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“That I know.” Mehl leaned closer and slid his hands further up his husband’s thighs. Perhaps some things could only be shown. “Come on, Tor. Help me out of this blasted finery. Then you can yield to me for the night so you’ll know we’re forever even.”

Toren’s breath hissed out, and for a moment, Mehl thought he might refuse. There was no perfect way to restore his husband’s shaken faith, but it seemed a good start. Had he interpreted the need wrongly? Toren was less inclined to yield at the best of times.

Worry settled in, and Mehl started to ease back. But Toren’s hand slid from his cheek to his neck, preventing the motion. “Very well,” Toren whispered. “Tell me what to do.”

Desire and relief—an interesting combination.

Mehl’s lips curved up. “Indeed I will.”

* * *

Toren’s heartpounded a frantic beat as he waited for Mehl to make his move. Giving up control filled him with a heady fear, a daring sort of excitement. It was like racing his horse across the open fields at breakneck speed or leaning over the parapet atop the highest tower to better admire the view. As with those things, the pleasure would be worth the danger—and with his rogue magic, there was always danger.

“Will you unbraid my hair?” Mehl asked, his hands slipping a little closer to Toren’s cock as he braced himself and stood.

At Toren’s muttered curse, his husband grinned and turned away, presenting his back. For one mad moment, Toren savored the mental image of shoving everything off the nearby table and bending Mehl over it. But no. His husband wasn’t the one who was supposed to be yielding this night.

He had to take quite a few calming breaths before he approached Mehl. His hands trembled as he lifted them, his fingers diving into the mass of dark, smooth hair twined around the crown in simple braids. Simple, because Toren had plaited them himself while Feref focused on Ria. It made untwining the strands a blessedly simple matter.

In short order, Mehl’s crown rested beside his, their formal robes together on their hangers. Now what? They faced one another, and Mehl took his hands. But neither of them made a move. Toren couldn’t have coaxed his body into motion if he’d wanted to, not with Mehl’s tender gaze pinning him in place.

“I hope you don’t expect me to be rough in my command,” Mehl murmured. “My intent is to show you my love so thoroughly that you’ll never doubt it again.”

A weight settled on Toren’s chest at the worried slant of his husband’s brow. He felt in his soul that Mehl loved him, but recent events had him off kilter. Apprehension was a constant companion, ready to latch onto anything it could. It joined with fears that had lived in his heart for a lifetime. All it needed was for him to falter.

Mehl’s earlier words had been bad. That was truth. But one misspoken phrase shouldn’t destroy over a century of love. “You’ve already succeeded in that regard. You needn’t—”

“Surely you aren’t arguing.” Mehl’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “Since you are currently under my command.”

Toren’s cock went so hard he couldn’t hold back a groan, eliciting a laugh from Mehl. When Mehl tugged him toward the door, Toren followed without complaint. Even as his magic surged, shallowing his breath with its force, he allowed his husband to strip him of tunic and pants. Slowly.

Far too slowly.

Mehl’s hands glided gently over Toren’s skin with each bit of clothing removed until he feared he would go mad from it. The delicious torment didn’t cease when every stitch they’d worn was strewn across the floor, either. Mehl nipped and kissed and stroked his way down Toren’s chest. Toren froze when his husband traced the line of his hip with his tongue. Straight toward—

He gasped, a ragged sound, when Mehl’s mouth closed around his cock.

Gods of all.

Sadly, Mehl didn’t linger, only bobbing his head a few times before drawing away. Toren’s head fell back, and his long hair danced along his ass. He hissed out a breath, his skin so sensitive the teasing brush could have been fingers. Whatever Mehl planned, it had better not require endurance, because tonight, Toren feared he would have little.

Mehl kissed his way back up to claim Toren’s mouth. No gentleness this time, only claiming. Toren burned hotter with each duel of their tongues until he nearly shoved his husband onto the bed behind him. Instead, it was Mehl who spun them. Mehl who eased Toren onto the mattress.

The muscles of Mehl’s arms strained as he caged Toren in, but Toren didn’t feel trapped—he felt cherished. And in that moment, he allowed himself to be free of all, save the grip he held on his magic. That had too much power to hurt Mehl, who was still raw from channeling so much energy the last couple of the days. But kingdom and rank and treacherous family?

They had no place here.

He watched through heavy eyelids as Mehl grabbed the jar of oil from the side table to prepare them both. Each touch fired his blood and muddled his senses until he squeezed his eyes closed, his back arching from the pleasure. His breath caught when his husband parted his legs wider and poised at his entrance.

But he didn’t push forward. “Look at me,” Mehl growled.

Toren couldn’t resist the pull of his husband’s harsh voice. His heart slammed and squeezed at the sight of Mehl above him, his expression twisted with love and passion and possession. The kind of fierce claiming he rarely displayed.

“Whatever you may fear, you are mine,” Mehl said through clenched teeth. “My love. My life. Mine. Remember it always.”

And then he took.

* * *