Page 18 of The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom #3)

CHAPTER 18

VERENA

T he door shut behind us with a quiet finality, sealing us inside.

My heart was still racing. My pulse thrummed against my skin, magic shifting restlessly beneath the surface, curling through my veins like smoke. The words we had spoken still echoed inside me, settling into places that had been untouched until now.

We were married.

Soul-bound.

There was no taking it back.

And I didn’t want to.

Dacre stood in front of me, his eyes fixed on me with a deep intensity. His breathing was slow, deliberate, each inhale and exhale a testament to his patience. He was waiting for me.

His hands were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. He was holding himself back.

I swallowed hard, my fingers still trembling as I reached up to brush hair away from my flushed face. The air around us was thick, the magic moving inside me almost suffocating.

“I feel…different,” I confessed as I met his gaze.

He tilted his head slightly, curiosity gleaming in his eyes as he stepped closer. “How?”

I grappled with my thoughts, searching for the right words to capture the swirling emotions within me. For so long, I had imagined that this moment would come with unmistakable clarity, that when I finally married, when I belonged to another, it would descend upon me like a tangible weight.

A collar around my throat, binding me.

But there was nothing about him that made me feel caged.

I felt… steady . Anchored in a way I had never been before.

“Lighter,” I murmured, “and heavier. At the same time.”

Dacre’s lips twitched, the barest ghost of a smile. “You feel…”

“Whole.” I finished it for him as I let out a shaky breath.

His eyes darkened, and he reached for me then, his fingers grazing the new mark on my wrist before wrapping fully around it. His grip was firm, grounding, as if testing whether or not I would pull away.

I didn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I stepped into him, letting my body press against his, my hands flattening against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

We had touched before. We had burned for each other before. But this was different.

There was no uncertainty.

No desperation driven by fear, no frantic grasping to hold on to something before it slipped away.

I wasn’t running anymore.

I was done running.

I lifted my chin, my lips parting as I whispered, “Kiss me.”

Dacre didn’t hesitate.

His mouth met mine with a slowness that sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn’t like before. It wasn’t wild or frantic. It was something deeper. More intentional.

His hands smoothed up my arms, over my shoulders, until they cupped my face. His fingers trembled slightly, just enough for me to notice.

He was nervous.

Not because he didn’t want this, but because it meant something.

And gods, it did .

I let out a soft breath against his lips, and he exhaled too, like he had been holding it in. I threaded my fingers into his hair, tugging him closer, and when he deepened the kiss, my knees nearly buckled.

Dacre groaned softly, one of his hands sliding down to press against my lower back, holding me up. The other remained at my jaw, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone, slow and reverent.

He was worshiping me, and I let him.

There was no one else whose adoration I craved, no other that I wanted on their knees before me.

My magic stirred at the same time his did, but it didn’t struggle or rebel. It didn’t lash out or resist.

It didn’t take.

I felt it before I understood it. The shift. The moment where there was no more me or him, only us .

His power didn’t just press into mine; it settled inside me, a second heartbeat, a breath drawn between us. It curled around my ribs, warm and sure, like an oath whispered against my skin.

And I knew.

We had always been tied together.

I gasped against his mouth as I felt him, truly felt him , in a way that rendered all previous moments pale and lifeless in comparison.

He broke the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath coming in ragged, uneven breaths. “Please don’t fear me, don’t fear us.”

“I don’t.” I shook my head and tried to make him understand. “Not anymore.”

His fingers traced a delicate path along my jawline, tilting my head back, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that seemed to pierce my soul. “Can you feel me?”

I nodded frantically, my heart pounding in my chest. He was like a blazing sun, the only thing I could feel, the only thought that occupied my mind. “Yes.”

“What does it feel like for you?” he asked, his voice thick with want that told me he could feel me just as I felt him.

“Like I’m not alone in my own skin anymore,” I finally answered, feeling the truth of my words resonate deep within me.

Dacre’s breath caught, an audible hitch, and his hands flexed against me.

“Verena,” he breathed, my name a tender caress on his lips.

I didn’t let him finish. I kissed him again, my arms wrapping around his neck as I pressed my body fully against his. He let out a sharp exhale against my lips, his hands sliding to my hips, holding me with a grip that bordered on painful.

