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Chapter Fifty-Seven

Jasce

The next morning, I step into the tent where we’re keeping Aleksander.

He sits there, tied up, a blindfold over his eyes and a cloth wrapped around his mouth.

As I approach him, memories flood my mind—flashes of us as children, running carefree through the halls of the palace in Sharhavva. Everything was different then, simpler—before jealousy and resentment darkened our bond.

My chest clenches as I pull the blindfold from his face. He blinks, his eyes dazed and unfocused as they meet mine.

Satisfaction curls in my gut, knowing the potent flower we’ve been lacing his wine with is keeping him in this subdued state.

“This is what you asked for, Alek. Being tied up like an animal. Your own family hating you.”

His lips part, but no words come out. I doubt he can even form a coherent sentence right now.

“Jude and Reeve helped me do this to you. Helped me bind you after everything you’ve done. Is that what you wanted? For everyone to despise you?” I ask, but he just stares at me.

I pull up a chair and sit before him. “I’ll keep you like this forever if I have to.”

His eyes flutter, struggling to focus on me.

“I should kill you for what you’ve done to her.

” I keep my voice steady and even as I continue.

“But I can’t. So instead, you’ll stay here, drugged and helpless, until I find a way to break that bond.

Even if it takes summers. Even if it takes decades.

I don’t care how long. I will never let you hurt her again. ”

His eyelids droop, the herbs taking stronger hold. Good. Let him drift in that hazy darkness. It’s more mercy than he deserves.

I push to my feet. “You chose this path,” I say, though I doubt he can understand me through the drug-induced haze. “Now live with the consequences.”

Determination fuels me as I turn my back on him and stride toward the tent flap. The guards snap to attention as I emerge into the crisp morning air.

There’s a war to win, and I won’t waste any more time dwelling on Aleksander.

As I step out of the tent, my eyes catch on Annora, kneeling by a campfire with the cook and her helpers. The flames cast a warm glow across her face, but they can’t hide the pallor that’s haunted her since I brought her here.

The cook’s helpers talk among themselves, but Annora stays quiet as she focuses on chopping vegetables.

My chest tightens at the shadows that still linger in her eyes. They shouldn’t be there. Only happiness. Only joy.

She shouldn’t be doing common work, but I know this is exactly where she needs to be. These simple acts of kindness and service—they’re as much a part of her as breathing.

Aleksander nearly broke that beautiful spirit of hers. The thought sends a surge of rage through me, but I push it down. What matters now is protecting that light inside her and nurturing it back to its full brilliance.

I grab an armful of firewood from the nearby pile and make my way over. The cook’s helpers straighten when they see me, but Annora just lifts those solemn blue eyes to mine. A tiny smile touches her lips—small, but real.

It hits me in the chest, that smile. How many times had I feared I’d never see it again?

“The fire could use more wood,” I say, dropping the logs beside her.

She nods, that slight smile still in place. “Thank you, Jasce.”

I grab another armload of wood, and when I set it down beside Annora, her eyes meet mine again. Love shimmers there, but clouds still lurk beneath—the ones that make her hands tremble when she thinks no one’s watching.

Aleksander should die for what he did to her, but that path leads straight to my father’s footsteps.

I spent my life watching him destroy everything beautiful, starting with my mother.

Yet, even after all that, my mother never lost her way.

She saw what Lyra’s death could mean. Not just an end, but a beginning.

Something tells me she knew exactly what she was doing when she linked Annora and Lyra’s souls. She gave me a chance at love, and she gave our people a chance at peace.

Annora’s knife pauses over a carrot. “Jasce, you don’t have to stay here. I know you have important things to do.”

I stop beside her. “More important than watching my wife massacre vegetables?”

“I am not massacring them.”

“No?” I pick up a mangled carrot piece. “This poor fellow might disagree.”

A flash of indignation crosses her face. “That is a perfectly acceptable size for soup.”

“If you say so.” I lean closer, dropping my voice. “Though, I’ve seen you be much more precise with your hands.”

Pink blooms across her cheeks as she bumps her shoulder against mine. “Jasce…”

“What?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I was talking about your drawings.”

Her eyes narrow, but that smile refuses to fade. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly charming?”

She gasps as I scoop her into my arms. “Put me down.”

A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth as I carry her away from the cook’s tent. “I can’t do that.”

She squirms, trying to wiggle free. “People are staring at us.”

“Let them stare,” I say as I tighten my hold around her and carry her across the camp.

“You’re making a scene.”

