43. Kaedryn
Kaedryn
She goes still, but it is not the bracing stillness from before. It is the held breath of someone deciding something for herself. Her fingers curl into my tunic, not pushing me back, but drawing me in.
“Yes,” she whispers, and she does not look away when she says it.
That single steady yes slams into me like a wave crashing against the shore. I lean down and press my lips to hers. She stiffens, but then melts into me.
I break away. “Are you dizzy? In pain? Please be honest with me.”
“No,” she says breathlessly.
I guide her into a hidden corner behind the arch where no one will see us, concealing us further with my shadows while sending others through the nearby paths to ensure we are alone.
Her breathing quickens.
Before I press her back, I send another sheet of shadow to gather against the stone behind her, banked thick and soft. I have watched her guard her back for days. I don’t know what was done to it, and she has never told me, but I will not set her bare spine against cold rock to find out.
She does not seem to notice the dark cushioning her. I press her into it, my body caging hers, the shadows taking her weight where the wall would have bruised her.
“I will not dishonor you by taking your virginity before we are properly wed,” I say. “But that does not mean I cannot show you that our marriage will be yours as much as mine.”
Her breasts rise and fall quickly.
“I need you to tell me it is all right to touch you,” I say, mouth beside her ear.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“And I need you to tell me you will say stop if it hurts or you feel unwell. We stop if you want me to stop for any reason at all. Do you understand?”
She nods. “I understand.”
I keep my hand on her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. My voice drops. “Good. Your body already knows what it wants, Adelina. Let me give it to you.”
I take her mouth, hard and demanding, and I do not let it go.
From the first stroke of my tongue I am swallowing the small sounds she makes, every gasp and catch of breath caught against my lips so none of it carries past the arch.
My shadows surge beneath her skirts. Cool, relentless tendrils wrap around her ankles and snake up her thighs, easing them wider against my leg as I pin her more firmly into the cushioned dark at her back.
They map the bare skin above her stockings until she shivers into my mouth, and I drink that down too.
I do not touch her where she wants it. Not yet.
The shadows trace everywhere around it instead, sliding along the crease of her thigh, ghosting over her hip, brushing just shy of where she is already growing wet.
One curls up beneath her bodice and closes cool over the stiff peak of her breast, and she cries out, a sharp, helpless sound that I catch against her lips before it can escape.
I kiss her harder for it. “Quiet,” I breathe into her mouth, not breaking the kiss, the word more promise than command. “Every sound you make is mine. No one else will ever hear you like this.”
She is panting now, hips chasing nothing, rolling against empty air for the pressure I keep just out of reach.
A thick tendril slides through her slick folds at last, and her whole body jolts against me.
It circles her swollen clit, learning the rhythm that breaks her breath apart, then settles into it, ruthless.
A second traces her entrance, sliding through her wetness with heavy pressure but never pushing in.
She moans into my mouth. I devour it, kissing her deeper, taking every sound she makes so none of it belongs to the garden or the world, only to me. Every tremor travels through my shadows and into me.
Her fingers fist in my tunic, holding on rather than pushing away.
Her hips grind helplessly down against the shadows.
She is dripping now, soaking my shadows, coating the dark as it works her, and the cool of it against her molten heat wrecks her, her magic answering in faint silver frost that blooms in the air and melts the moment it meets my skin.
“You’re so wet for me, Princess,” I murmur.
“I-is that okay?” she asks in a breathy voice that nearly undoes me.
“It’s perfect.”
She climbs fast. I feel it in the way her thigh locks over my hip, the way she strains toward the edge, and I do not slow for anything.
The tendril on her clit strokes harder, tight, relentless circles, while the others drag through her dripping folds and rub every desperate inch of her at once, more of them than hands could ever be.
Her back arches into the cushioning dark.
Her leg locks around me. Every desperate sound she makes spills into my mouth and goes no further.
Her whole body shakes. I hold her open, hold her up, the shadows behind her cradling every arch of her spine away from the stone.
“Don’t hold back,” I say. I snake my hand over her breast and feel the hardened peak of her nipple through the fabric. “Let go, Adelina. Come on my shadows like a good girl.”
Then she breaks.
The orgasm tears through her. Her body seizes against mine, magic flaring in wild silver wisps that chill the air before melting against my skin.
I keep kissing her through every pulse, drinking down her choked cries while the shadows stroke her through it, dragging out every last tremor until she is limp and gasping and sagging into my chest.
Only then do I withdraw them, slow, easing her weight off the dark and into my arms so she never touches the cold wall at all. I gentle the kiss into something slower.
“Good girl,” I murmur against her swollen lips, brushing a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “You’re so beautiful, but you’re devastating when you’re falling apart in my arms. That is only the beginning of what I want to give you.”
Adelina hides her burning face against my chest, breathing ragged, body still trembling. But I feel the shy press of her fingers curling into my shirt, holding on like she does not want to let go.
The ice orchid glows behind us, fragile, stubborn, and blooming on its own terms at last.
Just like her.
Her breath stutters. I want to hold her in my arms for hours. I want to take her to my bed and claim every inch of her. But the tremor still running through her reminds me how close she came to fainting this morning.
“You need rest. It’s been a big day,” I say.
Adelina looks down at the orchid. The longing is so visible this time that it cuts deeper than her obedience.
“You can see it again. It will still be here.” I cup her face and run my thumb over her smooth cheek.
