Chapter Sixty-Nine
As If There Were No War
In the press of his vow, in the fire of his touch, she learned what the court had never told her:
love was never meant to wound.
The sun rose quietly over Fyreglade, gold and violet spilling across Viktor’s chamber.
The bed was warm, the air sweet with moonblossom, yet a chill pulsed beneath his skin—something that lingered past the cliffs, beyond the mountain pass. It had stirred after sleep claimed Amerei, when the night went still.
He shifted, his arm tightening around her waist.
She lay folded against him, breath slow and even, lashes brushing the hollow beneath his collarbone.
One hand rested soft over his heart; the other was tangled with his fingers where they lay across her belly.
The sheet had slipped low along her back, baring the curve of her thigh.
Her hair spilled everywhere—across his chest, his arm, the pillow—golden waves that caught the morning light.
He couldn’t stop looking at her.
His wife.
He breathed her in slowly, that radiance of warmth, and let it steady him. If the cold still whispered beyond these gates, it didn’t matter. She was here. Real. Sleeping in his arms, surrendered to him.
His gaze caught the wedding gown still pooled on the floor.
With a kiss to her brow, he eased away, tugged the blanket up over her shoulder, and slipped from the bed.
He crouched to lift the gown, smirking at the memory of how it had fallen.
Stars, he had no idea how to hold something so delicate—so he carried it in both arms like a soldier carrying treasure, and laid it neatly at the foot of the bed.
The water pitcher waited by the table. He poured himself a drink, all the while keeping an eye on Amerei. She didn’t stir.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath with a crooked grin.
“How in all the realms did I get this lucky…”
He set the glass back on the table and turned toward the bath.
Her crown rested on the basin, the cord of their binding coiled beside it.
He picked it up, threading the braid through his fingers before setting it aside.
His hand brushed the tiara, the cruel bite of its pins pricking his skin. Dask, savage thing.
He rinsed his face, raked his fingers through his hair, and stepped back into the chamber a few minutes later. Pausing in the doorway, he touched the place on his neck where her mouth had branded him last night. It made him grin like fool.
Leather trousers waited in a careless heap on the chest of drawers. He dragged them on, his bare feet whispering against stone. When he glanced back, Amerei stirred at last, lashes fluttering as her eyes searched for him.
He slung a linen tunic over his shoulder, poured water from the pitcher, and sat at the bed’s edge. Leaning down, he kissed her slow—hungry enough to steal her breath, soft enough to make her sigh.
“Still in my bed,” he murmured against her mouth. “Thought I’d wake and find it all a dream.”
Her hand curled around his bicep, warm as her whisper.
“You’re here…”
“I am.”
His smile roughened as he offered the cup.
“Water. And this tunic—if you’d like.”
She grinned, taking both.
“Bless you.”
The sheets fell from her waist as she drank, then she handed the cup back, tugged the tunic over her head, and let it skim her thighs.
Viktor’s gaze darkened. That tunic dared to cover her. He dragged a hand through his hair, a wolfish grin tugging at his mouth.
She could cloak herself in steel and I’d still see every inch that belongs to me.
She turned down the blankets. He rose with her, catching her hands to help her out of bed.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked, arms draping around his shoulders.
“Since sunrise.”
His palm settled at the small of her back, though his gaze slid to the window.
“Do you think we ride for Vykenra today?”
“Father never told me,” she sighed.
A faint crease marred her brow, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
Her lips curved.
“Must we leave this room at all?”
“Not yet,” he said, mouth brushing hers. “Not while I still have you to myself.”
“Don’t even think of getting dressed yet.”
She stole another kiss, quick and teasing, before twirling away with a grin.
Viktor leaned against the bedpost, watching her as she rummaged through a drawer until she found a boar-bristle brush. She ran it through her hair, golden strands tumbling loose as she strolled toward the bath.
“That’s an order, High-Captain.”
“Yes, my queen,” he said with a laugh that came out rougher than he meant.
When she disappeared, he smoothed the sheets, straightening the pillows. His hand fell on the one he’d used in bed—first as a barrier between them, then shoved beneath her back to pull her closer. He stilled, smiling faintly.
“Clever thing,” he muttered.
He tossed it in place and moved to open a drawer.
“High-Captain…” Her voice rang out from the bath, playful, indignant. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He glanced up, smirking toward the doorway.
She stepped out of the bath, still brushing her hair, her face damp and glowing.