His mouth moved over mine slowly, like he was savoring every second, tasting me in a way that sent heat pooling deep in my stomach.

But there was something else, something I had never felt before.

Like I was safe .

Not just with him, but within myself.

There were more dangers against me than ever before; I was more of a danger to myself than I had ever been, but somehow I felt the safest and most sure in this moment.

Dacre’s hands trembled ever so slightly as they slipped beneath my shirt, his fingers grazing along the bare skin of my waist. His touch was warm, almost devout, as he skated over my skin.

He wasn’t just touching me.

He was learning me as if the two of us had never touched before.

As if every brush of his fingertips, every press of his lips, was not just a rediscovery, but a revelation. The bond between us hummed with something ancient, like we had been remade, rewritten, tethered in ways neither of us fully understood.

He broke away from my lips, trailing featherlight kisses down my jaw, along the curve of my neck. Each press of his mouth was unhurried, like a prayer against my skin.

A soft gasp fell from my lips as his mouth found the tender spot where my pulse throbbed insistently against my throat. He lingered there, his warm breath fanning over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

Then he breathed, “I love you.”

I froze.

Not because I didn’t believe him.

But because I did.

The words settled inside me, taking root like a tree as they found their home. His words were embedded inside me; he was entrenched.

I clung to him with a newfound urgency, my fingers pulling at his hair, my chest rising and falling as I tried to find my voice.

“I love you too,” I whispered, my voice shaking with something raw, something untamed. I had said the words before. I had thought about them before. But this was different.

This time, I was giving them.

Not like a whispered prayer to an indifferent god, not like a shield to protect myself from the fear of losing him.

I was giving them like a vow.

Like a part of my soul that I was surrendering to his keeping.

Dacre groaned softly, his hands gripping my waist possessively, his forehead pressing against my collarbone.

I could feel him not just in our magic, but something deeper . I felt him in my bones, in the way my power melded into his, in the way the air pressed against my skin.

This was not just a marriage.

It was a claiming.

A choosing.

It was utterly intoxicating, a heady mix that enveloped me, as if I were submerged in what we were together. It was a depthless ocean in which I found myself willingly lost, the currents pulling me deeper, yet I had no desire to rise to the surface ever again.

His fingers traced the curve of my waist, achingly slow, as if he were mapping constellations on my skin. His lips followed, lingering and dragging heat wherever they touched.

“Verena,” he murmured against my skin, his voice thick. “I want all of you.”

“I’m yours.”

A tremor ran through him, a visible shudder that seemed to ripple from his very core. Then, he was kissing me again, his lips capturing mine with a fervor that was demanding as his hands roamed up my back.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, dark with something deeper than desire. “Show me.”

A challenge. A plea. A promise.

This wasn’t survival.

This was something more, and I would give it to him.

I would give him everything.

I grasped the hem of my shirt with trembling fingers and swiftly lifted it over my head. His hand extended toward me, and he gently brushed his knuckles along the soft, weighty curve beneath my breast, sending a shiver through my body.

The moment his hands slid over my skin, I felt it, our magic rising in tandem, swirling between us. The torches flickered, their flames bending toward us as if drawn by the pull between us.

I gasped as a crackle of energy sparked between our bodies, the very air around us thickening with something unseen, something alive .

Dacre’s breath hitched. “Gods, Verena.”

I shuddered at the sound of my name on his lips, at the raw worship in his voice. At the way our magic wasn’t fighting anymore. It was emblazoned.

“Dacre,” I breathed, uncertain if I was calling him back to me or pleading for him to take more.

His hand trembled as he traced my skin, the heat of his palm a brand against me. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t even breathing. His eyes darkened, hunger flickering in their depths, but there was something else there too, awe .

“My wife,” he rasped, as if tasting the name in his mouth, memorizing the way it felt on his tongue.

And it settled deep in my core.

He kissed my collarbone, slow and unhurried, his breath hot against my skin. His lips lingered, pressing into the hollow of my throat, over the frantic pulse beneath my jaw.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Gods, Verena, you’re…” His voice broke off into something inhuman, something feral, and a shiver ran through me.

He stood there, eyes dark and unreadable, his fingers now hovering inches from my skin as though he needed to memorize this moment before he touched me again.

