Chapter 64 The Council Chamber
The Council Chamber
Colsar slams the council door with the heel of his boot, the impact reverberating through the chamber and rattling the glass in the tall windows. The sound carries exactly as he intends.
He doesn’t slow as he crosses the room. Instead he lifts me onto the council table, pushing aside a spread of parchment without bothering to look at it. Ink smears beneath my palm when I brace myself, and a wax seal cracks under my weight.
“He stood there,” Colsar says, voice rough with restrained fury, “and spoke as if he could take you from me.”
“He can’t.”
“No.” He reaches for the ties at my back and tears them loose. The fabric falls from my shoulders, pooling at my waist before dropping to the floor. The late light from the open windows catches along my skin, leaving nowhere to hide.
He steps between my knees. “Spread.”
I lean back on my hands and part my legs across the table. The parchment beneath me buckles and tears at the edges.
“Whose is this?”
He does not look down. He watches my face as he tests the answer for himself. Only then does his hand move.
“Yours.”
He studies my face, not my body, his fingers working between my legs as he proves it for himself. “Look at you,” he mutters, pulling the glistening finger out and holding it above my mouth.
“Open.”
I part my lips.
“Suck.”
I suck the finger before biting it, drawing blood.
His eyes darken. “Greedy thing.” He pushes his fingers back into me, deeper this time, until my body answers him without restraint and the parchment beneath us darkens.
“You’re already so wet,” he murmurs as he keeps pumping, then he pulls out suddenly, stepping back and staring at me. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
My hands move toward myself on instinct, trying to bring back the pleasure he was giving me. He catches one wrist and presses it down flat against the table, forcing my palm into the parchment until ink stains my skin.
“Leave it,” he says quietly. “You don’t touch what’s mine until I say.” His tongue drags over my neck and I tilt my head back, parting my lips for a kiss.
He leans in, his lips brushing mine. “No.” Then he releases my wrist only to drag both of my hands down and force them behind my back, holding them there with one firm grip while his other hand holds my thigh open.
“Stay like that.”
The position exposes me completely. The air brushes over skin already heated from his nearness. The documents beneath me crumple further as I shift.
He looks at me with open intensity. “Is this what does it for you?” he asks. “Seeing me like this.” His fingers press higher along my thigh, confirming what he already knows. “Is it seeing me unhinged that makes you this wet?”
“Yes.” The answer leaves me without hesitation.
“Yes,” I repeat.
His mouth lifts, not amused. “Filthy,” he says softly. “But only for me.” He releases my wrists and pushes one of my hands back to my chest. “Touch yourself there,” he says. “Not anywhere else.”
I obey, my fingers brushing over my nipples, a shiver running through me as he watches. The table shifts when he moves closer. Another stack of parchment slips and falls.
“Say my name.”
“Colsar.”
He takes off his shirt, skin still damp from the fight with Sevrin. My eyes follow the movement of his shoulders, the shift of muscle beneath his skin as he moves. He steps out of his pants, already hard. My mouth goes dry as I wait for him to move between my legs.
Instead, he reaches for the brandy decanter on the table and smiles at me.
Bastard.
I scowl, then lift my head. “I want some,” I say, lips parting.
“My reckless Princess,” he murmurs, voice low.
“Always wanting to drink and gamble.” He leans over me and tilts the decanter.
The liquid spills into my mouth, warm and burning, and I swallow instinctively, expecting more.
He doesn’t give it. His attention lingers on my throat as I swallow, then the decanter tips again, slower this time, letting the brandy trail down over my chest instead.
His hand slides down and rests over my stomach, his touch slowing as he looks at me. “That won’t stay like this,” he says, voice rough, quieter now. He leans in and kisses me, slower this time, almost gentle. When he pulls back, his voice drops. “That’s what I want.”
I hold his eyes. “That’s what you’ll have,” I whisper.
Something in him breaks. He jerks back like the words struck him and hurls the decanter across the room. It shatters against the wall, glass exploding outward as the brandy spills across the floor. “You are mine!” he shouts. “He cannot take you from me!”
The sound pulls a moan from me. I tremble, my body answering him before I can think, hips lifting. Everything about it pulls me toward him, makes me want more.
His mouth drops to my breasts, following the brandy he spilled there.
His tongue moves slowly over my nipples, down my stomach, up my throat, drawing a sound from me as I grip the edge of the table.
He shifts between my knees, not giving me what I want, only circling, brushing just close enough to make me restless.
I press harder into the table as he moves again, slower now, dragging it out. “If you do as you’re told,” he murmurs near my ear, “you’ll have me every way you want.” His voice lowers, rough with it.
“So soft, always ready.” His hand slides along my thigh, guiding, keeping me where he wants me. “You take me exactly right.”
I need him inside me.
“You’re going to be so full of me when we're done,” he says, voice thick, "every time you move, when you rise, when you cross a room, you’ll feel siakar dripping down your leg."