He grinned, folding his hands behind his back, pushing the drawer shut as he turned.
“My queen. I lost control the moment you left me unattended.”
She stalked closer, slow and sure.
“Mm. What does one do with a disobedient captain?”
He eased back toward the bed, his smirk cutting low.
“Issue a formal reprimand?”
“Hardly,” she teased, setting the brush onto the table.
She kissed him hard, driving him back until his knees hit the mattress.
He broke the kiss with a ragged breath, hands sliding down to grip her thighs. With a growl that shivered from his chest, he lifted her clean off the floor. She laughed, breathless and radiant, as he tossed her onto the bed, her hair spilling like a halo across the pillows.
“Viktor!” she gasped, her smile beaming.
He was already climbing over her, bracing himself on his forearms as he claimed her mouth again.
Feck. What am I doing?
She was eager—dask, so damn eager. And he wanted her—stars, he always wanted her. But they were newly wed, and he’d already had her twice the night before. His body roared for more, but his soul whispered protect her.
He drew back, fighting for air.
“Why have you stopped?” she asked, sadness shadowing her gaze.
“My love…” His voice cracked on the words, raw with restraint.
Dask. How do I say it?
“It’s too soon. We shouldn’t… your body needs rest—”
“I could always compel you,” she quipped, bold and unflinching.
“I would not defy…” He kissed her brow, rough with need. “…a direct order.”
When he swallowed, his gaze dipped lower, dragging over her body like fire.
“But if you’ll let me,” he said, voice dangerous, “I want to show you something.”
“Something?”
“Amerei…”
His mouth claimed her throat, tracing the curve of her collarbone with reverent heat. His hand slid down, pulling at the hem of his tunic that dared to cover her.
“You’ve let me hold you, be inside you—but now…”
His voice broke low, almost a growl.
“…I want to taste you.”
“Viktor—”
“I’ll stop the moment you ask.”
His lips grazed her belly, each word vibrating against her skin.
“But if you let me—dask, love, if you let me—I’ll worship you until you shatter. I'll show you—”
Her breath caught. “Show me.”
A feral smile curved his lips. He eased her thighs apart with one hand, anchoring her hard to the bed while the other stroked slow, relentless, up the inside of her leg.
“You’re trembling already,” he rasped, eyes dark, locked on hers. “Do you know what that does to me?”
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered. “I just—I’ve never—”
“I know.”
His palm swept possessively over her hip, shoving the tunic higher until she was bared to him.
“That’s why I’ll go slow. Not to spare you, but to savor you.”
He bent, kissing the ring at her navel, his voice breaking into a growl against her skin. “Dask, I love this. All mine.”
Her laugh melted into a sigh as her body arched, helpless to the invitation.
He went lower, his mouth just brushing her heat—tormenting her, teasing with unbearable restraint. She gasped, and his fingers tightened around her thigh, pinning her down.
“Patience, love,” he whispered, voice rough with hunger. “I’ll have you begging before I’m done.”
She moaned softly, hips jerking at the flick of his tongue.
A dark smile tugged at his lips.
He did it again—slow, tormenting.
“Too much?”
Her head shook hard, quick, breathless. “No…”
His chest rumbled with a low laugh. “Good.”
He kissed her where she was most sensitive, slow at first—long, unhurried strokes of his tongue that pulled gasps from her throat. She clutched at the sheets, writhing, until he caught her hand and laced their fingers, holding her as if to say: you’re not escaping me.
“I’ve got you, Ami,” he murmured against her, voice hoarse with devotion and hunger. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything.”
Her cry broke free. “Viktor—”
He wrapped his arm under her thigh and pulled her tighter against his mouth, relentless now.
He shifted between slow, savoring strokes and sudden fierce flicks—testing, teasing, learning the shape of her pleasure until she broke apart into gasps and moans.
Every twitch of her hips, every shiver of her body, he drank in like he was starving.
“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice fraying at the edges.
“That’s my good girl. Let me hear you.”
Her fingers gripped his hand so tight it hurt, but he only held her harder, steadying her through the storm he was building.
Her head fell back, his name spilling into the air. He pushed her higher, dragging it out, refusing to let her fall until she was begging without words, her leg shaking violently beneath his hold.
At last, when she shattered, he did not stop. He held her there, merciless and tender all at once, coaxing wave after wave until she was trembling, undone, sobbing his name like prayer.