Page 36 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)
Elowyn
The first thing I felt was cold. The mountain air licked over my skin like teeth, sinking through the layers of wool and silk until it reached bone.
I curled tighter beneath my cloak, but the chill had already claimed me.
Then another sensation cut through it, steady, searing warmth pressed against my back, a line of heat running shoulder to hip, anchoring me against the frost.
Rhydor.
I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer, savoring the simple weight of his body beside mine.
His arm was draped around my waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep, and his breath ghosted over the crown of my head in slow, unhurried rhythm.
Dragons were supposed to be merciless, but he held me with the care of a man who feared I might vanish if he let go.
For a fleeting moment, I let myself pretend. Pretend I was only a woman waking to her husband on a mountain ledge, not a pawn shackled by politics, not a princess raised to be used. Pretend this warmth, this quiet, this closeness, was mine to keep.
The brazier we’d tended last night had burned to ash.
The coals were dark, dusted white, no heat left to give.
Mist curled over the edge of the ledge, seeping around us like breath from some ancient mouth.
Above, the Shroud hung low across the sky, a bandage stretched too thin. It pulsed faintly, as if restless.
But none of it mattered compared to the steady hold he had on me.
I turned carefully in his arms, afraid to wake him, and found myself staring at him in profile.
Rhydor Aurelius, eldest son of House Aurelius, prince of a kingdom starving after a century of ruin, looked nothing like the man who ruled council chambers with steel in his voice.
In sleep, the edges of him softened. The stern line of his jaw relaxed, his lips parted just enough to reveal the barest glint of teeth, his lashes casting shadows across sharp cheekbones.
He was beautiful. Terrifyingly so. A weapon at rest.
A thought came unbidden, one that made my chest ache: what would it be like if this was all he ever was with me? No pride, no fire, no weight of crown, just a man. My man.
The fantasy unraveled as quickly as it had come. I was too well trained to let it linger.
Still, my hand betrayed me. It lifted of its own accord, hovering just above his cheek, aching to touch. To feel the heat of him without gloves, without armor. I stopped myself a breath before contact. Touching him like this, uninvited, felt too much like claiming something that wasn’t mine.
As if sensing my hesitation, his grip tightened around my waist. He pulled me flush against him, his heat wrapping me whole. I froze, breath caught, until his eyes fluttered open.
Steel-gray irises, sharp even with sleep, locked on mine.
“You’re freezing,” he rasped, voice rough from slumber.
“You’re scalding,” I countered softly.
The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile but enough to weaken my resolve. “Then stay close. We balance each other.”
I should have pulled away. Instead, I tucked myself against his chest, feeling his body surround mine, and for once I let myself believe him.
We sat up when the cold demanded it. Rhydor reached into Torian’s satchel and pulled free a small parcel of bread.
It was coarse, thick with grain, and smelled faintly of smoke from where it had been baked over open fire.
He tore it into pieces with his strong fingers and handed one to me without flourish.
No servants. No ceremony. Just survival.
I bit into it. The taste was plain but real, grounding me in a way the feasts of Shadowspire never could. I chewed slowly, letting the silence stretch, the quiet between us companionable.
“Tell me something true,” I said at last, voice low, daring.
His eyes flicked to the horizon, where dawn strained against the Shroud. The line between night and day blurred, silver bleeding into gray.
“When I was a boy,” he said slowly, “I believed dragonfire could solve anything. If I burned bright enough, no one could touch me. No one could take what was mine.” He broke another piece of bread, his jaw tightening.
“The Firestorm Campaign taught me different. Fire wins battles. It cannot feed a kingdom. It cannot bring back the dead.”
I swallowed hard. I had seen glimpses of that war in the eyes of every Drakaryn veteran who shadowed him. This was the first time I heard it in his voice.
My turn.
“When I was a child,” I said, “my mother told me masks kept us safe. That to be untouchable, we must never be known. I believed her. I clung to it, even when I hated the weight of the mask against my skin. But the longer I wear them, the less I know who I am beneath.”
He studied me as if the truth of me was something he could carve into memory. “You’re braver without one.”
I let out a brittle laugh. “Or more foolish.”
“Sometimes,” he murmured, “they’re the same thing.”
The silence after was thick, humming with everything we hadn’t said. The hunger that had chased us since our wedding night. The sparks that lit whenever our hands brushed. The fragile trust growing in the shadows of secrets.
I should have looked away. Instead, I reached for him.
My fingers brushed over his hand where it rested on the stone. His skin was hot, startling after the mountain cold. He turned his palm and clasped mine, firm and unyielding, as if he had been waiting for me to take the first step.
Heat surged through me, not from dragonfire but from something far more dangerous.
He shifted closer. Our knees touched. The air between us thickened until it felt like breathing embers. His eyes searched mine, asking without words.
So I answered.
I leaned in, tentative, lips brushing his once, light, testing, trembling. His breath caught. Then his hand came to cradle my neck, and the kiss deepened.
Slow at first. Then inexorable.
His mouth claimed mine, rough and consuming, but beneath it was something gentler, a question, a plea, a surrender. I pressed into him, fingers curling in his cloak, tasting salt and smoke and the barest sweetness of bread still lingering on his tongue.
When we broke apart, I was gasping, my lips tingling, heart thrashing against my ribs.
“This is dangerous,” I whispered.
His forehead pressed against mine. “So is everything worth having.”
And then he kissed me again.
The world dissolved. The brazier, the mist, the Shroud, all gone.
There was only us, cloaks tangling, bodies drawn together with the inevitability of storm meeting fire.
His hands roamed with reverence, mapping the curve of my waist, the line of my thigh, each touch asking and answering all at once.
My gown slipped from my shoulders, and the cold that rushed in was instantly chased away by his heat.
I touched him too, broad shoulders, scars traced like constellations across his back, the raw strength of him. He shivered when my hands moved lower, proof that even dragons could be undone.
We came together on the stone ledge, the mountain our witness, the mist our shroud. The rhythm was unhurried at first, as if we feared rushing might break what we had found. But soon it built, fiercer, wilder, until every thought was burned away in the fire of him.
I clung to him, nails digging into muscle, as pleasure tore through me in waves. His name broke from my lips, raw and unguarded, and his mouth covered mine, swallowing the sound, claiming it.
When it was over, we collapsed into a tangled heap of cloaks and limbs, our breaths ragged, mingling in the cold dawn air. He held me close, one hand splayed across my back as if to anchor me, as if he feared I might drift away with the mist.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. There was no need. The mountain wind whispered around us, the brazier’s ash whispered nothing at all, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my cheek spoke louder than any words.
At last, he broke the silence. “Whatever comes, Elowyn… we face it together.”
I closed my eyes. The words sank into me, burrowed deep where no mask could touch.
“Together,” I breathed.
It was not a vow spoken in council. Not a promise gilded for courtly ears. It was a decision carved here, on cold stone, sealed by the heat of our bodies and the honesty of our breaths.
The Shroud pulsed overhead, a faint crack splitting its surface like the first fault line in glass. The world would not grant us peace for long.
But for now, I let myself rest in the arms of my dragon prince, tangled in warmth and want, and chose to believe we could stand against it all.
Partners.