I swallowed hard, heat dripping through me.

His breath fanned over my skin as he leaned in, close enough that his lips almost, almost, grazed my bare shoulder.

“Let me look at you,” he rasped. It wasn’t a request; it was a plea.

His hands smoothed over my waist, then lower, and I gasped as he sank down in front of me, my hands shaking at my sides, unsure if I could bear the weight of what he was doing.

He bowed his head slightly, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his breath shallow as his hands spanned my waist, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones like he was trying to steady himself.

And then, gods .

He pressed his lips against my stomach.

A soft, trembling kiss, worship woven into the way his mouth lingered against my skin.

We had done this before, been here only the night before, but this felt completely at odds with anything that had happened before now.

A broken sound slipped from my lips, something fragile and ruined.

His fingers flexed against my sides as he kissed me again, lower this time, just below my navel, his lips dragging over my skin.

“Dacre…” My voice was barely a breath, barely anything, because I was unraveling.

“Look at me,” Dacre whispered.

I forced my gaze down, my chest rising and falling too fast, my skin burning beneath his touch. He was still kneeling, his hands sliding to the backs of my thighs, his thumbs brushing soft, soothing circles there.

When I met his eyes, I nearly collapsed.

Devotion.

Not desire, it was devotion staring back up at me.Like I was the only thing he had ever wanted. The only thing he would ever need.

His hands smoothed up, palms moving over my ribs, slow and aching, before he pressed another kiss to my stomach. “You are the most powerful thing I’ve ever held.”

Something inside me broke. Not in fear. Not in hesitation. In need . In understanding.

Because no one had ever looked at me like that before. No one had ever wanted me like this, not just my body, not just my power.

Me.

“Dacre.” My voice cracked, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer because I needed him, needed more .

He let out a ragged breath, his lips parting against my skin, warm and trembling. His hands flexed against my hips, his grip tightening like he was anchoring himself.

His forehead pressed against my stomach, and his breath stuttered before he exhaled sharply.

“Verena,” he rasped, his voice scraping against the quiet between us. “I?—”

Whatever he was going to say, whatever words had formed on his tongue, they never came. He didn’t need them.

Not when I could feel him.

His magic curled through mine, weaving tighter, until I didn’t know where his power ended and mine began. It wasn’t consuming. It wasn’t suffocating. It belonged.

We belonged.

I shuddered, my fingers tightening in his hair, and when he lifted his head, his eyes locked on to mine with something raw, something unbreakable.

I reached for him, my fingers brushing along his jaw, tracing the sharp angles, the shadowed lines. His skin was hot beneath my touch, his pulse thundering in his throat.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss against my palm. His hands then glided down with deliberate slowness to the waistband of my pants. With care, he unfastened them, the quiet sound of the fabric shifting filling the room. He eased the pants down my legs, their texture cool against my overheated skin as they slipped away.

Then finally, finally, he lazily rose to his feet. His nose brushed against my skin, tracing a gentle path with each inch he ascended, drawing in my scent, unraveling me with every breath, until he finally stood to his full height before me.

He was no longer gentle in the way he kissed me. He was frantic.

The kiss was heavy with every unspoken promise, every unyielding devotion, pressed between us in the heat of his lips.

His hands smoothed up my sides, slowly, achingly, like he wanted to make sure I knew this wasn’t just need, wasn’t just hunger.

It was him choosing me.

His fingers brushed the bare skin of my back, dragging over the curve of my spine, his touch so careful, so certain, and then he sighed into me, his entire body coiled tightly against me.

Our power surged again, pushing outward, wrapping around the room. The torches along the walls flickered wildly in response, their golden light stretching.

But Dacre wasn’t paying attention to them. He was only looking at me as his hands skimmed over my skin, his thumbs brushing reverent paths over my ribs, my waist, until his thumb reached my lips.

He paused.

I could feel the silent question in the air between us, the way he waited, the way he gave me the space to pull away.

I didn’t.

Instead, I reached forward, curling my fingers over his, and guided his thumb into my mouth.

His breath caught, his chest rising and falling unsteadily, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, like he needed to gather himself before he lost control completely.

