused. "Perhaps you've forgotten—you're in my bed. The same bed where you begged me to stay while falling asleep in my arms, which is where you belong."
She jolted upright, eyes huge. "I didn't beg for anything. I got drunk and made a tactical error."
"Mmm." He pulled her back down with infuriating ease, wrapping both arms around her waist and burying his face in her hair. "Call it what you want. You're here. That's all that matters."
"You should be angry!" The words burst out of her before she could stop them. "I manipulated you. I used sex to get what I wanted. You should be furious with me."
Malec went still for a moment. Then, to her absolute horror, he laughed. A warm, genuine sound that rumbled through his chest and into her back.
"Furious?" He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another to the curve of her neck.
"My love, I finally slept through the night for the first time in weeks.
The soul-tether isn't clawing at my insides.
My body doesn't feel like it's being torn apart from the inside.
And I woke up with my wife in my arms." His voice dropped to an unbearable softness. "Why would I be angry?"
Wife. The word hit her like a slap.
"I am not your wife."
"You will be." He said it with such casual certainty it made her want to hit him. "You already are, in every way that matters. The tether knows. My body knows as well as my soul and so does yours. I felt it last night through the Vash’telor."
"You're delusional," she spat. "I used you. Don't you understand that? I played you like a fiddle to get what I wanted. Any sane person would be pissed!”
"I know." His lips curved against her skin. "And I loved every second of it."
The genuine happiness in his voice made her want to scream. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to rage, to feel betrayed, to punish her for daring to manipulate him. Instead, he was lying there acting like she'd given him the greatest gift in the world.
"You're supposed to suffer," she said, hating how her voice cracked.
"Oh, I did suffer." His arms tightened around her.
"Every day you weren't beside me was agony. Each night I woke up reaching for you and finding cold sheets was torture. The Vash’telor has been eating me alive, little dove.
But this?" He pressed his forehead to her shoulder blade.
"This is worth any amount of suffering. Waking up and you're here.
You, real and in my arms. I don't care how I got here. I'm just grateful I did."
Allora’s throat closed. Anger or punishment would have been easier to face.
His pure, unfiltered joy at simply having her near made her feel like the cruelest person alive.
And part of her, a small traitorous voice growing louder by the day, wanted to turn around, burrow into his chest, and let him hold her like this forever.
She hated him for making her feel that way.
"Let me go," she whispered.
"Never." The word was a vow. "You can manipulate me every day for the rest of our lives if it means waking up like this. Seduce me, use me, play whatever games you want. I'll lose gladly as long as you stay."
And that, she realized with dawning horror, was exactly the problem. He didn't care that she'd won. He was just happy she'd played.
Her hands curled into fists, and her next words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I still hate you," she hissed.
His grin grew, slow and bright, infuriatingly unbothered. "Good," he murmured. "I'd be worried if you didn't."
"Well you broke your word!" she snapped. "You promised me a week alone at Surian's."
"I promised you nothing that would endanger you.
And you were not well." His fingers tightened on the sheets.
"You're still not well," he added quietly, his gaze flicking down her body, checking her over with that infuriating tenderness she didn't want to see.
"You were at death's door, Allora. Forgive me for not waiting politely for your permission to watch over you. "
Her stomach churned, but she refused to let him see how his softness affected her. She looked down and only then realized he still had her wrist caught in his hand, his thumb lazily stroking her pulse.
"Let go of me," she ground out. "You ugly bitch!"
For a heartbeat, the room held. Then he laughed. Really laughed. A bright, startled sound that cracked the heavy tension. No one had called Malec Talandros such a thing to his face in decades. Possibly ever. But she had, and he was smiling like he'd just received the greatest gift imaginable.
His fingers finally loosened, releasing her wrist. "As you wish," he said, still chuckling. "Anyone impressively savage enough to say that has earned their freedom."
She scrambled off the bed, cheeks burning, heart slamming in her ribs. But before she could reach the door, his voice caught her.
"Allora."
She froze, hating herself for it.
"You're still staying in the Capitol. With Surian. I gave you my word last night, and I meant it."
She turned slowly, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "And what's the catch?"
He sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist, silver hair falling across his forehead in a way that should have been illegal. "No catch. You won. I lost. That's how negotiations work, isn't it?"
"Since when do you accept defeat gracefully?"