Page 36

I paced the length of our chambers in the Craiggybottom compound, my still-weak legs protesting beneath me. The healers had advised rest, but rest was impossible while Ruith fought his way through the Shikami tunnels to confront his father. Each passing hour stretched my nerves tighter until I felt I might snap from the tension.

My body still ached from the bridge collapse, from the freezing river that had claimed so many lives. Every breath carried the memory of water filling my lungs, of darkness closing in. Captain Yisra had breathed life back into me, but part of me remained submerged in that river, frozen in the moment when I believed everything was lost.

"He'll return," Taelyn said from the doorway. "Ruith has survived worse."

I nodded without conviction, unwilling to voice my fears aloud. What if Tarathiel had been waiting? What if the Shikami tunnels held traps we hadn't anticipated?

"The boys are asking for you," she continued. "They haven't seen you since morning."

"I'll go to them," I promised, gathering my strength. "In a moment."

When she left, I moved to the window overlooking the compound's central courtyard. Below, warriors from a dozen clans mingled freely, united in common purpose despite centuries of rivalry. Stoneriver archers shared a whetstone with Wolfheart infantry. Yeutish warriors demonstrated throwing techniques to interested onlookers. The merchant-sailors of Clan Craiggybottom moved between groups, their indigo sashes bright against the winter gloom.

Here, before my eyes, was Ruith's vision taking shape—former enemies finding common ground, centuries of clan rivalries giving way to shared purpose. The dream we had bled for, had nearly died for, was materializing in small moments of cooperation and unlikely friendships.

And I stood there wondering if Ruith would return to witness what he had set in motion.

A commotion in the courtyard below caught my attention. Warriors rushed to form an honor guard. Shouts of recognition cut through the winter air. I leaned out the window, heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

Ruith rode through the gates, his raven-black hair unmistakable even from a distance. Behind him, warriors carried what could only be a body on a stretcher. My heart stopped, then thundered back to life with such force I felt dizzy. He was alive. Against all my fears, against the nightmares that had plagued me since he'd descended into those tunnels, Ruith had returned.

I raced from the chamber, my pain forgotten, driven by a desperate need to touch him. The stairs blurred beneath me as I took them two at a time, pushing past servants and warriors alike, deaf to their startled exclamations. Nothing mattered but reaching him.

The crowd parted before me. And then there he was. Blood-spattered but alive. My vision blurred with tears. Our eyes met across the courtyard, and I saw my relief mirrored in his face.

"Ruith," I whispered, his name a prayer on my lips.

Blood spattered his armor, dried brown against silver and blue. His black hair hung loose, without victory braids. In his arms, he carried a cloth-wrapped bundle. The warriors behind him bore a stretcher with a larger burden.

"It's done," he said, voice flat with exhaustion. "The civil war is over."

I reached for him in the courtyard, ignoring those watching around us. My hands found his face, checking for injuries, needing to confirm he was really alive and whole. His eyes held mine steadily as I examined him. When I was satisfied, my gaze dropped to the bundle in his arms.

"Tarathiel?"

"His head," Ruith confirmed flatly. "The body follows, as tradition demands."

I looked at the warriors with the stretcher, understanding why they handled their burden so carefully.

"Leave us," Ruith told the warriors. "Place him in the chamber for burial rites."

They bowed and left with Tarathiel's body. Another warrior stepped forward, his hands extended. Ruith hesitated only briefly before surrendering the wrapped head with a ceremonial nod.

"See that proper preparations begin," he ordered. "The funeral will be held tomorrow."

Only then did he turn to me, his face a careful mask as he acknowledged the gathering crowd, accepting their salutes and bows with the dignity expected of their king. We walked together through the compound, warriors and servants alike stepping aside to let us pass.

When we reached our private chambers and the door closed behind us, his control finally faltered. His shoulders sagged and his hands began to tremble as he stood with his back to me.

"He knelt," he whispered. "At the end, he drank poison and knelt before me, asking for a warrior's death."

I moved closer, unsure what comfort to offer. How do you comfort someone who had to execute their father?

"I granted him mercy he denied others," Ruith continued, his voice breaking. "Why? After everything he did, why would I grant him that?"

"Because you are not him," I said. "Because mercy separates you from Tarathiel. From Michail."

His shoulders shuddered with the force of a suppressed sob. He reached for me suddenly, arms wrapping around me with desperate strength, face against my neck. I held him as silent sobs shook his body. This was Ruith as no one else saw him—without his kingly mask, raw with grief and confusion. I felt his tears hot against my skin, stark against the cold metal of his armor.

"I've got you," I said into his hair.

When he finally straightened, his eyes were red but dry, control returning through years of discipline.

"The boys," he said, looking at the door. "They should know we're safe."

"They're with Taelyn. I'll send for them."