Dacre exhaled slowly, his breath warm against my cheeks. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t pushed.

But gods, I could feel it, the tension, the restraint in every line of his body, in every tremor of his hands against my skin.

I sucked his thumb into my mouth, my lips closing around it, and rolled my tongue slowly over his skin, tasting him.

He exhaled a ragged, uneven breath, a sound that was both a reaction and a warning.

“Verena.” His voice was laced with caution.

I lifted my chin, allowing our eyes to lock, as I let his thumb slide back out of my mouth, only to draw it back in with a deliberate, teasing motion.He watched me carefully, he drank me in, let me fill him, let me break him open.

His hands shook as he withdrew his thumb from my mouth. The slightly calloused pad of his thumb traced roughly over my bottom lip, leaving a thin trail of moisture along the curve of my mouth.

Our magic swelled, a pulse, a breath, a pull that felt like it was dragging us deeper into each other. My skin burned where he touched me, but it wasn’t fire.

It was power, raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t trying to take. It was giving.

Dacre’s hands moved to my hips, his fingers pressing intricate paths into my skin. He was still fully clothed, still holding back, but I could feel everything.

His magic was inside me, curling through my veins, through my bones.

I gasped, my head tipping back, and he caught me before I could fall, his arms winding around my waist, holding me steady.

“I feel you,” I whispered, my hands fisting into his shirt, my chest heaving.

Dacre’s lips parted, his gaze dark and wild. “I know.”

He reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together, and, gods, the moment our palms touched where we had tethered our blood to one another, the room shuddered, the black smoke of my power ravishing every corner.

And suddenly, I could feel inside him.

I felt his devotion, his worship, his need, not just for my body, but for this.

For us.

The bond was like an invisible thread weaving us together, tethering us, binding us tighter than flesh and bone ever could.

A tremor racked through Dacre’s body, and his hands tightened on me with a desperate urgency as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath cascading over my exposed neck.

“Verena,” he whispered, my name tumbling from his lips like a prayer. “I think…I think I just…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Because we had both felt it.

The bond.

It snapped into place with an almost audible click, settling deeper within us, resonating with the rhythm of a second heartbeat.

I was his.

And he was mine.

Dacre slowly leaned back, his fingers brushing my cheek, trailing down my neck, over my bare shoulders.

I reached for him, my hands urgent, tugging at his shirt, and he let me pull it over his head in one swift movement.

My breath caught at the beauty of him.

There were so many scars that marred his skin. They crisscrossed his flesh, some faded with time, others still fresh, like a living testament to every battle he had ever endured.

My fingers brushed over the ridges and raised marks, feeling the texture of his past etched into his skin, and he stilled.

We were both so scarred, our bodies bearing imprints of the wars we had waged and had been waged on us.

He wasn’t breathing, but I didn’t stop.

I dragged my fingers lower, down his chest, over his ribs, down to the deep scar that slashed across his stomach, and then, without thinking, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against it.

Dacre sucked in a sharp breath. His entire body tensed beneath me.

And then, slowly, so painfully slowly, his hands slid into my hair, cradling the back of my head.

I slid my tongue from my mouth, brushing it against his skin, savoring the taste, tracing the rough texture of his scars with a deliberate, lingering caress.

Then, I kissed him again. Lower.

Soft, slow, worshipful.

Like I was memorizing him too.

Dacre made a wrecked, guttural sound, and when I finally pulled away to look up at him, his eyes were wild, his breathing wanton.His fingers tightened in my hair until pain lanced through my scalp and moisture pooled between my thighs.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled. “I need to fuck you until there is no one left in this kingdom who will question who you belong to.”

I whimpered, the ache in my body becoming worse with every word he spoke.

He grabbed my hips and lifted me, carrying me toward the bed. He laid me against the mattress before he slotted himself between my legs and pressed against me with a force that almost knocked the breath from my lungs.

He was claiming me, leaving a mark upon me that could never be erased, and gods help me, I would willingly surrender everything I was to him.

Dacre hovered over me, his weight braced on his forearms, his breath rushed as his gaze raked over me. His eyes were dark, searching, as his fingers skated over my ribs, slowly, so unbearably slow, tracing the contours and curves of my body.

