Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Lirien
I dismiss my ladies as soon as propriety allows, unable to bear another moment of their excited chatter about wedding preparations and Prince Aldric's obvious charms. The moment the door closes behind them, I tear the diamonds from my ears and throat, flinging them onto my dressing table with satisfying little clinks. Fine chains tangle, earrings scatter, and I can't bring myself to care. Let them break. Let them be lost. Small rebellions are all I have left now.
My fingers work at the elaborate pins holding my hair in place, yanking them free without regard for the strands that come with them. Pain prickles my scalp, but it's a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. With each pin that clatters to the floor, I feel a fraction of the court persona slipping away, revealing the raw, wounded woman beneath.
"Princess Lirien Vellara, betrothed to Prince Aldric of Westland." I say the words aloud, testing their weight, finding them impossibly heavy. "Future queen of two united kingdoms."
The perfect political alliance. The culmination of my royal upbringing. Everything I was born to be.
And nothing I want.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, still wearing the emerald gown chosen specifically to impress my future husband. Husband. The word sticks in my throat like a fishbone. Prince Aldric seemed pleasant enough during our brief introduction—handsome in the bland way of nobility, respectful in his address, clearly pleased with the arrangement. He spoke of his kingdom with pride, of our alliance with enthusiasm, of me as if I were a particularly valuable mare he'd acquired at auction.
Not once did he ask what I wanted. Not once did he look at me and see beyond the crown.
Not like Dain.
The memory of last night rises unbidden—his hands in my hair, his mouth on mine, the scar rough against my fingertips. The way he looked at me in that safehouse, desire warring with duty. The honesty in his confession, the restraint that must have cost him dearly.
The contrast between those raw moments and today's carefully choreographed farce makes me want to scream. I press my palms against my eyes, willing back the tears that threaten. Princesses don't cry over political marriages. They accept their duty with grace and dignity.
But I don't feel like a princess tonight. I feel like a woman trapped in a gilded cage, watching her one chance at happiness slip away.
During the reception, I caught Dain's eye exactly once. That single glance nearly undid me—the barely contained fury in his expression, the possessive heat that made my skin flush despite the distance between us. For one wild moment, I imagined him cutting a path through the crowd, seizing my hand, leading me away from it all.
A fantasy, nothing more. Captain Vorex performed his duty impeccably today, as always. Standing at attention, face impassive, the perfect royal guard while his princess was promised to another man.
I rise restlessly, moving to the window that overlooks the palace gardens. Moonlight silvers the pathways and fountains, making them look like something from a fairy tale. How many times have I stared at this same view, dreaming of escape? And now, having tasted freedom for one night, the prospect of a lifetime of duty feels more suffocating than ever.
The betrothal celebration continues below, music and laughter drifting up from the great hall. By now, Prince Aldric will be deep in his cups, accepting congratulations, perhaps boasting of his good fortune in securing such an advantageous match. By tomorrow, negotiations for the marriage treaty will begin. By next month, preparations for the ceremony. By next year...
I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes against the future rushing toward me like a charging horse.
A soft knock at my chamber door startles me. "Enter," I call, assuming it's a maid come to help me undress.
The door opens, then closes with a decisive click. No rustle of skirts, no murmured "Your Highness." Just silence, heavy with presence.
I turn—and my heart stops.
Dain stands with his back to my door, still in his formal guard uniform, sword at his hip. But this is not the controlled, professional Captain Vorex who stood watch today. This man's eyes burn with something wild and dangerous, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his scar.
"Dain?" My voice emerges as a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
"Tell me you don't want him." The words are rough, almost guttural. "Tell me the thought of his hands on you doesn't make your skin crawl."
I should order him to leave. I should remind him of his place, of protocol, of the thousand reasons he shouldn't be in my chambers making demands.
Instead, I take a step toward him. "I don't want him."
"Say his name." Dain pushes away from the door, closing half the distance between us. "Tell me you don't want Prince Aldric of Westland to be your husband."
