Page 50

A political position that makes me either incredibly valuable or incredibly dead, depending on which court gains the upper hand.

Water runs in the bathroom—the sound of her finally allowing herself hot water and soap after hours of forest mud and chaos. I should leave. Should give her privacy to process everything that’s happened.

Instead, I settle into one of her sitting room chairs, listening to water running in the next room and feeling pathetically grateful for the evidence that she’s safe.

The golden thread between us hums with contentment as hot water eases her exhaustion. Whatever connects us flows both directions, carrying her relief, her wonder at the luxurious facilities, her gradual relaxation as the immediate crisis passes.

I’m so focused on the gentle warmth of her emotional state that I almost miss the soft sound of the bathroom door opening.

She emerges in nothing but a towel, her skin flushed pink from the heat, hair damp and curling around her shoulders. Water droplets trace paths down her collarbone, disappearing beneath the white terry cloth that barely covers her thighs.

My nervous system goes completely blank.

Heat pools low in my stomach as my eyes follow those water droplets, imagining where they disappear. The towel clings to her curves, outlining the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. My hands clench involuntarily, fighting the urge to trace those same paths with my fingers.

“I forgot—” She stops mid-sentence when she sees my face, her lips parting as she takes in my expression. “Oh.”

The magical thread between us explodes with sensation.

Not just emotion, but pure want—hers mirroring mine until I can barely tell where my desire ends and hers begins.

The connection carries the heat of her skin, the way her nipples peak beneath the towel from my hungry stare, the sudden ache between her thighs that makes my own body respond with painful intensity.

My skin glows where I want to touch her—actual phosphorescence like bioluminescent plankton. Seelie magic responds to arousal, golden light bleeding through my shirt, outlining muscles in molten bronze.

The potted plants in the room turn toward us like sunflowers seeking dawn. Vines trail from their pots, reaching across the floor as Wild magic leaks from her overloaded system.

“Fuck,” I breathe, the curse slipping out before I can stop it. Her pupils dilate at the rough word. “I should depart immediately.” The words emerge strangled.

“Should you?” She steps closer, and the scent of her—clean skin and arousal—makes my mouth water. “Or do you want to go?”

“We’re affecting the environment,” she gasps, noting the plants.

“Let them observe,” I growl, but my hands shake with restraint. “Let them witness what occurs when courts unite.”

“Ash...” Her name comes out like a prayer and a plea.

“Because I asked you to stay for a reason.” She takes another step closer, close enough that I can see how her pulse races at the base of her throat. “And it wasn’t just to discuss politics.”

The towel shifts with her movement, slipping lower, threatening to fall. I force my gaze back to her face, but the damage is done. She’s seen exactly how much I want her.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that for the first time since I arrived at this Academy, I feel like myself. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” She reaches out, fingers tracing the edge of my sleeve, the innocent touch sending fire racing through my veins. “And that feeling has everything to do with you.”

Through our connection, I feel her nerves, her desire, her determination to be honest about what she wants. What we both want.

“The political implications?—”

“Will be the same whether we fight this or not.” She moves closer until I can feel the heat radiating from her nearly naked body, until the scent of her arousal makes thinking impossible.

“They already know there’s something between us.

The question is whether we let fear stop us from finding out what it could be. ”

Every wall I’ve built over centuries crumbles to dust.

I rise from the chair in one fluid motion, crossing to her in two quick strides. My hands frame her face, my thumbs tracing her cheekbones as I memorize every detail before capturing her mouth with mine.

This kiss is nothing like the careful brush of lips from before. This is desperation and hunger and the complete surrender of control.

Her lips are soft and warm, parting instantly under mine.

When my tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, she opens for me with a gasp that I swallow.

She tastes like mint from the Academy’s toiletries and something deeper—something wild and sweet that I recognize as purely her.

My tongue explores the heat of her mouth, mapping every sensitive spot, claiming territory I never knew I was desperate to conquer.