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“Shut up.”
I reach down to try to pull him in deeper. He grabs my wrist and places its back at my chest.
“Do as you’re told.”
I don’t listen, but begin lifting my hips towards him, begging for more.
“Colsar.”
“Again.”
He eases the tip into my entrance, then stops.
“Please.”
He moves another inch.
I can’t take it anymore. My nails drag across his shoulders. I bite at his neck, drawing blood when the stretch pulls a sound from me.
“You should not have done that,” he says against my mouth.
I whisper, “Then bite me back.”
His mouth closes on my shoulder. Pain snaps through me and I press into him instead of pulling away. A low sound escapes him as he licks at the faint blood. He tastes it without comment, then bends down and licks between my legs, teeth grazing my center until I whimper.
I don’t want his tongue, or his fingers, or his words.
“Colsar. Please fuck me. Fuck me now. Give me what I need.”
Slowly he lifts his head from between my thighs and rises.
“Colsar.”
“Be good,” he whispers. Then he pushes fully into me in one hard motion that drives the table back against the wall.
I scream. The sound echoes off the ceiling and carries through the open windows.
“That’s it,” he says against my ear. “Let him hear exactly what he doesn’t get.” His lips crash into mine, hungry, devouring, like he wants to pull the sound right out of me. I matched his intensity, teeth nipping his lower lip as he lets out a low moan.
He sets a relentless rhythm now, controlled but forceful, one hand keeping my legs parted while the other holds my hip in place. The parchment beneath us tears beyond repair. Ink streaks across my back and thighs. None of it is intentional, yet none of it stops him.
“You swore to me,” he says between thrusts. “You swore to love me. To never leave.” He stops abruptly, still pulsing and firm inside me. He doesn’t move. He just looks at me.
I push up onto my elbows and gently caress the wedding ring I wear around my neck. For a moment, we just stare at each other.
“I meant it,” I whisper.
He says nothing, his face full of anguish, awe, and something raw.
"Come here,” I say, pulling him down to me, wrapping my arms around his neck as his chest presses against mine.
"We are not broken,” I whisper against his mouth. “We are matched.”
"I will never leave you, I will never love another.”
A sound escapes him, his face buried in my neck.
“I never will,” I say, my breath uneven. “I. Am. Yours.”
He lifts off of me, lining himself up as he stares at me as if he’s about to test the promise I just made.
"You do not lose me," I whisper.
Without warning, he drives into me so deep the cry tears out of me before I can contain it. My body clenches around him, the climax hitting with such brutal force that I convulse, muscles locking uncontrollably, nearly pushing him out.
He lifts me again and presses me against the shared wall, the plaster cool against my skin. He thrusts forward, driving me into the wall. “He’s right there,” Colsar says quietly, placing my palms flat on the wall. “Feel it,” he says. “This is all that separates him.”
“Good.” I arch against him, demanding more, and he curses under his breath. His thrusts turn hard, fast, each one slamming me into the wall, the impact shaking through my frame.
“Tell him.”
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
His pacing is relentless and without intending to, I find release. “I’m yours, Colsar.”
He carries me to the chaise without breaking rhythm, lowering me onto the velvet as he continues.
His hand slides down between us, his fingers moving over my sensitive area in slow, tightening circles that draw another moan from my throat.
The open windows let in distant voices from the courtyard, but they disappear beneath the sound of my own.
“He can bear witness to the day we made our prince,” I murmur in his ear. He hisses, the sound turning into a growl as he drives harder, deeper, consuming me completely.
When release takes me again, it tears through my body and my cry carries across the chamber without restraint. He follows moments later, pulling me firmly against him, refusing to let me collapse as he presses deeper, slower, until a rough groan escapes him and he spills inside me.
The council table is wrecked. Maps shredded. Ink ground into wood. The chaise is worse. Velvet crushed flat beneath us, stained beyond saving, the imprint of us visible in the fading light.
“Mine,” he rasps, pressing a final kiss to my forehead, his body still draped over mine, the warmth of our release mingling as we remain entwined on the chaise. He glances once toward the wall that separates us from Sevrin. The windows are open. The wall is thin.
“Yours,” I agree.
His eyes drop back down to where we’re still connected, staring at the evidence of us with something like satisfaction. “They’ll all know,” he says.
He does not sound concerned.
Afterward, we do not rush to separate.
We remain on the chaise in the full glare of daylight, skin warm against skin, our breathing slowly returning to something resembling calm. He withdraws only when he must and pulls me into his chest, my head settling against his shoulder as his hands trace steady paths along my back.
Beyond these walls the palace continues to move. The King continues to breathe.
But here, in a chamber meant for treaties and counsel, we lie stripped of title and armor, bound by something that cannot be negotiated.
I lift my face to him, my fingers brushing along his ribs.
“Explain to me,” I say softly, “what your twisted brother is truly after.”