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“It’s the title that allows my unit to go where we want and do what we want.

We’re exempt from any kind of retaliation in Filusia—vengeful family members, wronged lords looking for justice, that kind of thing—because by default everything we do is in the name of the king.

We spend most of our time away from Lavail, reminding the crowds about the danger I present and how any blow to my grandfather could lead to me unleashing terror. ”

I suppress a shiver at the dark words. I can’t imagine Respen lets his enemies off easily, and Leon—powerful, frightening Leon—would be just the person to see that punishment through.

Except I remember the way Leon talked about the war, the exhaustion and regret in his eyes as he recalled discovering how good he was at killing. He hated it, but his grandfather was all too happy to sacrifice his grandson’s soul in order to protect the throne’s interests.

“What about your parents?” I ask. “What did they think of you becoming the King’s Sword?”

Leon grimaces. “My father was the absolute opposite of Respen. People loved him. He was charming and charismatic. You couldn’t know him and not be friends with him.

But he hated conflict. It’s not that he never stood up to my grandfather, but he knew better than to do it directly.

He had more subtle ways of changing the king’s mind, and they didn’t always work. ”

I nod, picturing the kind of man Leon speaks of—a father who’s easy to love as long as you can accept that he’ll let you down when you need him the most. Leon was young back then, but I can imagine how quickly he grew up, forced to relive the violence of the war over and over again, trapped in a role he couldn’t escape.

He could escape from it, of course. Leonidas Claerwyn is not his father, and I know he’s not scared of the things that make most men weak with fear. If he’d believed in himself, he could have walked away from the prison his grandfather shoved him in.

But perhaps by that time he’d started believing all the stories about himself. If everyone around him, from the backwaters of Trova to this very palace, was telling him he was a ruthless killer, then that was the role he felt he had to play.

And after eighty years of it, it would make sense that he doesn’t know how to be anything else.

I exhale, feeling like I’m finally seeing Leon clearly for the first time. His explanations today have crystallized so much of what I’ve learned about him in these last few weeks, all of it information I’ve been trying to put together to better understand him, and understand how I feel about him.

Now I desperately want to find a way to show him how my understanding has changed.

I rise and cross over to the armchair he’s sitting in.

“Do you mind?” I ask softly, gesturing. He looks surprised but shakes his head. I lower myself into his lap. His hands automatically go to my hip and thigh, and I let myself melt under the warm weight of them that I can feel through my dress.

He says nothing, just watches me as I take his face in my hands.

I give myself a moment to soak in his beauty: his high cheekbones and expressive brows, the strong jaw beneath my fingers, and of course the shifting light in his gray eyes, so deep I often worry about getting lost in them. Then I lower my lips to his.

The kiss is long and deliciously slow, our lips finding a languorous rhythm, until Leon eases my mouth open wider to slip his tongue inside. There he claims me inch by inch, pulling a low moan from me. He’s ignited a furnace inside me, the heat building into an unstoppable blaze.

And when I pull back and meet his eyes, I see that same fire in them. My hands are still tracing his jawline, and I use them to lift his chin, making sure he meets my gaze as I speak.

“I see who you are, Leon. I didn’t before, and I’m sorry for that.”

He’s so much more than the warrior his grandfather wanted him to be. The root of the conflict between us has been Leon’s desire to protect—at any cost—the people he cares about, including me. He’s told me that, yet I couldn’t believe it until he showed me.

But it’s obvious to me now, in the lengths he’s gone to for Fairon, in the opening for escape he gave me before the test—which would’ve come at the highest cost for him—and in the way he’s given me the assurance and openness I asked for.

I can’t imagine any of that comes easy when you’ve been told your whole life you’re a killer, not a protector. Yet that instinct is so central to Leon it’s clawed its way out from beneath his conditioning time and time again.

At first, Leon seems to have questions for me—but then I glimpse something deeper and more raw.

His fingers tighten around my hip, and I know we’re both dancing along the line I’ve drawn between us.

My body is already responding to him like it always does, my skin heating as I become aware of the building need at my core, but finally my body isn’t fighting my mind. I’m mentally ready for this too.

The only thing left now is to make sure it’s perfect. I’ve held back too long not to enjoy this properly. So I gently remove his hands and stand, crossing the room.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Getting out of my own way.”