"I don't want Prince Aldric." Another step. "I don't want any prince or king or noble they might choose for me."
"What do you want, Lirien?" His voice drops lower, a dangerous rumble that sends heat spiraling through me. "Tell me what you want."
We're close enough now that I can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, can smell the faint scent of leather and metal that clings to him. Close enough to touch, if I dared.
"You." The admission falls from my lips like a stone into still water, creating ripples that can never be undone. "I want you, Dain. Only you."
Something breaks in his expression—restraint shattering like glass. He moves with the lethal speed that makes him such a formidable guard, closing the remaining distance between us in one stride. His hands cup my face, tilting it up to his, eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.
"There is no going back from this," he warns, giving me one last chance to retreat.
I don't want to retreat. I want to advance, to claim, to possess as fiercely as he does.
"I don't want to go back." I lift my hands to his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath my fingers. "I want to go forward. With you."
His mouth crashes down on mine with none of the restraint he showed in the alley. This kiss is possession, claiming, marking. His hands slide from my face to my hair, fingers tangling in the loose strands, holding me steady as he devours my mouth.
I match his intensity, opening to him, my arms winding around his neck to pull him closer. Our bodies press together, his armor hard against the softness of my gown. I should feel overwhelmed, even frightened by the ferocity of his desire. Instead, I feel liberated, exhilarated, finally free to want without reservation.
He walks me backward until my spine meets the solid wood of my chamber door. One hand leaves my hair to fumble with the lock, securing our privacy without breaking the kiss. The other slides down my throat, my collarbone, hovering at the edge of propriety.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my lips, "and I will."
My answer is to guide his hand to my breast, arching into his touch with a soft gasp. "Don't stop."
A growl rumbles through his chest as his palm covers me, thumb brushing over the peak that tightens beneath the layers of fabric. His mouth leaves mine to trace a burning path down my neck, teeth scraping lightly over sensitive skin.
"I watched him touch you today," he says against my throat, voice raw with remembered fury. "Watched him put his hands where mine should be. Watched you smile at him like a dutiful princess while your eyes screamed for escape."
"I hated every moment," I confess, head falling back against the door as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot beneath my ear. "I felt nothing when he touched me. Nothing but revulsion."
"And this?" His hand squeezes gently, making me gasp. "What do you feel now?"
"Everything." My fingers dig into his shoulders, seeking purchase as sensation threatens to overwhelm me. "I feel everything."
He lifts his head to look at me, something almost reverent entering his expression despite the heat still burning in his eyes. "I have wanted to touch you like this for years. To hear the sounds you make when pleasure overtakes you. To know every inch of your body better than I know my own."
His honesty undoes me. Tears prick my eyes—not of sadness but of relief, of recognition. "Then touch me, Dain. Make me forget everything but you."
He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands find the laces of my gown, working them with surprising dexterity for a soldier. As the bodice loosens, his fingers slip inside, brushing against skin that has never known a man's touch.
I gasp into his mouth, the sensation almost too much to bear. He swallows the sound, his hand gentle despite the urgency that vibrates through him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs as his palm cups my bare breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak. "So beautiful."
My body responds to his touch with a eagerness that might shame me if I weren't beyond caring about propriety. Heat pools low in my belly, between my thighs, making me restless against him. I arch into his hand, seeking more, though I'm not entirely sure what "more" entails.
He seems to understand my wordless plea. His free hand gathers the fabric of my skirt, raising it until he can slip beneath, his palm warm against my thigh through the thin material of my underthings.
"May I?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.
"Yes." The word is barely audible, but he hears it.
His fingers slide higher, tracing patterns on sensitive skin, moving inexorably toward the heat at my center. When he finally touches me there, through the silk, I cry out, unprepared for the jolt of pleasure that races through me.
"Shh," he soothes, his mouth finding mine again to silence my sounds. "The guards will hear."
The reminder of where we are—of who we are—should douse the fire building between us. Instead, it only adds to the forbidden thrill. Here, pressed against my chamber door with my royal guards just outside, the captain of those guards is touching me in ways no man ever has.
