8. Chapter 8
ERYNDOR
She was shaking.
It was the sheer, brutal effort of holding herself at the edge of that invisible line between us—the one that kept her safe and was slowly driving us both mad.
Then her expression hardened. The want was still there—gods, it was written across every inch of her—but underneath it, a darker need surfaced. The thing she'd been carrying since she dragged me out of that palace.
I'd been waiting for it.
"Stop looking at me like that." She lifted her chin. "I can't think when you—" She shook her head. “I need more than you looking at me. I need to see too. I need to know.”I nodded. I knew what she needed.
"We're doing this," she demanded. "Right now."
"Yes." I kept my tone simple. No argument. She needed answers more than she needed me to satiate her right now. "Ask me. Tell me what you need to know."
"The wedding. And before." Her voice was steady, but I could hear the fractures beneath it. "The days in that cage. With her."
Vivienne. She couldn't even say the name. I didn't blame her.
I let the silence sit for a moment. Not to deflect—I was done hiding from her. But I needed to gather the words carefully. She deserved the truth without me breaking under the weight of it.
"What do you want to know?"
She set her mouth. I watched her fight with herself—the part that wanted to know warring with the part that was terrified of the answer.
The terrified part lost.
"Did she touch you?" she ground out.
Hearing her ask it—hearing that she thought she had to—felt like a physical blow.
"No."
I watched the word land. She blinked. Whatever she'd been bracing for—it wasn't that. She exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for three months.
"She tried." I kept my voice even. "She came to my rooms expecting a husband. Expecting compliance. Expecting me to perform whatever duty she believed she'd purchased."
My jaw tightened. "She got nothing."
Amaria stared at me. "How?” The word cracked. “You were married to her. The King would have—"
"The King wanted the bond to solidify. He wanted the power that comes from a true union.
" I held her gaze. "So I made him believe it was happening.
Slowly. Carefully. I told him the soulbinding was volatile—that rushing physical intimacy could destabilize the Marks.
I told Vivienne the magic needed to build gradually, that forcing it could damage us both. "
A cold smile ghosted my lips. "They believed me. Because they wanted to believe. Because the alternative—that I was simply refusing to give them what they demanded—never occurred to them."
"But she must have—" Amaria's voice was raw. "She was your wife. She had to have tried to—"
"She tried, and I stopped her." I took a step toward her.
"She'd reach for me and I'd catch her wrist. She'd move closer and I'd find a reason to leave.
She'd demand her rights as my wife or future wife and I'd look at her with enough ice in my eyes that she'd remember exactly what kind of creature she'd married. "
I remembered those moments. The way Vivienne's perfumed hands would reach for my chest. The way I'd redirect, deflect, turn her touch into something I controlled.
You're my husband, she'd hiss. You owe me this.
The bond isn't ready, I'd say. Unless you'd like to explain to the King why you've shattered the one weapon he's been cultivating for decades.
She never called my bluff. She was too afraid of him to risk it.
"She never touched me." I held Amaria's gaze.
"Why?" She whispered as color flooded her face with shame.
"Because I'm not hers to touch." The words ripped out of me with more force than I intended.
"My body is not a thing to be taken. It's not a territory to be claimed by whoever holds the legal contract.
" I stepped closer. "I belong to you. I have belonged to you since the first day you tried to stab me in that sparring ring.
And I would have let the King drain me to a husk before I let another female have what is yours. "
A raw, strangled sound tore out of her throat. Guilt and shame and Fury all tangled together.
But she was falling apart in front of me. Shaking with relief and grief and guilt she had no right to carry. And I could not—would not—let her drown in it alone just because I couldn't use my hands.
"Eyes on me."
Her gaze snapped to mine. Instinct. Response. The command landed exactly the way I needed it to.
"I can't touch you right now." I kept my voice low. Steady. The voice I used when she needed an anchor. "But I need you to feel me anyway. I need you to hear what I'm saying and take it in. Can you do that?"
She gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Words, Amaria."
"Yes." It came out rough.
"Good." I held her gaze. "Kneel."
She blinked. "What?"
"On the floor. Now."
For a moment I thought she'd argue. Thought the fire in her would rear up and refuse.
But she didn't. She sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, and my chest constricted at the sight of her—this queen who had brought kingdoms to their knees, kneeling for me. Trusting me even now.