She responds immediately, arms winding around my neck as she presses closer. The feel of her barely clothed body against mine is overwhelming—soft curves and warm skin and the knowledge that only a thin piece of terry cloth separates us.

“Finnian,” she breathes against my mouth, and the sound of my name in her voice breaks something loose in my chest.

“Are you aware of what your voice does to me?” I murmur against her lips. “Every time you speak my name, I become painfully hard.”

She gasps softly, but I’m not finished.

“Say it again. Just so I can confirm it’s not merely my imagination.”

“Finnian,” she whispers, and gods help me, I nearly lose all control.

“I find myself desperately wanting to render you utterly speechless,” I growl against her skin. “To discover precisely what sounds you make when words become... inadequate.”

Her knees wobble. She catches the wall. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to. The magic between us crackles like heat before a storm.

“One day,” I promise, voice rough with desire, “you’ll beg me to let you scream my name. And I’ll make you wait for it.”

I walk her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall, never breaking the kiss, never stopping the slow exploration of her mouth with my tongue. My hands tangle in her damp hair, angling her head so I can deepen the connection, so I can taste more of that intoxicating sweetness.

My body responds instinctively, pressing against her until she can feel exactly how much I want her. She gasps into my mouth, her hips shifting against mine in a way that makes me groan.

“Is this what you desire?” I whisper against her neck, pressing a hot kiss to the sensitive skin there.

“Yes.” The word comes out breathless, desperate. “God, yes.”

One of my hands slides down to grip her hip, my thumb stroking the bare skin below the towel’s edge. She shivers, her head falling back against the wall as I trail kisses along her throat.

“You are absolutely exquisite,” I murmur against her collarbone, tasting the sweetness of her skin. “So perfectly beautiful.”

Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Reason dissolves like sugar in rain.

My hands move to the edge of her towel, fingers tracing the tucked fold at her chest. “Tell me to stop,” I breathe against her ear, though every fiber of my being rebels against the possibility. “Tell me this is progressing too rapidly for wisdom.”

“Don’t you dare,” she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. “I want this. I want you.”

The towel loosens under my touch, slipping lower until it’s barely held in place by the pressure of our bodies. My hands map the newly exposed skin—the curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips, the soft skin just above the towel’s precarious edge.

“Fuck, Ash,” I groan against her throat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She pulls my head up to claim my mouth again, the kiss desperate and claiming. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails raking across my chest in a way that makes me see stars.

The towel slips another inch.

“I need to touch you,” I whisper against her lips, my hands trembling with restraint. “All of you.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”

My fingers find the final tuck of the towel, and with one gentle pull, it falls away completely.

She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

My hands worship every newly revealed inch—tracing the curve of her breasts, thumbs brushing across peaked nipples that make her gasp and arch into my touch. Her skin is like silk, warm and smooth and more intoxicating than any magic I’ve ever encountered.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, my mouth following the path of my hands. “So fucking beautiful.”

Her response is lost in a moan as I take one nipple into my mouth, my tongue circling the sensitive peak. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me close as I lavish attention on first one breast, then the other.

“Finnian,” she gasps, her body writhing against mine. “I need... please...”

One of my hands slides lower, tracing patterns on her inner thigh. She spreads her legs slightly, an invitation I can’t resist. When my fingers find the heat between her thighs, we both groan.

“So wet,” I whisper against her breast. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

My fingers explore gently, finding the bundle of nerves that makes her cry out and buck against my hand. She’s so responsive, so perfect, and the sounds she makes are driving me absolutely insane.

“I want to make you come,” I whisper against her ear, my fingers moving in slow circles. “Right here, right now, with my name on your lips.”

“Yes,” she gasps, her hips moving against my hand. “Please, yes.”

I increase the pressure, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. She’s close—I can feel it in the way her body tenses, the way her breathing becomes erratic.

“That’s it,” I encourage, my voice rough with desire. “Let go for me.”