"Not yet," Ruith said, looking down at his bloodied armor. "I can't let them see me like this." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I need to wash away the blood first. I need... time."

I nodded, understanding. He needed to transition from warrior-king with his father's blood on his hands to the father our boys needed. "They're safe with Taelyn. They can wait until you're ready."

I led him to the bathing chamber where steaming water waited in a copper tub. Servants had filled it earlier, and the tub's enchantment kept the water perfectly heated, a luxury I appreciated now more than ever.

"Let me help you," I said.

He let me remove his armor piece by piece. The bloodied breastplate. The vambraces he'd worn to protect against his father's blade. The mud-spattered greaves. Each piece I set aside until only the man remained, stripped of all symbols of kingship.

I guided him to the tub, supporting him as he stepped in. He sighed as the heat enveloped him, his muscles finally releasing some of their tension.

"I should have gone with you," I said, gathering soap and cloths.

"The key only allowed one of my blood to pass," he reminded me, voice dull with exhaustion. "And you were barely recovered from the river."

I knelt beside the tub, washing his shoulders. Blood and dirt turned the water pink. I cleaned each inch of him, my hands gentle against his skin.

"He was waiting for me," Ruith said suddenly. "Alone in his chambers. As if he knew I was coming through passages no one should know existed."

I continued washing him, letting him speak at his own pace.

"He offered me a final drink together. Explained how Michail first approached him about keeping you captive, using your life essence to slow the rot." Ruith's eyes met mine, pain breaking through. "He didn't see you as a person, Elindir. Just a commodity to trade."

The cloth fell from my hand. "Wait. They had an arrangement? Tarathiel and Michail?" My voice sharpened with shock. "They were working together?"

Ruith nodded grimly. "A business arrangement, as Tarathiel described it."

Bile rose in my throat. All those months in chains, all those lives lost to Michail's corruption… All part of a deal between two tyrants using people as bargaining chips.

"I didn't know," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I never imagined they were collaborating."

"Neither did I," Ruith admitted. "My father was always pragmatic about alliances, but this..." He shook his head in disgust.

I retrieved the fallen cloth and continued washing him. I needed the routine task to anchor myself as my mind reeled from this new information.

"I know this is a shock," Ruith said softly. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." I dropped a kiss on his cheek.

I kept washing him, moving from his chest to his arms, to his hands, cleaning blood from under his nails. When he was clean, I helped Ruith from the bath, watching as water sluiced down his body in rivulets that caught the firelight. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for one of the thick towels warming by the hearth. The simple act of drying him—this man who had faced his father and ended a war—felt like a sacred ritual after so much death.

"I can't lose you," I whispered, pressing my lips to the scar beneath his ribs. The raised tissue was smooth beneath my mouth, a permanent reminder of his sacrifice. "Not after everything."

"You won't," he said, his voice steadier now than mine. His fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "We've survived too much to fall now."

I continued drying him, working my way down his body with the towel. When I knelt before him, my hands moved slowly over his calves, his knees, his thighs. Each scar told its own story of survival, of moments when death had come close but ultimately failed to claim him. I traced a particularly deep mark on his thigh with my thumb before pressing my lips against it.

The taste of his skin made the moment more real. My tongue traced the scar, tasting life after nearly drowning in that freezing river. His muscles tensed beneath my mouth as I worked higher, my breath ghosting over his hardening length.

His cock twitched as my lips brushed against it, the vein along its underside pulsing visibly with each beat of his heart. I glanced up to find his eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide with a hunger that matched the desperation clawing beneath my own skin. I took him into my mouth, groaning at the satisfying stretch of my lips around him.

He hardened fully in my mouth and the weight of him on my tongue sent heat spiraling through my body. After days of feeling fragile, of healing from injuries and near-drowning, this act felt like reclaiming control. My own cock strained painfully against my clothing, each bob of my head sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I needed this, needed to feel alive after staring death in the face, needed the physical reminder that we had both survived against impossible odds.

"Gods, Elindir," Ruith groaned above me, a sound so broken and raw that it sent shivers down my spine. His fingers tangled in my hair, not guiding, just connecting as I worked my tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft.

I hollowed my cheeks as I pulled back, creating suction that made his hips jerk forward involuntarily. My hands gripped his thighs for balance as I took him deeper, until he brushed the back of my throat. The stretch bordered on pain but I welcomed it, craved it, needed this physical sensation to drive away the memory of water filling my lungs, of cold seeping into my bones.

My jaw ached pleasantly as I bobbed my head, finding a rhythm that drew strangled moans from Ruith's throat. I cupped his balls with my free hand, rolling them gently while my other hand wrapped around the base of his shaft where my mouth couldn't reach. The dual stimulation drew a curse from him, his thighs trembling with the effort to remain standing.

