Page 4

T he war council's voices still echoed in my head as I climbed the tower steps. Four days until Captain Yisra's ship arrived. Four days to prepare for what felt increasingly like sacrificing my heart to uncertainty. My fingers found the scar beneath my ribs where Daraith's ritual knife had carved out my death price, the phantom pain sharper tonight than it had been in weeks. I'd already died once to keep Elindir alive. The thought of sending him directly to Michail made that sacrifice seem almost meaningless.

Sunset painted the western walls in fire, long shadows stretching across the courtyard below. From this height, I could see the frantic activity that had consumed Calibarra since the council ended. Warriors drilling in tight formation. Scouts departing in pairs, melting into the winter forest beyond our walls. Servants scurrying between buildings with supplies and messages. The fortress had transformed into a hive of preparation, every soul focused on the mission that would depart in four days' time.

Four days would pass far too quickly.

I paused at the window, watching a small figure cross the courtyard below. Elindir moved with the same confidence he'd shown in the council chamber, his copper hair catching the dying light like a war banner. Even from this distance, I could see how warriors and servants alike made way for him, offering salutes or bows as he passed. No longer the broken slave who'd been delivered to me in chains just months ago, he commanded respect now, not because of his position as my consort, but because of who he had become.

In other circumstances, I might have felt pride at that transformation. Instead, I felt only the cold weight of dread settling in my chest.

Our chambers were empty when I reached them, the fire burning low in the hearth. I crossed to the window, tracking Elindir's movement through the courtyard until he disappeared beneath an archway. The sight of him among my people, wearing my colors, moving with the authority of his position, still sent a possessive thrill through me even now.

I poured myself a glass of wine from the decanter on the sideboard, attempting to calm the storm of emotions that had followed me from the council chambers. The rich flavor did little to wash away the cold fear that had lodged in my throat since the decision was made.

The door opened behind me, and Elindir entered, slightly breathless from the stairs. He'd discarded his formal council attire for simpler garb, though the blue of House Starfall still marked his collar and cuffs.

"I just finished with Niro," he said, moving to pour his own glass of wine. "We were discussing security arrangements for the voyage to Homeshore."

"And what did you decide?" I asked, watching as he rolled his shoulders to release the tension gathered there.

"Twenty of the Broken Blades to accompany us," he replied, taking a sip of wine. "Plus Niro himself. Enough to show strength without appearing as a military threat." His eyes found mine over the rim of his glass. "Captain Yisra will handle the naval aspects, of course."

"We risk more than just appearances," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Elindir's eyes found mine, reading the tension there. "You disagree with the council's decision," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"Politically, it's sound," I admitted. "We need time to strengthen our position, to gather intelligence. Your presence at Homeshore could provide both."

"But?" He sipped his wine, watching me over the rim of his glass.

"But sending you to face the man who broke you once before..." The words caught in my throat. I took a long swallow of wine instead, the rich flavor doing nothing to wash away the fear lodged there.

"He didn't break me." Elindir's voice hardened, a flash of the same anger that had driven him into the forest upon hearing of Michail's arrival. "He tried. He failed."

"And now you give him another chance." I set my glass down harder than intended, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" He moved closer, close enough that I could smell the pine and leather scent that was uniquely his. "Giving him another opportunity to hurt me?"

"I think you're walking into the lair of a man who spent months torturing you, who ordered you collared and sold, who would delight in nothing more than seeing you broken again." My voice rose despite my efforts to contain it. "And for what? The slim chance that his followers might question their allegiance if they see you standing proud at my side?"

"For the chance to save thousands of lives." His eyes held mine, steady and certain. "For the chance to prevent genocide."

"At what cost?" The question escaped before I could stop it, raw and honest in a way I rarely allowed myself.

Elindir set his glass aside, his hands coming up to frame my face. The touch was gentle but firm, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Whatever the cost," he said softly, "it's mine to pay. Not yours."

"That's where you're wrong." My hands found his wrists, not to break his hold, but to anchor myself to him. "Everything you are, everything you feel... it belongs to me now, just as everything I am belongs to you. Your pain is my pain. Your fate is mine."

Something shifted in his expression, understanding mixed with a heat that had nothing to do with our argument. His thumbs stroked along my cheekbones, calluses catching against my skin. "Then trust me to protect what's yours," he whispered. "Trust that I know my own strength now."

Instead of answering, I closed the distance between us, claiming his mouth in a kiss that was more demand than request. He yielded instantly, body melting against mine in that way that still made my blood burn. My fingers tangled in his copper hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. The place where his collar had once rested was marked with a ring of pinprick scars, tiny white dots where steel had bitten into flesh. I traced them with my tongue, tasting the evidence of what we'd been, what we'd become.