"Hands behind your back."
She obeyed. Her fingers laced together at the base of her spine.
"Chest up. Shoulders back."
She adjusted. The position opened her up—throat exposed, heart unguarded, completely vulnerable to whatever I was about to say.
"Legs apart."
A shaky breath. Then she widened her stance, knees spreading against the stone.
"I don't want your submission, Amaria," I murmured, staring down at her exposed throat. "I want the war in you. The ache. The fire. The part that thinks it's too much—because that's the part of you I'd kneel for."
She made a small, wounded sound. Like I'd reached into her chest and touched something she'd been protecting her whole life.
Perfect. That was the part I needed to reach. The part she hid behind all that armor and fury. The part that believed she was too wild, too broken, too much to be wanted whole.
I wanted her to feel those words sink in. Wanted them to settle into her bones and stay there long after tonight was over.
I walked a slow circle around her. As close as the Marks would allow. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck.
She heard me. But hearing wasn't enough. Not tonight. Tonight I needed her to believe.
"You're going to listen now." I stopped in front of her. "And you're going to hear me. Not argue. Not deflect. Listen. Understood?"
"Yes."
I crouched down. Brought myself to her eye level, the distance killed me but I could see the tears still tracking down her cheeks, the tremble in her lower lip.
I reached for the bond without thinking—the place where she used to hum beneath my skin.
Nothing. Just silence where she should have been singing.
"She did not hurt me."
Amaria flinched and started to curl in on herself. “Shoulders back, Amaria. Chest out. You do not cower. Even from your own emotions. Understood?” She nodded and pushed her chest and chin out defiantly.
“She did not touch me. She did not take anything from me." I held her gaze with everything I had. "You are not broken. You are not cursed. You are terrifying. And holy. And mine—whether you let me hold you or not. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about. Do you hear me?"
Her lip started trembling again and tears welled in her eyes.
"Amaria. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you." The words came out strangled.
"I made a choice." I let the words land one at a time. "I chose to marry her. I chose to stay in that palace. I chose to let my father believe he owned me. That was my burden to carry. Mine. You don't get to take that choice away from me."
A sob broke out of her. She tried to curl forward to hide, but the position kept her pinned—chest up, heart pounding, with nowhere left to retreat.
Exactly where I needed her.
"I gave Caden his freedom. That was my gift. Mine to give." My voice hardened. "Do not devalue it by holding shame and guilt for a sacrifice you didn't ask me to make. I chose it. I would choose it again. And I will not let you twist it into something you need to atone for."
She was crying openly now. Tears streaming down her face, chest heaving with the effort of holding position while her whole body wanted to collapse.I waited silently while she released the shame and guilt. When she had slowed down, and I could see her body relaxing, I continued.
"No one has touched me since the last time you did." The words came out low. Fierce. "No one will touch me until you do again. I am yours, Little Fox. Completely. Untouched. Yours."
I let the silence stretch. Let it fill the space between us.
"Do you understand?"
Her voice broke on the answer.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
A shudder ran through her. The question split the last defense in her—I witnessed the final wall crumble.
"Yes." Barely a whisper. "Yours. Mine. And I don't—" Her breath hitched. "I don't get to carry it. Your choice. Not mine to hold."
"Good girl."
The words landed like a benediction. I watched them hit her, watched her whole body soften at the praise she'd earned.
I wanted to touch her so badly my hands, cock, and heart ached ferociously with it. Wanted to gather her up off that cold floor, lay her bare, pleasure her until she screamed and cried—and then hold her until neither of us remembered what pain felt like.
Instead, I rose. Stepped back. Gave her room to breathe.
"You can get up now."
She stayed where she was for a long moment. Knees on stone, hands clasped behind her, chest still open and vulnerable. Like she wasn't ready to let go of the position. Like she needed to stay in it a little longer.
I understood. Sometimes surrender was the only safe place left.
"Whenever you're ready," I said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Slowly, she uncurled. Hands coming forward to brace against the floor. Shoulders rounding as she let the position go. She didn't stand—just shifted back onto her heels, head bowed, breath still uneven.
The tears had stopped. They left her scoured clean. Stripped of the anger, the fear, and the armor, leaving only the quiet that comes after a fever breaks.