She shatters with a cry that I muffle with my mouth, her body convulsing against mine as waves of pleasure crash over her. I hold her through it, my fingers gentling, my lips pressing soft kisses to her face as she comes down.

“My turn,” she whispers when she can speak again, her hands already working at my belt.

But reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water.

Crystalline formations in the walls pulse brighter now—recording everything. The magical thread between us blazes like a beacon, visible to anyone with court sight. The political implications multiply with each heartbeat.

“Wait,” I breathe, catching her hands despite every instinct screaming to let her continue. “We should... we need to slow down.”

Her eyes are dark with desire and confusion. “Why?”

“Because you deserve much better than this,” I whisper, even as every cell in my body screams in protest. “Better than a desperate encounter against a wall while Academy surveillance records every touch. You deserve to be worshipped properly.”

She studies my face, reading the war between desire and restraint written there. Slowly, she nods.

“You’re right,” she whispers. “But this isn’t over.”

“No,” I agree, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “This is definitely not over.”

I retrieve her towel, wrapping it around her gently, my fingers lingering on her skin longer than necessary.

“Perhaps I should allow you to dress,” I murmur, though every instinct screams to stay, to finish what we started.

“Should.” She smiles, and it’s pure temptation. “But what do you want to do?”

“I want to remain,” I admit roughly. “I want to strip that towel from you again and worship every inch of your skin. I want to make you mine in every way that matters.” I pull back to meet her eyes, letting her see the hunger still burning there. “But I also want to do this properly.”

Her breath catches, her pupils blown wide with desire. “Then stay. Help me do this right.”

How could I possibly refuse such a request?

The bedroom door closes softly behind her. She doesn’t lock it.

I settle back into the sitting room chair, my body still thrumming with need and the memory of her coming apart in my arms. The taste of her skin, the sounds she made, the way she felt against my fingers—it’s going to drive me insane.

But we did the right thing. We slowed down. We’re doing this properly.

Even if every cell in my body is screaming in protest.

Twenty minutes later, I hear her moving in the bedroom. The magical thread carries her restless energy, her own unsatisfied need that mirrors mine perfectly.

“Finnian?” Her voice is soft through the door.

“I’m here.”

“I can’t sleep. Will you... would you mind sitting with me?”

I find her curled on her side in the large bed, wearing a silk nightgown that the Academy provided. The fabric clings to her curves in ways that make my mouth go dry, outlining everything I just had my hands on. Her hair spreads across the pillow like dark silk.

“Here.” She pats the space beside her on top of the covers.

I settle carefully beside her, hyperaware of her presence, of the heat radiating from her body.

“I appreciate you.” She turns toward me, green eyes still dark with want in the moonlight. “For choosing me. For staying. For... earlier.”

“Your trust means everything,” the words emerge rough with emotion. “For permitting me to touch you in such an intimate manner.”

She reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. The simple contact sends aftershocks through my system.

“Tell me something real,” she whispers. “Something just for me.”

“I have never lost control in such a manner,” I admit. “In centuries of existence, I have never wanted anyone with the intensity that I want you. It terrifies me.”

“Good terrifying or bad terrifying?” She breathes.

“The kind that makes me want to burn down everything I have ever known if it means keeping you safe.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “I’ve never felt anything like what just happened,” she whispers. “Didn’t know my body could do that.”

The confession sends heat spiraling through me all over again.

“That was merely the beginning,” I murmur, bringing her hand to my lips. “When we have proper time, when we can approach this correctly... I intend to worship every inch of you.”

She shivers, and through our connection, I feel her body responding to the promise.

“Is that what you want?” I ask softly. “When you’re ready?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”

We lie there in charged silence, hands linked, sharing heat and breath and the promise of everything we’re building toward.

When sleep finally takes her, she’s curled against my side, her hand resting over my heart. I remain awake, memorizing the feel of her trust, the way she fits perfectly against me.

Whatever comes next, whatever my court demands, I’ll find a way to protect this.

To protect her.

Even if it means choosing her over everything I’ve ever known.