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“Feeling your depths twitch and convulse on my cock is a gift from the gods,” he said.

When she regained her breath, her insides were slightly more relaxed than before. Davron took full advantage by penetrating deeply and without pause, his shaft flaming hot against her inner walls. His body grew more rigid, and Amelie began to instinctively crave and anticipate him filling her with every last drop of his seed.

He paused to haul himself up into a sitting position. With the same movement, his cock not leaving her depths, he put an arm around her waist and pulled her up so that she straddled him.

She gasped at the new sensation of being impaled by his pulsing sword while sitting on him. He wound his fingers through her hair and kissed her passionately, driving his cock into her warm, willing body, faster and more frantically. His shaft became impossibly hard and slick, like steel wrapped in silk.

With a shuddering groan, he reached climax, holding her hips firmly in place while he unleashed wave upon wave of hot seed into her core.

There Amelie remained, with him buried deep inside of her, enjoying the reality of being entirely full of him. She attempted to catch her breath, while still kissing and touching Davron ceaselessly. Her unkempt hair stuck to her face from exertion. He pushed the strands back, licking the sweat off her forehead with a grunt of satisfaction.

Then he drew her close to him again, his arms encircling her fully. She could not believe she ever doubted coming to Castle Grange or being with him. Their two hearts beating as one, Davron held her in that position for a long time, seemingly unwilling to let her go.

Amelie melted into him, not wanting him to.

CHAPTER 22

Amelie awoke in the early hours of the morning.

Beside her, Davron slumbered heavily, his breath ebbing and flowing in a steady rhythm. She slipped out of bed with care and went to the window.

Through the curtain, the indigo sky was tinged with orange at the horizon. She tiptoed to the bathroom, noting with happiness the delicious ache at the meeting of her thighs. Making love with Davron had left her feeling drunk with euphoria. It was everything she hoped it would be and more. Far more.

The closeness she experienced with him went beyond the physical. Their essences combined to create something new and beautiful, belonging to the two of them alone. Was sex always so magical? Surely not.

After washing her hands in the bathroom basin, she attempted to check her reflection in the brass fixtures of the dresser. Her mouth was swollen and inflamed from the intensity of kissing Davron and her hair was in tangles. Looking for a comb, she opened the drawer of the dresser. Instead of a comb, there was only a crumpled piece of parchment.

At first, she thought nothing of it, closing the drawer again. But as she stood there, brushing her hair with her fingers, she recalled Davron stuffing a piece of parchment into his pocket in the apothecary. She paused. Did she dare read it, when he’d wanted to keep it from her?

Although, did his evasiveness not mean she should read the note, if the contents might pertain to her?

It was with this incredibly shaky logic that she eased the drawer open and retrieved the parchment. Before reading it, she ducked her head around the door to ensure Davron was still asleep. Then, she returned to the dresser with the parchment in hand, heart thudding uncomfortably, knowing she should not read it.

But she also knew Davron isolated himself because he was unused to having anyone to confide in. What if the parchment contained important information about the curse? In the rose garden, he’d been markedly vague when she asked him if the curse could be broken. If it could not, no matter what, why not simply say that? If it could, why not tell her how? Perhaps she could help.

She smoothed the parchment flat on the marble top of the dresser in the light of a single candle. The contents were a few lines written in the same neat script as the potion recipes in the apothecary. The late Queen Petra wrote it.

the curse is a symptom

hatred is the malady

her love is the cure

jar of sunshine ?

Amelie frowned, trying to make sense of the brief and disjointed prose. It seemed to say the curse was borne of hatred, which was already obvious. Her tired mind attempted to read for nuance in the text. She leaned on the dresser, thinking.

her love is the cure

The meaning of this line was less obvious to Amelie. Did it mean the sorceress’s love? Levissina’s goodness vanished when she cursed Davron’s family. Who else’s love would the line refer to? His late fiancée’s? His mother’s?

All in all, the first three lines did not seem to say anything revelatory. Perhaps it was simply a throwaway note of the queen’s, and Davron had not thought it was important enough to share with Amelie.

jar of sunshine ?

This line was odd, and Amelie couldn’t imagine what it meant. It was almost a nonsense-sounding phrase, and the question mark made it even more confusing.

Amelie sighed. She was probably reading too much into the words, as she was wont to do. The parchment lay crumpled in a drawer, not particularly well hidden—hardly some great secret. It likely meant nothing.