44. Chapter 44
Lunette
I groaned inside my mind before I even realized I was awake.
The familiar ache of magical exhaustion had become a constant companion in my life.
But now the hollow, brittle feeling left inside my chest was tempered by the steady heat sinking into my tired muscles.
Everything around me felt perfect. I didn’t want to move.
The scent of oakmoss, cedar, and dark tea filled my senses in the best way.
Scratch—pause—scratch.
That wasn’t Muffin scratching at the door or shutters to be let in. I was reluctant to open my eyes, but it was so out of place that I had to take a peek.
The first thing I saw was a ceiling that wasn’t mine.
Dark wood paneling lined the room. The curtains covering the windows on the opposite wall were black velvet.
Gold traced everything in the same sweeping lines as my room, but the design was less fluid, more…
aggressive. Off to the side, a wardrobe was hung with weapons instead of the heaps of gowns Reina had buried me under—sword belts draped where dress hooks should’ve been, a quiver of arrows propped in the corner.
It was a room that had been built for survival, not comfort. And somehow, I felt safer in it than anywhere I could remember.
Reclined against the headboard beside me, knees bent beneath the furs, a lap desk balanced across his thighs with an inkpot and what appeared to be a truly punishing stack of documents was Owain.
He was working through them with quiet focus—reading, signing, moving on.
His face bore a faint scowl, deeply unsatisfied with the administrative labor.
And he wasn’t wearing a shirt. My brain latched onto that fact immediately.
The fire highlighted his shoulders, traced the lines of his chest, dipped into the shadows between lengths of muscle. When he moved his arm to write, the cords in his forearm shifted with it. A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead.
Gods below.
I blinked at the ceiling for a moment longer, cataloguing this fact without the inner battle I might’ve expected from myself a week before. The scratch of his quill continued until I shifted.
Owain glanced down. My being awake and watching him was apparently not what he’d expected to find when he looked over.
His expression opened like a window thrown wide on the first warm day of spring.
The smile that replaced his frown was immediate and unguarded and so purely happy that it landed behind my sternum with an answering pull.
The sight of him made something in me settle. The old grievance no longer stood between us, and I didn’t need to keep searching for evidence that it might return.
I was just a woman lying in a warm bed, looking at a man she—
“Hey,” he said softly.
What a time to realize my throat felt like sandpaper.
He set the quill aside and reached past the documents to the bedside table and returned with a cup of water. Exactly the thing I needed.
A mind reader with the body of a god.
I pushed myself up onto one elbow and drank like I was dying of thirst. The water was cool, impossibly fresh, and laced with something faintly electric that spread through me as I swallowed.
“Gods,” I croaked when it was gone, clutching the empty cup. “What was in that?”
His mouth twitched. “A present from Queen Isca.”
I raised one eyebrow in question. So much had happened since arriving at the keep, it was hard to believe I’d received my first letter from her not so long ago.
“She can imbue elixirs with emotions. That one was to help you feel energized.”
To my surprise, I did. It wasn’t a physical feeling, though. I wasn’t jittery like I had been the one time I’d drunk too much tea. It was as if the magic had overridden the mental effects of fatigue and lifted my spirits. “She’s very good.”
“The best.” He shrugged. “I think you’ll be great friends.”
The way he spoke made it clear that he’d already made up his mind to keep me where her letters would reach me easily.
A small, sand-colored lump, its edges softened by a bushy tail coiled around it, rested between Owain’s knees. One tiny paw twitched above it in sleep.
Muffin had certainly made himself at home.
“That,” I said, pointing at the little veska, “is intolerably cute.”
Owain huffed under his breath. “I brought him to see you, and he refused to leave. When Camrick tried to pull Muffin off your chest, the little terror nearly ripped off his nose!”
I shook my head, imagining exactly how that scenario had gone down with me sleeping away in the background.
When I held the empty cup out to him, Owain leaned forward to take it, slow enough that I could guess his aim: a kiss on my forehead.
Judging by the sun outside, I’d been asleep for an entire day and night, waking only to grab some water and relieve myself. So much had probably happened during that time.
I should’ve asked how his brother and Richart were. I should’ve asked after the Assembly. Should’ve talked to him about the problems on our doorstep. But I tilted my chin up at the last second so our mouths met instead.
