"Like what?" I capture her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.
"So..." She struggles for the right word. "Complete. As if there's no separation between us."
The simple observation strikes at the heart of what I felt too, a connection that transcended the physical. "It's never been like that for me before," I admit, the confession slipping out before I can consider its wisdom.
She raises herself on one elbow, looking down at me with surprise. "Never? But you've had many women, surely."
"Many women. Never this." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger against her cheek. "Never you."
Her eyes search mine, looking for deception, for manipulation. Finding none, she asks, "What changed? Why now?"
"You stopped fighting it," I say simply. "Fighting us."
"Is that what we are now? An 'us'?" There's uncertainty in her voice, a vulnerability she rarely allows me to see.
I pull her closer, settling her head against my chest where she can feel the steady beat of my heart. "We've always been an 'us,' Princess. From the moment I decided you would be mine."
"But it was just politics then. A strategic marriage."
"At first," I acknowledge, my fingers combing through her tangled hair. "But do you really believe I would have gone to such lengths for mere strategy? That I would care so much about your acceptance if all I wanted was your kingdom?"
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "When did it change for you?"
The question forces me to examine feelings I've kept deliberately vague, even to myself. "I'm not sure it was a single moment," I admit. "More a gradual realization that I wasn't just claiming a kingdom when I claimed you. I was claiming my future."
My honesty seems to surprise her. She props herself up again, studying my face with new intensity. "Tell me something true," she says, echoing my own words from our wedding night. "Something no one else knows."
I could deflect, could turn this vulnerable moment into something safer, more controlled. But the openness in her eyes, the willingness to see me as more than just her conqueror, deserves honesty in return.
"I never wanted to be king," I tell her, the admission feeling like ripping open an old wound. "My brother was the heir. I was the second son, meant for the battlefield, not the throne. When he died, when the crown fell to me, I was lost. Conquering—expanding our borders, bringing other kingdoms under our rule—it was the only thing I knew how to do. The only way I knew to be strong when I felt anything but."
Her hand comes to rest against my cheek, surprisingly gentle. "I didn't know you had a brother."
"Few do anymore. It's been many years." I turn my face to press a kiss against her palm. "Your turn. Tell me something true."
She hesitates, then says quietly, "I've been so angry at my father. For losing. For not being strong enough to protect our kingdom." Her eyes drop, unable to meet mine. "Some nights, I lie awake wondering if I would have been better off born a peasant girl, with no kingdom to lose."
The admission reveals a vulnerability I suspected but never confirmed—her complicated feelings about her own position, the burden of royal duty. I tilt her face back up to mine. "You were born to be a queen, Fiona. Just not the queen you expected to be."
"Your queen," she says, the words no longer holding the bitterness they once did.
"Mine," I agree, pulling her close again. "And I belong to you in return, though I never thought to belong to anyone."
Her smile is tentative but real, perhaps the first genuinely unguarded smile she's ever given me. It transforms her face, making her even more beautiful. I vow silently to do whatever ittakes to see that smile again, to be the cause of it rather than the cause of her tears.
We drift into sleep tangled together, her head on my chest, my arms around her as if I could protect her from the world even in slumber. For the first time since claiming her as my wife, I sleep deeply, completely, without the constant awareness of her potential escape hovering at the edges of my consciousness.
Dawn finds us still entwined, her body warm against mine, her breath soft against my neck. I watch her sleep, studying the delicate fan of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips, the peaceful expression so different from her usual guarded wariness.
The knowledge that she has surrendered not just her body but something of her heart to me fills me with a fierce protectiveness unlike anything I've experienced before. I've always been possessive of what's mine, but this is different—deeper, more primal. I would tear apart anyone who threatened her, not just because she belongs to me, but because I can no longer imagine a world without her in it.
When she stirs, her eyes opening slowly to find me watching her, her lips curve in another of those unguarded smiles. "Good morning," she murmurs, stretching against me like a contented cat.
"Indeed it is." I press a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "How do you feel?"
A blush spreads across her cheeks as memories of the previous night clearly flood back. "Like I've been thoroughly claimed," she admits, her honesty more arousing than any practiced seduction.
"Not thoroughly enough," I growl, rolling her beneath me, delighting in her surprised laughter as I begin to demonstrate just how much more thoroughly I can claim her.