"If you die there," I growled against his skin, "I will drag you back from whatever underworld claims you and kill you myself." My teeth grazed his pulse point, feeling it jump beneath my tongue. "Do you understand?"

His laugh caught on a gasp as I bit down harder. "Is that so?"

"Yes." I pulled back enough to meet his eyes, letting him see everything I couldn't say. The fear. The rage at sending him into danger. The desperate need to keep him safe. "Come back to me. That's a command."

His pupils were blown wide with desire, but there was something else there, something deeper. Understanding. His hands came up to tangle in my braids.

"You cannot command death," he whispered, but his grip tightened in my hair. "We both know that now."

I pressed him harder against the table, letting my weight pin him there. The heat of his body burned through our clothes, familiar and maddening. His cock hardened against my thigh as I ground down against him, drawing a strangled moan from his throat. "Then I will follow you there again. Trade another year of my life to bring you back."

His breath caught. Papers crinkled beneath him as he arched up against me, legs spreading to cradle my hips. "No. Never again. I won't have you sacrificing pieces of yourself for me."

"You are mine to protect," I growled, biting at his jaw hard enough to mark. The salt of his skin mixed with the lingering taste of wine on my tongue. "Mine to save."

"Yours," he agreed, voice rough with need. His hips rolled up against mine in a slow, deliberate tease. "But not your slave anymore. Not your possession to command." His other hand slid beneath my shirt, nails raking across my ribs where Daraith's blade had carved out my death price. The scar tissue burned at his touch, sensation magnified by memory. "We belong to each other now. Equal partners in this."

I caught his wrist, pinning it to the table beside him. The position made him gasp, body responding instinctively to the restraint even as his eyes challenged me. His back arched, pressing the long line of his torso against mine. Even through our clothes, I could feel the heat of him, the way his muscles trembled with need.

His trapped wrist twisted in my grip, not fighting but reminding me of his strength. "You need to trust me," he said, voice rough with both desire and conviction. "Trust that I know my own power now. That I'm not the broken slave he made me anymore."

My fingers loosened on his wrist, the gesture an admission. "I do trust you. I just..." The words stuck in my throat as his free hand traced the scar beneath my ribs. "The thought of him touching you again..."

His response was to surge forward and kiss me, fierce and demanding. There was nothing submissive in it, nothing of the slave he'd once been. His teeth caught my lower lip, biting hard enough to draw blood. The copper taste bloomed between us as his tongue pushed into my mouth, claiming rather than yielding.

We crashed together like storm waves against a cliff, each touch carrying the weight of everything we couldn't say aloud. My hands found the laces of his shirt, tearing at them with desperate urgency. He responded in kind, fingers working at my belt. The table creaked beneath our combined weight as I pressed him harder against its surface.

"Not going to take me to bed, Your Majesty?" he taunted, eyes alight with challenge as my hands pushed his shirt from his shoulders. "Too desperate to make it across the room?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I growled, nipping at the sensitive spot below his ear. "To be carried like some precious treasure." I slid my hands beneath his thighs, lifting him onto the table fully. Maps and reports scattered to the floor, forgotten. "But you're right where I want you."

A shiver ran through him at my words, though his smirk remained. "Are you certain?" His hands found my braids again, tugging just hard enough to sting. "Because I recall a king who once promised to have me in every room of this fortress. We've yet to properly break in that new desk by the window."

I caught his wrists, pinning them to the table on either side of his head. "Careful what you ask for."

The wild light in his eyes told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Or what?" he challenged, arching up to bite at my jaw. "You'll punish me? We both know how much you enjoy that."

I released one of his wrists to grab his throat, thumb pressing against his pulse point where the collar had once rested. Not hard enough to restrict his breathing, but firm enough to remind him of my strength. "I enjoy making you beg more," I whispered against his ear.

The sound he made, caught between a moan and laugh, sent heat rushing through me. His free hand didn't fight my hold, but slid between us instead, working at the laces of my breeches with practiced ease. "Then make me."

My control snapped. I yanked the remaining clothes from his body, not caring as the fabric tore. He responded with equal ferocity, forcing my shirt open, nails raking down my chest hard enough to leave trails of fire in their wake. The sight of him spread across the table, copper hair wild against the dark wood, was enough to make my mouth go dry.

"Turn over," I ordered, releasing his throat to trail my hand down his chest. “I want to take you from behind.”

His eyes darkened, but a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Make me."

The challenge hung between us for a heartbeat before I moved, using my greater strength to flip him in one smooth motion. He put up just enough resistance to make the victory satisfying, a token struggle that fooled neither of us. I pressed my palm between his shoulder blades, holding him against the table as my other hand tangled in his copper hair.

"Is this what you wanted?" I murmured, gentling my grip enough to tilt his head so I could see his profile. "To be reminded of your place?"

"My place is wherever I choose to be," he countered, eyes glittering with heat despite his compromised position. "And I choose to be right here."

