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The whole purpose of this ridiculous night was to show the men what they had missed out on, what they had given up. What would no longer be theirs to have.

This was the last time.

This was their goodbye.

Their last dance.

Chapter38

GRAESON

Graeson had meantwhat he said. His heart was hers. Kalisandre could carve it out, and he would do nothing to stop her.

Gods, Graeson would even give Kalisandre the knife.

In truth, he had already given it to her a long time ago. Since Esmeray had told him about his mother’s vision when he was a child, Graeson had believed that Kalisandre was his, a woman promised to him. A woman fated to him. A woman so intrinsically tied up with who Graeson was that Kalisandre could not be torn from him.

But this kiss . . . No, this entire trip was proving to him how wrong he had been, how foolish he was being. And how right everyone else had been from the beginning. Because Graeson would sacrifice anything to save the woman before him.

His honor.

His kingdom.

His friends.

Graeson would do anything if it meant that Kalisandre was his. That she was his as much as he was hers. He would do anything if it meant that these lips only ever tasted of him. That another man never touched her again, never kissed her skin, never felt her breath caress his ear.

And maybe that was why Graeson refused to let go. Why his body leaned forward, why it pressed against hers. He wanted to remove any remnant of the Frenzian royals that lingered on her clothes, on her skin, on her hair.

Graeson’s hand swept up her neck, caressing the side of her head, the spot right behind her ear. Her body arched into him, arched for him, archedbecauseof him.

Mine, the voice in the back of his head growled.

A feral noise slipped his lips. Graeson wasn’t sure if the sound was his or the beast within, but it didn’t matter. Not when it only made Kalisandre press against him more.

Beneath his palm, goosebumps scattered across her arm, and his lips curled against her mouth.

He inhaled, but Kalisandre scraped her teeth on his bottom lip before he could say anything.

She pulled it.

She looked at him through long, dark eyelashes, and a deep hunger stirred in the sea of blue. “For once, Graeson, shut up,” Kalisandre said, her breathing heavy, her voice husky.

Graeson narrowed his eyes, but then he smirked. “Fine.”

Kalisandre reached for him, but he pulled his head back. “Ah. Always so eager, little mouse. First things first.” He snatched the dagger from her hand and then tossed it into the corner of the room.

Kalisandre arched a brow.

Graeson craved to kiss the curve that formed. But instead, he shrugged. “As much as I like that dagger of yours, best we keep it far away.”

Kallie grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. “Are you sure it’s the dagger you should be concerned about?”

“You tell me, Princess.”

Kalisandre smirked and then dragged him further into the room.

Even though Graeson could have easily outmaneuvered her and controlled the situation, he let her guide him. He didn’t care if Kalisandre looked at him as if he was prey. He didn’t care if she was using him. He didn’t care if they still hadn’t discussed everything. He was starving for her touch. And right now, he knew that what Kalisandre needed—what shecraved—was control. So, he would let her carve him out piece by piece until she had her fill.