Power surged through me at his response—a heady contrast to the helplessness I'd felt trapped beneath the river's surface. Here, kneeling before him, I held control in a way that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with choice. My movements grew more confident, more demanding, taking my own pleasure in the way his breath hitched and his muscles tensed beneath my hands.

"Elindir," he gasped, his voice wrecked. "Your mouth... fuck—"

I looked up through my lashes, watching his face contort with pleasure as I worked him with lips and tongue. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, chest flushed. He was magnificent like this—my king undone by pleasure rather than burdened by war. I moaned around his length, the vibrations making his cock pulse against my tongue.

My mind emptied of everything except the slide of his cock against my tongue, the salty-sweet taste intensifying as his pleasure built, the scent of his arousal filling my lungs with each desperate breath. All thoughts of war and death receded, replaced by the animal need for connection. In this moment, we weren't king and consort, weren't commanders planning battle strategy. We were simply two bodies finding solace in shared pleasure, temporary sanctuary in the eye of the storm.

I lost track of time as I worshipped him with my mouth, my own arousal building to a painful edge despite having no friction against my own cock. Each muffled groan from above told me exactly what he needed—faster here, slower there, more pressure, more suction.

His fingers suddenly tightened in my hair, pulling me off his cock with just enough force to send sparks of pleasure-pain down my spine.

"Stop," he growled, chest heaving. "I want to finish inside you."

The raw need in his voice sent heat pooling in my belly. I rose to my feet, legs unsteady from kneeling and arousal. Before I could speak, his mouth crashed against mine, his tongue delving deep as if trying to taste himself on me. His teeth caught my bottom lip, biting hard enough to draw a gasp from my throat.

His hands were frantic on my clothing, tearing at laces and fastenings with none of his usual finesse. I helped as best I could with trembling fingers until I stood naked before him, my skin prickling with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the hunger in his eyes.

"On the bed," he commanded, voice rough with need. "Now."

I complied instantly, stretching out on our bed as Ruith grabbed a vial of oil. His hands were steady as he worked me open with oil-slicked fingers. The familiar burn and stretch made me arch off the mattress, seeking more.

"Please," I gasped, past pride or patience. "I need you inside me!"

When he finally pushed inside, we both groaned in relief. My body yielded to his, accepting his full length despite the initial resistance. His forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling in the space between us.

"I almost lost you," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion that had nothing to do with physical pleasure. "When I heard about the bridge collapse—when they pulled you from that river—"

I silenced him with a desperate kiss, unable to bear the pain in his voice. "I'm here," I promised against his lips. "I'm alive. We both are."

His hips began to move, each thrust driving away the memory of cold river water, of bridges collapsing, of death that had nearly claimed us both. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him inside me.

"Harder," I demanded, nails digging into his shoulders. "Make me feel it."

He complied immediately, his rhythm growing more punishing as he drove into me with a force that bordered on violence. Each thrust shoved me up the bed until I braced my hands against the headboard, pushing back to meet him. The slap of skin against skin filled the chamber, punctuated by our harsh breathing and broken moans.

"Touch yourself," Ruith ordered, his voice wrecked. "I want to watch you come apart for me."

My hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming after days of healing and worry. My body tightened around him as pleasure built, coiling at the base of my spine, drawing my balls up tight against my body.

"That's it," he encouraged, shifting his angle to hit just the right spot inside me. "Let go. Show me you're alive."

I came with his name on my lips, my back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed through me in waves that seemed endless. My body clenched around him, drawing a curse from his throat as his own rhythm faltered. He followed moments later, burying himself deep inside me as he found his release, my name a broken prayer on his lips.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin despite the winter chill beyond our chambers. His weight pinned me to the mattress, a comforting pressure that kept me grounded in reality. The sound of our heartbeats proved survival against impossible odds.

"We should go to the boys," I said eventually, though I made no move to leave the warmth of his embrace. "They'll be worried."

Ruith nodded against my neck, his breath warm against my skin. "Our sons deserve to know their fathers have returned safely."

"Our sons." The words still felt new on my tongue, sweet with promise despite the bitterness of war surrounding us. "When this is over, we'll give them the childhood neither of us had."

"We will," Ruith agreed, determination hardening his voice. "A world without collars or conscription. Without endless battles or clan rivalries." He rolled off me, though his hand remained possessively on my hip. "I believe that now, more than ever."

"How does it feel?" I asked softly. "Having ended the civil war?"

"Hollow," he admitted. "I expected to feel... something. Victory. Grief. Instead, there's just emptiness." His fingers brushed my cheek. "Except when I touch you. When I hold you, the world makes sense again."

I pressed my forehead to his, sharing breath in the small space between us. "Then hold me. For as long as you need."

We lay there gathering strength for what lay ahead. Tomorrow would bring Tarathiel's funeral. The day after, Ruith would stand before the Assembly and make his first decrees as king, and then we would need to plan for the final confrontation with Michail. But tonight we had each other.