It was a small rebellion against the small person I’d taught myself to be. The new Luna could reach for what she wanted and keep it forever—damn the dissenting voice that said it was too risky, that I should hide and never reach for happiness.
It was a light kiss, one that could’ve been called fond rather than passionate. But it lingered long enough for me to feel the way he stilled in surprise. Long enough to notice the shift in his breathing. Long enough that I wanted nothing more than to burrow farther into his warmth.
Somewhere in the space between heartbeats, it became something else entirely. As our bodies moved closer, Muffin grouched with a rumbling growl and scrabbled off the bed with pointed dignity.
Smart boy.
Owain made a low sound against my mouth that was not quite a groan and not quite a laugh. With a burst of magic, the lap desk was lifted. He managed to reposition the whole thing, inkpot included, out of harm’s way without a single drop spilled, all while still leaning over to kiss me.
Show off.
With that out of the way, only the decision itself stood between us.
I beckoned him closer.
Skin. There was nothing in the way of me touching him—no fabric, no fear, no excuses. My fingers slid up his chest, heart racing underneath the muscle and scars.
His kiss was like everything else he did—fully committed. He’d always been this way, I realized. Even in Selmont, even when I was furious with him, he’d never been half anything with me.
As my hands glided up his shoulders, his deep, calming exhalation ghosted across my lips. It was as if I could feel the tension ease from his body at the same time it left mine.
No more second-guessing. I wanted him. I wanted this.
“Owain,” I breathed against his lips. “Get under the furs with me.”
Just like the first night we slept together in the castle, he didn’t have to be asked twice. His muscles flexed as he raced to do just that.
A light laugh bubbled up in my throat, and I made no effort to hold it back. He was aware of how eager he appeared, and he didn’t care at all.
When he was snuggled up next to me, my hands resumed their cautious exploration across his skin. They snagged on the x-shaped scar on his side from where I’d healed him. I loathed that he’d been so grievously injured, but its existence was the only reason we’d found each other in this lifetime.
He wrapped one arm around me, looking into my eyes as though I was the only thing that existed. Considering the immense pile of paperwork he’d been poring over to keep the kingdom running smoothly, feeling so important was intoxicating.
He was also rubbing circles on my back, which helped.
When my fingers found the laces, he stilled. Leaning his forehead onto mine, his voice was a husky rasp that sent shivers down my spine. “Is this the part where I beg, moonlight?”
I was the one on the verge of begging.
His hand behind my back gripped my chemise tightly. “I don’t… I can’t…” Owain never stumbled over his words. “This is everything I’ve wanted, Luna. I need to know how far you want this to go.”
I pulled back from him and shrugged the furs off. I’d spent years making myself small enough to be safe, and here I was, wanting to be seen entirely.
Owain sat up straighter, dark eyes tracking my every movement as I reached down to grab the hem of my chemise and lift. The cool air hit me just as his eyes did.
“No begging, Owain. This is the part where you make good on your promise,” I said, smiling, feeling bold. “This is where you bury yourself inside me until the world outside ceases to exist.”
The unyielding pull, born from whatever was between us, had guided us inevitably toward this moment. He prowled up the bed like the direwolf of his mother’s house. I loved it.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, shaking with restraint, “and I will.”
I urged him closer.
Given permission, he leaned over, and his hands were on me.
I’d seen him conjure weapons and deal a grievous blow.
He was a man of force and power. But when his hands skated across my body, they were careful and tender in a way that felt almost reverent, but also desperate.
Like I was something he was afraid of breaking and equally afraid of losing his grip on.
I bent to undo his trousers again, yet he halted my efforts so he could scoot back and slide them down his legs with remarkable haste.
Half out of the furs, I could see even more of him. I’d never realized how incredibly appealing a man’s thighs and backside could be. I definitely had a type. And that type was him.
The mere sight was enough to make my body react, and he hadn’t even touched me yet.
When he came back to me, I increased the tempo of my exploration of his body, my heart pounding with excitement. I reached down again and was immediately terrified to even think the blasphemous thoughts about my discovery, for fear of divine jealousy.
It’ll be a tight fit, but this is the challenge I’m willing to take on.