Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The king’s punishment wasn’t loud. It came as an “adjustment of duties.” Effective immediately, Emrys was reassigned to the outer perimeter to patrol the eastern wall and the cliffside gates. Far from the throne room. Far from the court.
Far from her.
No reason given. No warning.
Just a new rotation schedule, and a guard’s stiff nod as he delivered it.
Lysandra read between the lines.
They knew.
Or they suspected.
And that was enough.
She hadn’t seen him in three days.
No glances across the hall. No shadow trailing her steps. No warm hand lingering at her lower back when no one was looking. Nothing.
He was obeying.
Protecting her with his distance.
And it was destroying her.
By the fourth night, she couldn’t take it anymore.
The ache in her chest hadn’t dulled. It had spread low and hot and liquid, pulsing between her thighs like a curse. Her dreams were soaked in memory: his mouth on her skin, his hands fisting in her hair, the stretch and burn of his cock inside her.
She’d woken twice in her bed already, sweating, panting, trembling with need.
But tonight…
Tonight, she didn’t try to ignore it.
Tonight, she let it win.
The west wing study had been abandoned for years.
The door still stuck when you pushed too hard, and the tall, dusty curtains blocked out all moonlight. It was perfect.
She locked it behind her and draped a cloak over the crack beneath the door. The room was cold, but the burn in her veins made her feverish.
She didn’t light a lantern.
She didn’t need to.
Her body was already buzzing; blood humming in her ears, breasts heavy, folds slick before she’d even touched herself.
She slid onto the chaise, pulled up her gown, and pushed her knees apart.
“Emrys,” she whispered, like an invocation.
Her fingers found her center and slid through the mess there. Gods, she was already soaked. Just thinking of him—how he’d looked last time, that moment when she’d taken him in her mouth and watched him fall apart for her…
She moaned, low and broken.
Then began to circle her clit with two fingers, slow and tight.
She imagined it was his mouth. His tongue. The way he’d hold her open with those strong hands, dragging orgasm after orgasm from her until she couldn’t remember her name.
She teased herself with light strokes, then plunged two fingers deep inside, gasping at the stretch. But it wasn’t enough. Her other hand cupped her breast, fingers tugging her nipple through the fabric as her hips rolled helplessly.
She pictured him catching her like this.
Fucking himself into her mouth, hand on her head, moaning her name—
Her head fell back.
She was close.
So fucking close.
“I miss you,” she whimpered, fingers working faster, slick sounds obscene in the silence. “I need you, gods, Emrys, please.”
Her climax ripped through her like a snapped wire.
Her body arched off the chaise, thighs trembling, cunt clenching around nothing as she moaned his name into the dark. Her release coated her fingers, dripping down her wrist.
She came down shaking. Spent. Hollowed out.
Still alone.
Still aching for him.
She pulled her skirts down with trembling hands and wiped her fingers on a handkerchief she’d brought just in case.
Even her messes were becoming predictable now.
This was what he’d made her.
Ruined.
Wanton.
Willing to hide in corners of her own castle just to remember what it felt like to have his name on her tongue.
She wanted him back.
But she knew the risk.
And now… so did he.
Back in the eastern wing, Emrys stared at the gates he was assigned to patrol, fists clenched at his sides.
He hadn’t touched her in days, and it was killing him. Her scent still haunted him. Her taste. Her voice in the dark. The way she looked when she came for him, when she begged him to take her.
And worse, he felt it tonight.
Like a phantom.
A shift in the air. A flicker of shared magic.
Her pleasure had called to him.
Even from across the castle.
And, gods help him, he got hard just knowing she was touching herself, whispering his name. If they thought distance would save them, they were wrong, because he would find his way back to her.
Even if it meant tearing the palace down stone by stone.
He shouldn’t have come back.
That was the first thing Emrys thought as he stepped inside the grand hall, dressed in formal guard armor he no longer had the right to wear. But no one stopped him. His presence was expected. He was still technically on rotation, after all.
And yet every step toward her felt like treason.
The Winter Solstice banquet glittered in excess, silks and wine and noble mouths spitting empty compliments, but Emrys couldn’t see any of it. Not when she stood at the far end of the room, radiant in frost-gold, a diamond circlet coiled in her braids like a chain.
His princess.
His Lysandra.
And worse, she wasn’t alone.
Prince Adrien stood at her side, whispering something near her ear.
She laughed.
Laughed.
The sound was hollow, but it sliced through Emrys like a fucking blade.
His fists clenched at his sides, leather creaking.
He could see it all from across the room—the way Adrien’s hand rested at her lower back, just a fraction too low.
The way Lysandra leaned slightly away from him, but not enough to draw attention.
She was performing.
Pretending.
And Emrys knew exactly why.
She was protecting him.
But he’d had enough.
She was his to protect.
And gods help anyone who tried to keep them apart.
He didn’t wait for the banquet to end, nor did he wait for permission.
When she stepped away from Adrien to speak with a diplomat, he moved. He slipped past two other guards, took the back route through the alcoves, and waited at the mouth of the gallery corridor until she passed by alone.
Then, he grabbed her. One hand on her wrist, the other over her mouth. She gasped, but didn’t scream.
Because she knew that touch.
She’d always know him.
He dragged her into a shadowed corner of the tapestry-lined hallway, pressing her back to the wall, breath coming fast.
Her eyes were wide.
Burning.
“Emrys,” she whispered. “What are you—”
His mouth crashed into hers before she could finish.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was need.
Three days of silence. Three days of punishment. Three days of seeing her in the arms of another man.
He kissed her like a curse. Like vengeance.
Her arms wrapped around his neck instantly, lips parting, tongue tangling with his. She tasted like wine and want and desperation.
“You let him touch you,” Emrys growled between kisses.
“I had no choice—”
“You’re mine,” he snapped, voice dark and ruined. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He spun her, pressing her chest to the cold stone, one hand fisting in her skirts, the other at his belt.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered, breath hot against her ear. “I’ve been dreaming of this pussy every night. Waking up hard and aching and fucking starving for you.”
She whimpered, arching her ass toward him. “Then take me.”
He didn’t hesitate.
He pushed her skirts up to her waist and yanked her under things down to her knees, baring her completely. He dropped to one knee behind her and spread her open with both hands.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re soaked.”
His mouth was on her. He licked her from behind, groaning into her core like a man possessed. His tongue teased her clit, then lapped at her hole, tongue-fucking her until she was moaning loud enough to risk discovery.
“Emrys, gods, I’m about to—”
He stood, covered her mouth, and slammed into her from behind.
Her scream was muffled against his palm, her walls grip ping him tight.
He fucked her like it was the last time he would—rough, fast, and desperate.
His hand slid from her mouth to her throat, gripping gently, possessively, as he pounded into her.
“This pussy’s mine,” he snarled.
“Yes, yes, gods—”
“No more waiting. No more hiding.”
His hand slid between her thighs and rubbed her clit in tight, wet circles while he fucked her harder, deeper.
Her thighs shook. Her nails scraped the stone.
“I’m so close,” she sobbed. “Please, inside me, don’t stop, please.
” And when she broke, body shuddering, cunt clenching around him, he let go.
He buried himself deep and came with a feral growl, holding her tight as he spilled inside her, his body shaking from the force of it.
They collapsed into the shadows together, panting, hearts racing. Neither spoke for a long moment. Then, hoarse, he whispered, “No more hiding.”