A shadow crosses her expression. Things she loves do not always remain where she leaves them. I hear the thought as clearly as if she has spoken it.
“I will tell the gardeners not to touch this bed,” I say. “No pruning, no moving, no cutting. Not without your permission. It’s yours.”
Her lashes lift, and for one dangerous second, those silver-blue eyes meet mine, wide with hope. “Mine? You mean it?” The question is barely audible.
Something deep inside cracks, and I want to give her the world. “Yes. I mean it.”
Her eyes mist. “Thank you, Kaedryn.”
I freeze. It’s the first time I have ever heard her speak my name without a title. I want to hear it a million more times.
I offer my arm again. She takes it after one last glance at the orchid.
The walk back is slower. Her energy from the garden fades before we reach the doors, leaving the strain of the morning visible in the careful way she breathes.
She tries to hide it. By the time we reach her rooms, her fingers tremble faintly on my sleeve.
Linnea opens the door at once, then steps back when she sees me.
“Tea,” I say. “And whatever Maelin left for her.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Mirelle bows and rushes away.
Adelina’s hand slips away from my arm.
The room is quiet. Too quiet. The desk still holds a few books, though someone has stacked the papers neatly and moved them out of reach. The bed is turned down, blankets waiting.
She stands near the center of the room, waiting for instruction. It causes a ripple of anger inside of me, but I force it down. “Adelina.”
She looks up.
I step closer. This time, she does not step back, though her shoulders tense. I stop in front of her and lift my hand, giving her time to refuse. When she doesn’t, I touch two fingers beneath her chin and tip her face up again, like I did in the garden.
Her eyes meet mine. The bond pulls. It’s a deep, ancient tug beneath the ribs, something in me recognizing something in her, grown tired of being ignored.
Her breath catches. Mine nearly does too.
I should step back. She’s exhausted and fragile. I’ve hurt her with words I cannot take back. I have no right to lean closer simply because one smile in the garden has undone my better judgment.
But her eyes drop to my mouth. Her lips part slightly, and her tongue darts out before she draws her lower lip between her teeth. What I want to do with those lips. Stars above, they were heaven, and they are still swollen from our kiss.
I lean down slowly, giving her time, giving her space, giving her every chance to turn away.
She does not. Instead, she closes the distance.
The kiss is barely more than a touch. Her lips are warm under mine, hesitating before they part on the smallest breath.
The bond shivers between us, sudden and bright, not painful but overwhelming in its intensity.
It curls through my chest and down my spine, waking every shadow beneath my skin, every instinct I have spent years turning into discipline.
I keep the kiss gentle because the part of me that wants more wakes too quickly. The part that wants to pull her close, feel her hands against me, taste that startled breath again until she forgets the space between fear and want.
No, not like this.
I break the kiss first.
Our faces remain close enough that I feel her breath against my mouth. Her eyes are open, wide and silver and stunned. Her fingers have curled lightly into the front of my coat. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then she lets go, realizing what she has done. “I’m sorry!”
The words are faint.
I close my eyes for half a second. “Don’t apologize for kissing me.”
Her cheeks flush. “It’s not…” She swallows. “I did not mean to presume.”
“You did not. I was very much a willing participant. You are my betrothed. I want you, Adelina.”
I step back because if I don’t, I will kiss her again, and I don’t yet trust myself to know whether she wants another kiss now or whether exhaustion has made refusal harder.
Her eyes lower, but not before I catch the confusion in them. The want. The fear. The fragile, dangerous ache of both.
I draw a slow breath and reach for control before the bond can take more than I intend to give. “You need to rest.”
Her head lifts slightly. “Okay.”
I see the stack of books on the desk. “And no studying tonight.”
Her expression changes at once, alarm slipping through. “But tomorrow—”
“No.” The word is firm, and she flinches. “Please. You need to relax.”
She hesitates before saying, “Okay.”
“No studying,” I repeat, quieter. “You nearly fainted this morning. Maelin gave conditions. I will not have you sitting at that desk until your body gives out because you believe one more copied paragraph will make you safe.”
Her hands fold again. I hate that too.
“You may read a fictional book. Something that has nothing to do with court customs, wedding protocol, rank, duty, or anything that requires taking notes.”
She blinks. For some reason, that seems to confuse her more than everything else I’ve said. “A fictional book?”
“Yes. Something you will enjoy.”
Her shoulders relax. “I have several.”
“Good. Choose one of those.”
Her eyes shift toward the shelves, uncertain. I look to Linnea and Mirelle, who are pretending not to have witnessed anything.
“Bring her something pleasant,” I say. “No histories. No political treatises. No etiquette manuals.”
Linnea’s mouth twitches. “Yes, Prince Kaedryn.”
Adelina’s cheeks flush.
I should leave. I do not want to.
That is becoming a problem. Still, I force myself to step toward the door. At the threshold, I turn back. She is still standing where I left her, one hand lifted faintly toward her mouth, as if the kiss remains there and she hasn’t processed what happened.
The sight nearly drags me back across the room.
“Rest in bed, please,” I say, more roughly than intended. “Not at the desk.”
Her hand drops. “I will.”
I pause.
“Adelina.”
She looks up.
“I meant what I said. The orchid bed is yours.”
Something flickers across her face. A smile that makes my chest hurt. “Thank you.”
Then I leave before I can ruin it.