His fingers move with deliberate skill, finding places that make me tremble, that make my knees weak. When the silk barrier becomes too much, he shifts it aside, touching me directly for the first time.
"Dain," I gasp against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as sensation threatens to overwhelm me.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his free arm around my waist supporting my weight as my legs threaten to give way. "Let go, Lirien. Let me see you fall apart."
His words, combined with the increasingly insistent rhythm of his fingers, send me hurtling toward something I've only read about in forbidden books smuggled into my chambers. My body tenses, then shatters into a thousand pieces of pure pleasure. I bury my face against his neck to muffle my cries as waves of sensation wash over me.
He holds me through it, murmuring praise and endearments against my hair, his touch gentling as the intensity subsides. When I can breathe again, I lift my head to find him watching me with naked adoration.
"That," he says softly, "is how your betrothed should make you feel. That is what you deserve."
I grab his face and pull his lips down to meet mine.
He immediately takes control of the kiss, pulling my body flush against his as he humps his hard erection against me through his clothing. “Jesus, sweet princess, what you do to me. If you only knew all the ungodly ways I’ve fantasized of taking you. Selfish bastard that I am I want to be the one to shred your virginity. The only one to ever be in between your sweet thighs.
The raw possessiveness in his words should frighten me, but instead it ignites something primal within me. I press closer, feeling the hard evidence of his desire against my stomach.
"Show me," I whisper against his mouth. "Show me those fantasies."
He groans, his hands tightening on my waist. "Not like this. Not rushed against a door with guards outside who could interrupt at any moment."
"I don't care." My fingers work at the fastenings of his uniform jacket, clumsy with inexperience but determined. "I want you. All of you."
He captures my hands, stilling them against his chest. "I care." His voice softens, though desire still darkens his eyes. "Your first time shouldn't be a hurried coupling borne of rebellion. You deserve better than that."
I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but in an act of sheer desperation, I fall to my knees in front of him. I follow some inate instinct as I palm him through his trousers. His hisses in a breath as his head falls back, his fingers tangling in my hair.
My hands are shaking as I free him from his constraints. His sex bobs out, and I wrap my hands around it. It’s huge and hot and heavy with moisture beading it at the tip. I lick my lips and lean forward, tasting him.
“Dear sweet mother of god,” he curses. “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” groans as I begin to suck on his tip.
His fingers wind tighter in my hair, guiding me, his body trembling with restraint. I look up through my lashes, emboldened by the raw need etched across his face.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he growls, voice barely recognizable. "The innocent princess on her knees, mouth around me like she was made for this."
I'm drunk on his reaction, on the power I feel despite my submission. I take him deeper, following his wordless guidance, learning what makes his breath catch, what draws those delicious sounds from his throat.
"Enough," he finally gasps, pulling me away. "I won't finish like this. Not the first time."
In one fluid motion, he lifts me from the floor and carries me to my bed, laying me down with surprising gentleness given the desperation in his eyes. My gown is half-undone, my hair a wild tangle, my lips swollen from his kisses.
"Look at you," he murmurs, standing at the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight of me. "If you could see yourself through my eyes..."
"Show me," I whisper, reaching for him. "Show me how you see me."
He sheds his uniform with military efficiency—jacket, weapons belt, boots—until he stands before me in just his trousers, chest bare and magnificent in the moonlight filtering through my window. The scar on his jaw is just one of many that mark his body, each telling a story of battles fought and survived.
When he joins me on the bed, hovering above me with his weight braced on his forearms, I reach up to trace the largest scar—a jagged line across his ribs.
"For you," he says simply. "All of them, for you."
The admission steals my breath. I pull him down to me, needing his weight, his heat, the solid reality of him after years of distance.
His mouth finds mine again as his hands work at my gown, sliding it down my body until I lie beneath him in nothing but thin silk underthings. I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but instead I feel powerful, desired, alive in ways I never have before.
