Page 44

The magic hasn’t faded.

It lingers on our skin, soaked into the moss beneath us, woven through the air like threads of starlight suspended in time. The grove is hushed now, but not empty. It feels. Like something has witnessed us. Chosen not to speak, but to bless.

Rhaegar sits beside me, fingers still twined with mine, the edges of his stone form softening into flesh beneath the weight of shared warmth. His chest rises in slow, reverent breaths. The glow beneath his skin—the one that fractured with death—now pulses faintly in sync with mine. Our bond. Our vow.

No chains.

No crowns.

Only this. Us. .

I look at him, and the world ceases to exist.

The mountains fade. The sky dissolves. All that’s left is the man who nearly died in my arms, who chose death over power, and then chose me again when life offered him a second chance.

“I can still feel you,” he whispers, voice low and hoarse with wonder. “In here.”

His hand touches his chest, then mine, fingers brushing the spot where the soulbinding magic settled. Not a brand. Not a curse. A claim. Sacred and quiet. Like breath.

“You have all of me,” I answer.

The way he looks at me…

It isn’t hunger.

It isn’t need.

It’s reverence.

And it undoes me.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away if I choose.

But I don’t.

I press my mouth to his first—soft and tentative at the edges—but the moment he exhales against my lips, the kiss deepens. His hand finds my waist, anchoring me to him as our bodies relearn each other not through urgency, but gratitude. This isn’t a battlefield. Not anymore.

It’s a beginning.

I crawl into his lap, knees bracketing his hips, my cloak slipping from my shoulders as his hands slide beneath it. His touch is reverent, mapping every inch of skin like it’s a language he once forgot and is now relearning syllable by syllable. The warmth between us grows—slow, steady, earned. He kisses the side of my throat, the hollow between my collarbones, the curve of my jaw, and I feel myself open to him like a prayer.

“I almost lost you,” I breathe, hands in his hair, pulling him closer. “Don’t make me say goodbye again.”

“You won’t,” he swears, voice trembling. “Not in this life. Not in the next.”

His hands slide along my thighs, my ribs, my spine. Everywhere he touches, magic sparks—gentle and golden, soft like the first morning light. I arch into him, breath hitching when his mouth returns to mine, deeper this time. More desperate. But still gentle.

Still us.

Clothes fall away like mist.

No rush.

No command.

Just hands and mouths and gasps shared in the cradle of sacred earth. The runes carved into the surrounding trees glow faintly, echoing our bond—lighting in response to every whispered vow, every murmured name. He lowers me onto the moss, his body covering mine, and for what feels like lifetimes, there is no fear in being touched.

Only awe.

His weight is comforting. Real.

I trace the cracks still etched along his shoulders—remnants of the death that nearly claimed him. They shimmer under my fingertips, silver and warm, like rivers of starlight carved into flesh.

He shudders.

“Nora,” he says, broken and raw. “Tell me this isn’t a dream.”

I wrap my arms around him and hold him close.

“It’s not,” I whisper. “It’s finally real.”

When he presses into me, I don’t break.

I become.

His cock fills me slowly, achingly, stretching me in a way that makes my breath hitch and my body arch toward him. The sensation is overwhelming—not just the physical fullness, but the way his presence seems to seep into every part of me, as if our souls are entwining as deeply as our bodies.

I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, and he stills, giving me a moment to adjust, to breathe, to feel.

“Nora,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint, his forehead pressed to mine. His breath is warm against my lips, and I can feel the faint tremble in his arms as he holds himself above me.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice trembling too. “I need all of you, Rhaegar.”

He obeys, his hips rolling forward with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes me moan. My pussy clenches around him, and he groans, low and deep, the sound vibrating through me like a second pulse. He pulls back almost completely, teasing me with the loss of him, before sliding in again, deeper this time, his cock hitting a spot that sends sparks shooting up my spine.

“Yes, Rhaegar, take me, my mate. Brand me,” I urge him to give his everything to me. To own me. To crave me. To make me his for all eternity and the lifetimes to come.

“Gods, you’re the best thing that happened to me, Nora,” he murmurs, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His warm breath brushes against my skin, and goosebumps explode all over me.

The rhythm builds between us, slow and deliberate, each movement a promise, a vow. His hands grip my hips, guiding me as I rise to meet him, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. Every thrust is met with a gasp, every withdrawal a plea for more. The heat between us grows, a steady, building fire that threatens to consume us both.

He worships me like I’m the last thing in this world worth believing in.

His mouth finds my breasts, his lips brushing against my skin as he murmurs my name like a mantra. His teeth graze my collarbone, and I shudder, my nails raking down his back. He doesn’t hurry, doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every sound I make, every shiver that runs through me.

His hands roam my body, tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts, the dip of my hips, as if he’s imprinting me into his memory.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. “So perfect for me.”

I can’t speak, can’t think. All I can do is feel. The way his cock fills me, the way his hands grip me, the way his breath mingles with mine.

My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans, his hips snapping forward with a little more force. The change in pace makes me cry out, my back arching off the mossy ground as pleasure ripples through me.

“Rhaegar,” I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair. “Please…”

He knows what I need. Rhaegar pulls my legs wider, bringing one leg up for better access.

“Oh!” I gasp as he hits deeper in this position and I have a clearer view of where my cunt meets his cock in perfect harmony.

“Nora…” He moans as his hand slips between us, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. The moment he touches me, I unravel.

My pussy clenches around him, and he curses under his breath, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate.

“Come for me, Nora,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Let me feel you.”

I shatter.

Pleasure crashes over me in waves, my body trembling as I cling to him. He follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing inside me as he comes deep within me. His groan is muffled against my neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

We fall together.

Not into ruin.

But into something stronger.

Something eternal.

His mouth finds mine again as our bodies shudder in tandem, his groan swallowed by my moan, our magic surging outward in a soft pulse that ripples through the grove like a heartbeat shared with the land itself.

The moment slows.

Then stills.

He collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms, our bodies tangled in sweat and warmth and something older than time. I press my forehead to his, my breath still coming in ragged gasps. He’s still inside me, still mine, and I have never felt more whole.

We don’t speak for a long time.

The only sounds are our breaths and the wind threading through the trees, carrying the scent of moss and magic. My fingers trace the edge of his jaw, his lips, his brow. He watches me with that same look of reverence, like I’m not just a woman.

But his world.

“You look like fire,” he says softly, fingers brushing through my hair.

“And you look like something worth burning for,” I whisper back.

He laughs, low and warm.

I kiss him again.

Not because I need to.

But because I want to.

He’s here.

We are home.