I leaned down to press my lips to the nape of his neck, a reward for his honesty.

"Oil," I commanded, nodding toward the shelf near the table where we kept a vial for such occasions.

He stretched out an arm, fingers just managing to hook the small bottle and pull it within reach. I took it from him, uncorking it with my teeth while keeping him pinned beneath me. The familiar scent of mountain herbs filled the air as I poured the oil over my fingers.

What followed was a dance we'd perfected over months of learning each other. The initial resistance as my oil-slicked fingers breached him, followed by the gradual melting of tension as pleasure overtook discomfort. The way his breathing hitched when I found that perfect spot inside him. The growing impatience in his movements as I took my time preparing him, drawing out the moment until he was pressing back against me in silent demand.

"Please," he finally breathed, the word barely audible against the wood beneath his cheek.

"What was that?" I asked, deliberately withdrawing my touch. "I didn't quite hear you."

He turned his head, copper hair falling across flushed features as he glared at me over his shoulder. "You know exactly what I said."

"Perhaps." I traced the line of his spine with my free hand. "But I want to hear it again. Louder this time."

His jaw tightened, pride warring with desire. Finally, he broke. "Please," he repeated, voice clear and deliberate this time. "Fuck me before I finish myself off and leave you wanting."

I laughed at the threat, knowing he was entirely capable of following through. "Since you begged so sweetly," I relented, positioning myself behind him. I slid in with a single smooth motion that made us both groan.

We moved together with practiced synchronicity, finding that perfect rhythm we'd perfected over months. The table creaked beneath Elindir as he rocked back to meet me. Beneath him, important dispatches and treaty drafts crumpled and smeared with sweat. I couldn't bring myself to care. Whatever was written there, it wasn’t as important as this moment.

I reached around to find his cock hard and straining. He gasped when I took him in my hand, but the sound morphed into a moan as I slid my thumb over the bead of moisture gathering over his slit.

Sweat gathered at the small of his back, creating a sheen that caught the firelight. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, muscles in his arms straining as he pushed back to meet each movement with equal force.

I angled my hips slightly, knowing exactly how to find that spot inside him that would break his control. When I found it, his whole body tensed, a strangled curse escaping his lips as his head fell forward. More fluid leaked from his cock as I maintained the angle, deliberately working that sensitive place with each thrust. I dragged my nails down his spine, watching the red lines bloom on his skin. My other hand held his hip with bruising force, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave perfect imprints that would remind him of this moment long after we parted.

His response was to clench around me deliberately, the sudden pressure making my vision blur at the edges. Two could play at this game of control, and he'd become a master at turning my dominance back on me. I leaned forward, draping myself over his back to sink my teeth into the curve of his shoulder, tasting salt.

"Mine," I growled against his ear, draping myself over his back to bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Say it."

"Yours," he agreed breathlessly, turning his head to seek my mouth. "Just as you are mine."

The addition sent a shock of heat through me. This possessiveness ran both ways now, a truth I was still learning to embrace. I captured his mouth in a kiss that was more claim than affection, teeth clashing as the rhythm of our bodies intensified.

His body clenched around mine, hot and perfect. My hand worked him faster, timing each stroke with the thrust of my hips until his body convulsed beneath me. Hot pulses spilled over my fingers and onto the papers below. My vision went white as pleasure crashed through me in waves, every muscle tensing as I drove into him one final time.

After, we remained locked together as our breathing gradually slowed, neither willing to break the connection just yet. My fingers traced idle patterns on his back, following the faint scars that mapped his history. Evidence of a past that shaped him but no longer defined him.

"We should wash," he murmured eventually, though he made no move to rise.

"In a moment," I replied, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. The thought of letting him go, even to cross the room to our bed, seemed impossible just then.

Eventually, I eased myself from his body, both of us hissing at the sudden separation. I steadied him with a hand at his waist as he pushed himself upright, legs clearly unsteady beneath him. He finally straightened, looking down at the mess we'd made of the table.

With a laugh, he picked up a thoroughly ruined parchment, holding it at arm's length. "There's cum on your treasury report, Your Majesty.”

Despite everything, I found myself laughing. "I’ll have another report tomorrow," I said, taking the ruined document from his hands and tossing it aside. “That’s one thing about being a king no one bothers to tell you about. All the damn paperwork.”

"Poor King Ruith," he replied dryly, gathering more of the spoiled papers into a pile.

Eventually, we made our way to the furs, limbs heavy with satisfaction. I held him close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heart against my chest as we drifted toward sleep. A fragile miracle, that pulse. One I'd already died to preserve once.

"You mustn’t hold me so tight," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm against my throat. "I promise I’ll come back to you. As you ordered, my king."

I said nothing, stroking his copper hair as he drifted into sleep.