My breath caught as he grazed over the curve of my waist, the dip of my hip.

My body was quivering beneath his.

Dacre’s forehead dropped against my breastbone, his chest heaving.

My hands tangled in his hair, my lips parting on a whimper as his hand brushed over my thigh, and he groaned, his restraint snapping like a bowstring.

The slow, measured control he had clung to fractured as his hands gripped my thighs, spreading me open beneath him.

I gasped into his mouth at the feeling, the solid weight of him pressing between my legs, and something desperate and wild unfurled inside me.

“Dacre,” I whispered, his name a demand, a breaking.

His hand slid up, fingertips grazing the underside of my breast, and I shuddered.

“You have no idea,” he broke off, his lips hovering over mine, his voice a wrecked rasp. “No idea what you do to me.”

I did because I felt it.

His need. His devotion. His magic, tangled with mine, curling through my body, twining around my spine.

I reached for him, my fingers brushing the waistband of his pants, and he stilled. I sat up, pressing my palms against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.

He was a warrior.

He was dangerous.

But here, with me, he was trembling.

“Dacre,” I whispered, pressing more firmly until he leaned back. “I am your wife,” I reminded him. “And as such, I’m going to fuck you.”

He growled, and I pushed harder until he fell to his back on the mattress.

He licked his lips as he watched me settle on his thighs, watched me bring my hands to the waistband of his trousers and sloppily tug them down his hips until his cock was exposed.

I looked up at him, and there was an ocean of vulnerability reflecting back at me. No armor, no walls, no defenses. Just him. Just me. Just us.

And I wanted to worship him.

I tucked my hair over one shoulder as I leaned down, my lips brushing against the head of his cock, and his hips surged forward.

“Tell me,” I whispered as I ran my tongue down the length of him. “Tell me what you want.”

He groaned, his hands fisting into the sheets at his sides. “You,” he said hoarsely. “I want you.”

I wrapped my hand around the base of him, slowly stroking up and down his length as my other hand dug into his thigh.

“And what else?” I asked as I searched his eyes, opening my mouth and sliding the head of his cock into my mouth.

His hips jerked forward again involuntarily, and I moaned as he slipped farther into my mouth.I felt so needy, so wet, and I knew that he could feel my arousal against his legs.

“I want you to ride me,” he said firmly, his voice laced with his need.

I whimpered as a ripple of pleasure coursed through me.

He reached down, his hand gently wrapping around my chin as he guided my mouth off his cock and pulled me to him.

Without hesitation, I positioned myself over him, and I jerked when the heaviness of his cock bobbed against my clit.

Dacre was shaking beneath me, his eyes dark and filled with desire as I lifted up onto my knees. His hands grabbed my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he guided me down onto him.

I moaned at the feeling of him sliding inside me, filling me completely.

“Fuck,” Dacre groaned, his hands gripping tighter as I began to move.

I rode him slowly at first, savoring every inch of him inside me. But soon, the need for more took over, and I began to move faster, my body rising and falling against his in a steady, desperate rhythm.

Dacre’s head fell back against the pillows, his breathing coming in gasps as he watched me with hungry eyes, and I could feel our magic moving inside us, amplifying our pleasure and tightening the connection between us.

“Harder,” he groaned, and I complied eagerly.

I allowed my hands to climb up my body, and I gripped my breasts in my hands, rolling my nipples between my fingers as he slammed harder inside me.

“Touch your pussy,” he commanded, the gentleness in his voice gone. “Show your husband exactly how you like to be touched.”

I let one of my hands trail down my body, reaching between my legs to touch myself. I was already so wet and swollen, and the moment my fingers touched my clit, a jolt of pleasure shot through me, forcing my hips to slam down on his.

Dacre’s eyes were locked on me as he continued to thrust up into me, his pace growing faster and deeper. I moaned loudly, arching my back as I rubbed circles over my clit.

I could feel my orgasm building inside me, and I knew Dacre was close too.

“Let me taste it.” Dacre’s hand wrapped firmly around my wrist, and I watched, entranced, as he guided my hand to his mouth. The warmth of his breath brushed against my skin before he slid my wet fingers between his lips, closing his eyes as he tasted me.