“And you’re making it difficult to carry you,” I tease as I adjust my grip again.

She holds up the carrot and knife. “I have weapons.”

“I’m very afraid,” I say with a laugh.

We weave through the camp, drawing a few amused glances from passing warriors. I ignore them, focused solely on the fiery woman in my arms.

“You should be.”

“You wouldn’t harm your beloved husband, would you?” We reach our tent, and I nudge the flap aside with my boot.

Ducking inside, I drop her on the mattress. Then, I climb onto the bed after her, and she scoots backward, still brandishing the carrot like a weapon.

“Don’t come any closer,” she says, though her tone holds no real warning.

“Or what? You’ll feed me vegetables?”

Humor dances in her eyes. “I might.”

“Terrifying.” I crawl forward as she keeps backing away.

She bumps against the headboard, trapped now. “I mean it, Jasce.”

“No, you don’t.” I grab her thighs before she can escape, holding her in place. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I am not,” she says, but her laughter betrays her words as she tries to wiggle free.

The sound hits me right in the chest. I’ve missed her laugh.

“Admit it,” I say, tightening my grip as she squirms. “You’re having fun.”

“Never.” She attempts to look stern as she lowers the carrot and knife to the nearby table, but her lips keep twitching.

“No?” I raise an eyebrow. “Then, why are you smiling?”

“I’m not smiling.” She presses her lips together, fighting it.

“Really?” I lean closer. “Because I definitely see a smile.”

She shakes her head, but her resolve crumbles. “Fine. Yes, I’m smiling. Are you happy now?”

“Extremely,” I say as I run my fingertips up her thighs.

“Jasce,” she whispers, and my name on her lips undoes every careful thread of control I’ve maintained the last few days.

Fuck! I’ve missed this.

Missed her.

Missed fucking her.

I trace my thumb across her lower lip. “I’ve missed you.”

Her fingers tangle in my hair as she pulls me closer. “I’m here now.”

Those three words hold so much meaning. She’s choosing to be here, choosing to let down her walls again. Choosing me.

Her lips find mine, and the last few days fade away as I deepen the kiss.

I’ve missed this—missed her trembling beneath my fingers, missed the way she melts into me.

She tugs at my clothes, impatient little movements that make me smile against her mouth. I pull back just enough to help her, and the sight of her—cheeks flushed, eyes dark with desire—nearly brings me to my knees.

She’s my wife. My salvation. The woman who brought light back into my world when I thought I’d forever walk in shadow.

She knows exactly how to drive me mad, how to make me burn hotter than any flame.

I capture her hands, pinning them above her head as I trail kisses down her throat.

This is more than desire, more than mere passion. This is coming home. This is finding peace in the midst of war. This is everything I never knew I needed until she crashed into my life.

I trail my fingers down her sides, and she bucks beneath my touch, still pushing against her hands.

“Keep them there,” I warn.

Her jaw clenches, but she does as I say, keeping her hands above her head. Slowly, I slide my palms up her thighs and pull her gown up—inch by excruciating inch—until I reach the junction of her legs.

I stroke her, feeling the dampness, hearing her gasp. Her chest heaves, her hips twist as she tries not to move her hands. But I love her hands.

I scoop them free, wrapping her fingers around the iron bars at the headboard before I lift my head. Our eyes lock, desire and something deeper burning in her gaze. I see it all there. Fear, trust, want, and a glimmer of the woman she was before Aleksander tore her down.

She bites her lip, and I swear my heart stops at the sight. My wife. My fierce, beautiful wife.

I want to ravage her. Worship her. Spend the rest of my life making her smile.

I lower my head, trailing kisses along her thigh as I lift her undergarments to the side. She gasps, the sound sending a shot of desire straight to my cock.

She’s more than ready, and the knowledge does something dangerous to my control. I want to take her now, hard and fast, but I force myself to slow down—instead, teasing her, tasting her, torturing her.

Though, I know she can take it.

My Annora’s strong.

I flick my tongue against her, and her back bows off the bed. She gasps, but the sound cuts off as I do it again, swirling my tongue through her wetness and relishing her taste.

The mattress dips as she rocks against my mouth, and her grip on the iron bars tightens. Her breaths come faster, little pants that only spur me on.

She’s close. So close.

I ghost my fingers over her, circling, stroking. Her hands slide from the bars, reaching for my hair, my shoulders, my back—anywhere to anchor herself as I push her closer to the edge.

She wraps her legs around my head, pressing herself closer.

I’ll give her closer. I’ll take her there, but I’m going to take my damn time doing it.