Chapter 51
TREW
Isi’s hair had come loose from its braid sometime during the night, spilling like liquid honey across my chest and the pillow we shared. Each strand caught the morning light, turning amber and gold.
I lay still, hardly daring to breathe, listening to the soft rhythm of her mumbling and savoring how, even in sleep, she edged closer to me.
With rest, the sharp edges of wariness she wore like armor had melted away, leaving only the woman beneath.
Her skin felt like warm silk beneath my fingers, and the scent of her hair filled my senses.
The sheets had tangled around our legs during the night, creating a cocoon of warmth and closeness that made the rest of the world feel very far away.
Morning light pooled across her bare shoulder, and I memorized the way it illuminated the delicate line of her collarbone, the gentle curve of her arm.
She could have anyone. Princes, kings, heroes from songs. Instead, she was here with the rebel accused of murder. I didn’t deserve this gift, but I’d worship it every day until I was worthy.
She stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips, and my heart stopped.
She was in my bed, in my arms, and in my life. I wondered if this was what peace felt like, holding the woman who owned my soul while the rest of the world waited.
“You’re still here,” I whispered, and the wonder in my voice betrayed how terrified I was that last night had just been a dream.
She’d soothed all my wounds. Seen who I was beneath the facade of a king.
And she was still here.
“Where else would I be?” she asked, like staying was the easiest choice in the world. Her sleepy smile could’ve brought kingdoms to their knees.
“Anywhere but in the arms of your enemy.”
“Your bed is surprisingly comfortable for an enemy’s.”
“Just my bed?”
“Your arms aren’t terrible either.”
Her words settled into me like they belonged there, like they’d been waiting for years for a place to land. I stroked the curve of her cheek, tracing down to her jaw, holding her face gently.
This fierce, brilliant, dangerous woman had chosen me. Not duty, not politics, not convenience. Me. The broken king who’d spent sixteen years fighting wars and building walls. She looked at all my jagged pieces and still called them beautiful.
I kissed her, pulling back, studying her face for…I wasn’t sure what.
Rejection?
Maybe.
I found something to cling to in her eyes, and that was all I needed to kiss her again, harder.
She curled her fingers into my hair, pulling me closer. The kiss sharpened, her breath mingling with mine, her body pressing flush to me under the tangled sheets. Heat coiled low in my spine, every bit of me aching to lose myself in her.
Every kiss with her felt like the first and last I’d ever need. Like she was bringing life back into parts of me I’d thought were dead. I could kiss her for a thousand years and still hunger for more.
Her lips parted, and I swept my tongue into her mouth, tasting her warmth and sweetness. She met me there, her tongue tangling with mine, the slow slide and retreat turning into something more urgent, more consuming.
I slid my fingers into her hair, stroking the silken strands. I wrapped my other arm around her waist, pulling her fully against me. The heat of her seeped into me, stoking the ache already bound tight in my chest.
She made a low sound, half sigh, half moan, and it shot straight through me.
I deepened the kiss, angling my head to taste her more fully, tracing the shape of her mouth with my tongue.
She answered by gripping my hair harder, tugging me closer still, as if we could reduce the distance between us down to nothing at all.
Her legs shifted, entwining with mine, before she lifted her knee, sliding it across my stiffening cock. The friction made me groan into her mouth. She swallowed the sound, feeding it back to me with a kiss that was all hunger and need.
I broke away only long enough to kiss across her jaw to the hollow beneath her ear. Her pulse fluttered, and I lingered there, tasting her warm skin before I sucked lightly, drawing another soft gasp from her.
“Trew,” she breathed.
I captured her mouth again, slower now but deeper, savoring the way she let me in, the way she pressed into every inch of me like she belonged there. I stroked along her hipbone, the barest touch but enough to make her shiver.
I kissed her until breathing became a necessity we couldn’t ignore. When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads rested together, both of us dragged in uneven breaths.
Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded but still locked on mine like she couldn’t look anywhere else.
Instead of kissing her again, I pulled back.
Her brows drew together, her lips parted in protest. “What?”
I grinned. “I need to bathe.”
Her head tipped, her eyes narrowing. “Now?”
“Yes. Now. Bathe with me?”
She searched my eyes before nodding.
Growling, I scooped her up into my arms, her surprised laugh spilling as I leapt from the bed. Gavelle and Pherin watched us pass before they both dove out through the open window behind their perch.
Hunt, I sent to my companion, and he agreed.
A kick sent the door to the bathing room open, and I strode inside.
I took the stairs in one leap and stepped into the steaming water with her still in my arms.
She yelped as I sank down onto a seat, wiggling in my arms. “I’m still wearing my undergarments.”
“Not for long.” I had them untangled and tossed over the edge of the tub before she could finish her scolding. “Wouldn’t want to get them wet.”
Her laugh hit me low and deep, and I settled her on my lap, facing me.
“Let me worship you the way you deserve,” I said into the water-slick skin of her neck.
The trust on her face undid me more than her touch ever could.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I said, stroking her hair back from her face, trailing my fingertips down her spine. “It hurts to look at you.”
Easing her backward, I wet her hair. Then I reached for the small clay pot on the ledge, scooping up some scented liquid soap into my hand that I worked into the long, silky strands. I took my time, savoring how thick her hair was, how she groaned and closed her eyes, leaning into my touch.
“I’m going to memorize every part of you, Minx.”
“Same.” When her hair had been fully rinsed, I gently turned her, studying the healing bruises on her back.
Three lashes. I wanted to howl. Wanted to scorch my anger across the world until I reached whoever had done this to her.
“Will you tell me who did this?” I asked.
She shrugged.
I bit back my growl and leaned forward, kissing a path across each wound, wishing I could take away her pain both inside and out.
After, I gently turned her, meeting her gaze. “When you’re ready, tell me. I will make them pay.”
“That’s mine as well, and the time is soon coming.”
I loved the strength in her voice.
Hated the thread of pain tracing through it.
She urged me to lean back, wetting my hair and washing it with gentle hands.
Her fingers stilled on my neck, and that tiny frown creasing her brow told me what she was thinking of.
“I train a lot,” I said. “I’m always sporting bruises. That wasn’t a hickey.”
Looking up, she studied my face before nodding. “I was jealous.”
“And I was a fool for letting you believe it, for giving you a reason not to trust me.”
“Don’t let her touch you.”
I adored the sharp edge in her voice. “Only you get to brand me.”
“That’s right.”
My lips curled up.
After she’d rinsed my hair, she massaged my scalp while I tipped my head back and savored the care in her touch.
My cock was a stiff rod between us; there was no denying I wanted everything this woman might ever offer, but she didn’t shrink from it. In fact, she scooted closer, placing the junction between her thighs against it, then rocked.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Minx.”
“The death of us both.” Her voice came out low and throaty.
Every breath she took in my arms felt like a gift.
Her hands slid lower, gliding across my neck, my shoulders, the ridges of muscle in my chest. I caught one wrist, kissed the inside of it, and let her palm rest over my heart so she could feel what she was doing to me.
Taking some scented oil, I rubbed it into her shoulders, tracing my fingertips along her sides, bringing out her shiver.
“Touch yourself for me?” I asked. “I want to see, want to learn what feels good so I can do it for you myself.”
Her eyes widened, a flicker of shy heat crossing her face, but then she nodded.
The water lapped around us, steam curling up from the surface, carrying the faint scent of the oil.
I could tell she’d decided to own this moment.
“Watch me,” she whispered. “I’m touching myself for you.”