Chapter 19 #2
We fought fabric and fastenings, breaths sharp, sounds rough and impatient. She tugged my overcoat off, and I spun her, nearly tearing the laces loose as she braced herself on the rim of the tub, spine arching.
Desire drove through me, fierce and aching. The urge to take her then and there clouded my restraint.
A ribbon snapped beneath my fingers, and I tore it free, dragging the dress down her shoulders, skin pale and smooth as fresh cream. My arm circled her waist, hand sliding upward as she shoved the fabric lower.
Impatience made her movements clumsy. “Kallias–”
I hummed, freeing my belt while my mouth traced the space between her neck and shoulder, careful of the wound.
She writhed, pushing her trousers down. “These blasted boots.”
She kicked and cursed as the fabric caught.
“Don’t move.” I stepped back, giving her distance to free herself.
Within a few heated moments, our clothes lay abandoned in heaps. Skin met skin as I pulled her into the shower, reaching blindly for the cord.
“This,” she said, panted breaths ragged with need, “isn’t a bath.”
I smiled against her mouth, fingers finding the release.
I braced her against the wall, sheltering her as water spilled from the ceiling grate. Cold slammed into me, stealing my breath.
She gasped, leg locking around my waist, gaze lifted. “It’s rain.”
Warmth followed, easing the shock, and the muscles in my back loosened, tension draining with every rivulet.
“I don’t do baths,” I murmured at her neck, careful to avoid her injury.
Her breath hitched as my hand traced the inside of her thigh. “Ever?”
I stilled, studying her through the haze. The bandages were soaked through, fresh blood seeping beneath. Dried crimson coated my fingers, streaking her leg with scarlet.
If she was asking questions, I wasn’t doing something right.
I surged forward, lifting her, and her legs wrapped around me. She gasped, arms sliding along my neck, head tipping back.
She was freedom. Wild abandon. Something in her spoke straight to my soul, unfastening the man beneath the mantle. In moments like this, her body consumed me. Each hitched breath, every muffled moan, the way she bit her lip to hold herself together—it stripped all other thoughts away.
I let my desire consume me, claiming what I needed: that release, that moment when our bodies met with frantic need, racing to the same climax.
She was my light. My freedom. My hope.
She was mine.
Clean and limp with pleasure, I carried her to my bed, but stopped short, arms tightening around her as I glared at it.
“This is yours?” she asked.
The first time she’d been in it followed a failed assassination attempt. She burst into my room, coated in dust and blood. The terror that seized me then carved years from my life. The thought of losing her–
I never would. Not now. Not ever.
“It’s rather small,” I said, acutely aware of how narrow it felt compared to the space we shared in Draconia.
Across the hall, in the queen’s quarters, stood a bed wide enough to share with her handmaid and Greaves besides.
“I’ve never had a use for anything larger.” My teeth ground together as I glowered at it, as if force of will might stretch the frame.
She laughed, nestling into the curve of my neck. “Then you’ll have to suffer my embrace.”
I scoffed as I laid her bare body on the sheets. “It’s your kicks I fear.”
“I do not kick you.” She slid beneath the covers, gaze lingering while I rummaged for clean breeches.
At least Tallon hadn’t destroyed my rooms. That alone surprised me. No outburst of rage, no pointless wreckage? No—he’d been too busy tearing apart everything else.
“How would you know?” I paused, brow lifting as I crossed my arms.
She sniffed, fluffing the pillow. “My family would’ve told me.”
I scoffed and walked into the receiving room. Of course she’d slept beside her family—climbed into bed with her parents during a whirlstorm, perhaps. They were close. Tight knit.
And here I was, a lonely old man, never having shared a bed with another soul.
When I opened the door to the corridor, I found Greaves leaning against the wall, eyes closed, stealing what rest he could. At the sound of me, he stirred, scrubbing a hand through his short hair. Bloodshot eyes swept over me.
“Where do you want me?” he muttered, exhaustion dragging his voice low.
“Washed and in bed.” I opened the door wider to let him pass. “Clean up. Then sleep.”
His lids drooped in a slow blink, the magnitude of the past few days weighing heavy on him.
“And Nienna?” he asked.
“In bed,” I crossed the room, tugging the rope for a servant, “where she will stay. Dress before entering.”
He huffed, shrugging off his bandolier. “Afraid I’ll put you to shame?”
“She doesn’t need to be traumatized.”
He disappeared into the adjoining chamber as a servant appeared at the door.
Running a palace lived in the details. People imagined the mantle meant indulgence. Ease. The truth was, it needed structure—leadership.
Fallione and the council would be waiting in the morning.
Before then, mantles required cleaning. Dresses had to be stitched.
Nienna would need her handmaid. I wanted a larger bed and a cot in the receiving room for Greaves.
More than that, new rooms were necessary altogether.
What we had no longer suited us. I refused to keep him in our chamber, lest my wife wake—or I did—with urges best met in privacy.
I would not rise to that need only to send him away like an obedient hound.
He was here for our protection. Proximity mattered, yet finding that balance would prove difficult.
After issuing instructions to the servant, I returned to the bedchamber. Greaves stiffened as I passed the bathing room; instinct never resting.
I ignored it and joined Nienna. Her deep blue eyes fluttered open, lashes brushing the shadows beneath them. The mattress dipped as I settled beside her. She turned at once, arm draping across my chest, leg hooking over mine.
Pain spiked through my back, and I stretched, pulling her damp hair away from her bandages. They were an angry red. I hadn’t missed her flinch when she moved too quickly. Or the way her breath caught when skin pulled tight.
“I want a bath,” she murmured, drowsiness slurring her words.
I frowned, pressing down the edge of a bandage that had lifted from her skin. “Now?”
Her quiet hum warmed my chest. “A tub—in your bathing chambers.”
“Then you shall have one,” I said. “Sleep, Nienna.”
A small sound of protest escaped her, but she was already slack with fatigue—all fight gone out. She’d been awake as long as I had. She stood and watched the entire battle, taking no rest.
Queenship was no gentler than war. She bore it with grace.
I closed my eyes, letting my body relax and sink into the mattress while my thoughts raced through unfinished tasks.
Greaves returned, dressed much like me. He rummaged about the room, stowing blades, checking the secret passage was secure, then settled on his bed. He sat for a moment, studying Nienna with his brow furrowed as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
“What is it?” Speaking felt like climbing a mountain, taking too much energy.
“Nothing.” He shook himself, awareness snapping back as he lay down. A pained groan slipped free before he swallowed it with a hiss.
I knew that pain all too well.
He shifted, searching for comfort, then stilled.
Sleep tugged me under just as his voice chased me into my dreams.
“I’m glad you’re finally happy.”