A deep, satisfied groan escaped him as he cleaned my arousal from my fingers, and I was so engrossed with watching him that I barely noticed the subtle shift of his hands, which had found their way to my hips.

He lifted me off his cock in one move, sliding me up along the length of his body, and he positioned me, my pussy hovering so close to his awaiting mouth.

My body lingered above him, suspended in a moment of anticipation, before his strong arms enveloped my thighs, pulling me down forcefully until every inch of me was pressed against his hungry mouth.

His tongue eagerly explored me, flicking back and forth, tracing patterns on my sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure shooting through me.

The feeling was overwhelming, my thighs spread open completely, and Dacre brought his hands to my pussy, rough and eager, spreading me open farther as he sucked my clit between his lips.

It drew a gasp from deep within me and I slammed my hand down on the mattress as I threatened to topple over.

Dacre continued to greedily devour me.

“I told you to ride me,” Dacre growled against my flesh. “That means my face too, love.”

I leaned back, looking down into his eyes, and I began to writhe against him, unable to hold back.

His tongue was relentless, swirling around my clit, dipping into me and exploring every inch of my aching flesh.

My hands gripped his hair, pulling him closer as I begged him for more.

Dacre groaned against me, the vibrations sending shock waves through my body. One hand moved to grip my hip, holding me steady as he continued to devour me with an intensity that left me breathless.

He slid two fingers inside me, curling them until my back arched and my hips jerked.

“That’s it,” he spoke against my pussy before rolling his tongue over my clit once more. “Come for your husband,” he growled. “Come on my mouth.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer, the pressure building inside me reaching a peak I couldn’t resist. With a loud cry, I came undone on Dacre’s tongue, my body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over me.

Dacre continued to devour me, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he rode out my orgasm with me.

As I finally started coming down from the high, he quickly flipped me over and settled back between my trembling thighs.

He wasted no time in thrusting into me once more, his movements rough and primal as he chased his own release. My body was still so sensitive, but it responded to each thrust with a mix of pleasure and pain.

It was overwhelmingly intoxicating, too alluring to resist, and my magic surged across every inch of my skin, crackling with energy, as if it were yearning to draw him deeper into me.

“You feel so good.” Dacre’s hands pressed against the inside of my knees, and he pushed them open until I had nowhere to hide from him.

He kissed me deeply, the taste of me still on his tongue, before he leaned back and watched the way his cock slid in and out of my body.

“You were made for me,” he growled. “This pussy was made for me.”

My pussy clamped down around him, and his eyes slammed shut for a moment as his hips faltered.

When he opened his eyes again, they burned with a primal hunger and his hips set a brutal pace that had me crying out.

His fingers found my clit again, this time much gentler than before, and he rubbed the slowest circles over it that were in complete contrast to the way he moved inside me.

It was too much, it was maddening, and I feared that I was going to lose myself completely in the feeling.

“You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” he asked, and I nodded my head, even though I had no idea what he was asking. “That’s right. Be a good wife and come again for me. Come on your husband’s cock with this pretty pussy.”

I cried out as our bodies moved together, the room filled with our grunts and moans, mixing with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.

It only took a few more thrusts before I was surrendering to Dacre’s commands, my body clenching around him as I came, this time far more intense than before.

My magic surged like a wild, untamed beast, insatiable and hungry, and a loud growl ripped from deep within Dacre’s chest as he came inside me.

Dacre kissed me like he was drowning, like I was air, salvation, home all at once.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move, and yet, I had never felt more alive.

“Verena,” he gasped, his voice raw, broken.

I turned my head, my lips brushing his ear.

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m yours.”

His body shuddered, finally relaxing, and his lips found mine again. This time, slower.

We lay tangled together for a long time, our bodies slick with sweat, our magic still humming through the room like the remnants of a storm.

His head rested against my chest, listening to the unsteady thud of my heart, and his hands still wrapped around me like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Dacre let out a slow, contented sigh as he rolled over and pulled me with him until I was pressed against his chest.

The world outside was still waiting. The war, the rebellion, the prophecy, the vessel.

It would all come for us soon enough.

But here, in the space between battle and destiny, there was only this. Only him. Only me.

Only the vow we had spoken and the bond that had answered.

And nothing, not fate, not kings, not gods, could take that from us now.