Chapter Sixty-Nine #2
Only then did he slow, kissing her softly, as if sealing every tremor into memory. He rested his cheek to her thigh, chest heaving, eyes shut in feral triumph and awe.
She stared at the ceiling, hair wild across the pillows, her body still twitching with aftershocks.
“What—” her voice broke, breathless, “—what was that?”
He rose, climbing over her, his face fierce and tender all at once. He caught her hand, dragged it low to her belly.
“Feel,” he whispered.
Guiding her fingers down, he parted her, urging her to claim what was hers. Her breath fractured, the shock of it breaking through her chest.
For a moment her hand lingered where he placed it—then she abandoned it altogether, reaching for him instead. Her shaking palms rose to cup his face, tears brightening her eyes.
Viktor’s world stopped. His chest hollowed out, stomach dropping like he’d been struck. Not her. Not tears. Dask, had he hurt her?
“Amerei—” His voice cracked, raw, as he seized her, crushing her to his chest. His heart thundered against her cheek. “Tell me—tell me this isn’t pain.”
She shook her head, breathless.
“How,” she whispered, voice breaking, “did I find a husband who touches me like this?”
He held her tighter, near to breaking himself.
“The girls at court,” she choked against his throat. “Their stories, Viktor… the bruises, the fear. I thought it was the way of things. I thought it was all there was.”
Her tears fell hot against his skin.
“Tell me it won’t end—that it can be more than a single night. Tell me it will always be like this.”
Viktor’s chest pounded, his jaw flexing hard. He seized her face between his hands, forcing her eyes to his.
“Look at me, Amerei. It will never end. Not while I draw breath. Not while my body burns for you. I’ll fight every night to keep it this way—tender when you want it, rough when you beg it, but never cruel. Never.”
Every word vibrated with the force of his vow.
“Whatever they told you, whatever you feared—forbid it. Do you hear me, Amerei? Forbid it. Our love will never be pain. Not for you. Not for us.”
He pressed her hand hard over his heart, his breath ragged against her lips.
“Here, you command me. Here, your ‘no’ is law, your joy my only vow. If the world demands sacrifice, let it take me. But you—” his mouth brushed hers, reverent and ruined— “you will never weep from my love.”
Her cheek pressed to the hard beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath rough against her hair.
“Pain will never be the price of love,” he whispered, fierce even in softness. His mouth brushed her temple. “Say it’s forbidden, Amerei. Say it, and I’ll carve it into my bones.”
Her lashes fluttered against his skin, her voice trembling but steady.
“I forbid it.”
He exhaled, slow, and pressed his lips to her brow.
“Good. Then I’ll remember. Every time I touch you. Every time I make you mine.”
His hand framed her jaw, tilting her face up.
“I love you, Amerei.”
“I love you.”
Her chest shuddered against his, tears of relief tangling in her throat. He kissed her, gentle and unyielding all at once—so fierce in his devotion she thought she might weep again.
But when he drew back, his gaze caught on hers. Something lingered there—something unsaid, quivering behind her tears. His thumb brushed her lower lip, coaxing.
“What is it?” he asked, voice rough with both fear and need.
She hesitated, then said, “Last night… I pulled your hair quite hard. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
A dangerous smile cut across his mouth.
“You didn’t hurt me, Amerei. But…”
His hand slid into her hair, careful and slow, until every golden strand was gathered into his fist. With a single, fluid motion, he coiled it at the nape of her neck, holding her crown in his hand. His chest rose sharp with anticipation as his gaze locked on hers.
“This,” he said, tugging ever so slightly, “is how you pull without pain.”
Her eyes sparked—heat, challenge, a dare answered before it was spoken. He gave a sharper tug, just enough to test her, and her breath broke into a gasp.
“Viktor,” she whispered, equal parts warning and want.
He leaned in, lips grazing her ear. “Your turn.”
She slipped her fingers through his raven-dark hair, gathering it the way he had hers. Her tug was clumsy at first, but bold, and he groaned low in his throat, his mouth catching hers in a bruising kiss.
“That’s it,” he rasped against her lips. “Again.”
She obeyed, braver this time, and he laughed against her mouth. His teeth grazed her lower lip—testing. She bit back, tentative, then harder.
His growl vibrated against her skin.
“Careful, Princess… you bite me like that, and I’ll make you prove it.”
Her laugh was breathless, daring. “Where?”
He caught her jaw in his hand, tilting her head back.
“Not here.”
His teeth skimmed her throat, over the racing pulse where any mark would be seen.
“Here, they’d talk.”
He dragged his mouth lower, across the line of her collarbone.
“Here, they’d whisper.”
His lips brushed the top of her breast.
“But here—” his teeth grazed the swell, her skin shivering “—here we can mark each other where only we’ll see it. Where no court, no throne, no battlefield can take it from us.”
Her breath hitched, dare flaring in her eyes.
She pressed her mouth to his chest, just above his heart, and grazed him with her teeth.
He tensed, pulse hammering against her lips.
When she bit down—gentle but claiming—he groaned, his head dropping back, every muscle straining not to crush her against him.
“Dask, Amerei—”
His voice was ragged, half warning, half plea. His hand fisted in the sheets, the other cradling her hair so she couldn’t mistake his shudder for retreat.
But she only bit him again, firmer this time, until his restraint snapped into a low growl. He hauled her tighter against his chest, his breath rough in her ear—
A knock rapped sharp against the door.
Viktor froze, every muscle straining. If that sound hadn’t come, he would’ve been lost—he knew it. He would’ve taken her again, honor and reason burned to ash.
“One more heartbeat, Ami, and I would’ve—”
He cut himself off. She had no idea what a third time would’ve done to her, and the innocent hunger in her eyes made his restraint ache all the worse.
“Dask,” he cursed, dragging a hand down his face. “Saved by a knock.”
Another, louder.
Amerei groaned softly, hiding her face against his chest.
“Who would dare?”
“Fecking Gabriel,” he growled under his breath.
A slip of parchment slid under the door.
Viktor tore himself away, every movement cut with tension. He snatched up the note, cracking it open with dangerous impatience.
“‘Put your clothes back on and get out here.’” He read it aloud, his voice flat, then tossed the words like a curse into the quiet. “Signed, Gabriel.”
Amerei sighed, soft but wicked in its disappointment.
“Does he make it his life’s purpose to appear at the worst possible moment?”
Viktor pressed his lips to her temple, smirking darkly.
“If he does it again, love, I’ll toss him off the balcony.”
They rose slow, reluctant, dressing in stolen touches and half-hidden smiles—his fingers grazing her wrist as he passed her robe, her hand smoothing a wrinkle at his collar only to linger too long.
She bent to gather her gown and caught sight of the discarded note. She plucked it up, brow furrowing.
“Viktor… it’s written in Elvish.”
He glanced over, already tugging his belt tight.
“Yes.”
Her gaze lifted, surprised. “You can read it?”
He crossed to her, took the note from her hand, and with a faint grin, spoke in the flowing tongue:
“Velenar Eliraen. Ael.”
(I speak Elvish, too.)
Her lips parted, wonder softening her face.
“You never cease to undo me.”
His mouth brushed her ear, whispering lower still:
“Nalir en saran, ven elara.”
(I’ll make you mine in every tongue.)
She forgot to breathe, knees near to giving—
A sharp rap shook the door.
“Storne’s chambers. Now.” Evander’s voice pressed through the wood, urgent.
“Xavien’s letter has arrived.”