"Are you certain?" he asks one last time, his voice rough with need but eyes serious. "Once I take you, there's no going back. You'll never belong to your prince, not really. Not in the ways that matter."
"I never wanted to belong to him." My hands frame his face, thumbs stroking the stubble along his jaw. "I've been yours since you took that knife for me. I just didn't know it until now."
Something breaks open in his expression—the last of his restraint giving way to naked hunger. He captures my mouth in a kiss that's pure possession, hands roaming my body with reverent greed.
When he finally removes the last barriers between us, when his body joins with mine in a moment of exquisite pain and pleasure, I feel the world shift beneath me. My body arches as he pushes deeper, his thickness stretching me in ways I never imagined. The pain flares bright then dissolves into something else entirely—a building pressure that makes me claw at his back.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a rasp against my ear. "I want to see your eyes when I claim you."
I obey, locking my gaze with his as he begins to move. Slow, controlled thrusts that make me gasp and writhe beneath him. His eyes never leave mine—dark with possession, tender with something I'm afraid to name.
"That's it, princess," he murmurs, adjusting his angle until I cry out. "Let me hear you."
My hands grip his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch and flex with each movement. The silk sheets slide beneath my back as he drives me higher, deeper into sensations I never knew existed.
"Dain," I whisper, his name a prayer on my lips. "Please."
I don't even know what I'm begging for, but he seems to understand. His movements quicken, one hand sliding between our bodies to touch me where we're joined. The pressure inside me builds to something unbearable.
"Let go," he urges, his own control fraying. "I've got you."
When release comes, it shatters me completely. I feel myself splintering into a thousand pieces of light as waves of pleasure crash through my body. Dain follows moments later, his powerful body tensing above me, my name a broken sound on his lips.
Reality crashes back, unwelcome but unavoidable. I am still Princess Lirien, still promised to Prince Aldric, still bound by duty and expectation. What just happened between us—beautiful, transformative—is still forbidden.
"What are we going to do?" I whisper, my hands framing his face, thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw, the roughness of his scar.
He turns to press a kiss to my palm. "I don't know yet. But I will not lose you to him, Lirien. I cannot."
The fierce possessiveness in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it feels like a lifeline in the stormy sea of my future.
"I don't want to be lost." I rest my forehead against his, our breath mingling in the small space between us. "I want to be found. By you."
He kisses me again, tender this time, a promise rather than a claiming. "Then I will find a way. Trust me."
And despite everything—the impossibility of our situation, the duty that binds me, the consequences we would face if discovered—I do trust him. This man who has guarded my body for seven years, who now guards my heart with equal fervor.
"Stay with me tonight," I whisper, a plea I never thought I'd make.
Regret flashes across his face. "I cannot. The risk is too great. Your ladies will return soon to prepare you for bed, and my absence from my post would be noted."
He's right, of course. But the thought of him walking away now, of returning to pretense and protocol after what we've shared, is unbearable.
"Tomorrow night, then?" I ask, hating the vulnerability in my voice.
His expression softens. "Tomorrow and every night I can manage it without risking your reputation. This I swear."
He helps me straighten my clothing, his touch lingering as if he can't bear to stop touching me. When I'm presentable again, he steps back, visibly gathering his control around him like armor.
"Remember this," he says, his voice low and intent, "when your prince speaks of alliance and advantage. Remember what it feels like to be wanted for yourself alone, not for your crown or your kingdom."
"I'll remember." How could I forget? My body still hums with the echo of his touch, my lips still bear the imprint of his kiss.
He unlocks the door, checking the corridor before turning back to me one last time. The guard captain is firmly back in place—posture straight, expression neutral. Only his eyes betray him, still burning with everything he feels for me.
"Goodnight, Your Highness," he says formally, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
"Goodnight, Captain Vorex," I respond in kind, maintaining the charade.
But as he closes the door between us, I know with bone-deep certainty that everything has changed. I am still a princess, still bound by duty and tradition and the weight of a kingdom's expectations.
But now, I am also a woman who knows what it means to be truly wanted. And I will not settle for less again.