“Not as beautiful as you are under the silver moonlight, Serin,” I said.
He smiled fondly. “You need not woe me, Rhazir,” he said. “I am already yours.”
“I only speak the truth,” I said.
He thought of it for a moment, the corners of his lips curling up. “And I ask you to kiss me again.”
This time, when I pressed my lips against his and felt his tongue exploring the depth of my mouth, it was much softer than before. This kiss, unlike the yearning that was ripping me apart, wasponderous and slow, reveling in our youth and beauty rather than hurrying in our lust.
I feared, then, that the dawn light would wake me up from the sweetest dream I had ever dreamed, and that it would find me on the Three Isles in a cold chamber with one small window overlooking the cliffs where waves crashed against the edges of the castle and the sea spray relentlessly rose to my room when the window was unshuttered.
But it did not. There was no dawn light or the small window letting it in.
There was only the olive grove and two naked bodies held in a safe, warm embrace.
Chapter
Eight
SERIN
My heart thundered against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for freedom, the sound so loud it seemed to fill the olive grove with its wild rhythm. Blood rushed through my veins with liquid fire, my skin flushed and damp with the lingering heat of what we had shared beneath the stars. Every breath tasted of jasmine and desire, of secrets finally spoken and barriers finally broken.
I watched Rhazir gather his scattered clothing with hands that trembled only slightly, his movements careful and deliberate as if he were handling something precious. When he reached for his coarse shirt, I caught his wrist gently.
"Allow me," I said, taking the garment from his fingers.
He stood still as marble while I helped him dress, my touch lingering longer than necessary on the warm expanse of his chest, tracing the lines of muscle and sinew I had mapped so thoroughly with lips and tongue. When I pulled the shirt over his head, his dark hair emerged tousled and soft, and I resisted the urge to smooth it back into place.
When it came time to don my seret, Rhazir's hands were infinitely tender, arranging the silk with reverent care. His fingers brushed my skin as he worked, sending shivers through me that had nothing to do with the night air.
"You should try wearing one," I suggested as he finished, gesturing to the flowing fabric that felt like captured moonlight against my skin. "It's far more comfortable than all that leather and metal."
He smiled, the expression transforming his face from stern protector to something softer, younger. "I am more comfortable in armor. Old habits."
The formality stung after what we had shared, but I didn't press. We walked back through gardens that seemed transformed by our intimacy, every shadow holding new secrets, every flower blooming with possibilities I'd never dared imagine.
Our chambers welcomed us with warm lamplight and the subtle scent of oils, but suddenly the space felt charged with unspoken questions. What happened now? How did we return to the carefuldance of prince and protector when everything had changed?
"Would you care to share a bath?" I asked, hoping to prolong this golden moment before reality reasserted itself.
Something flickered in his dark eyes, want, perhaps, or fear. "My knees are rather dirty from... kneeling. I'll use the basin outside first."
He disappeared before I could protest, leaving me alone with the echoing silence and the memory of his mouth on my skin. I sank into the brass tub with a sigh, letting sunstone-heated water ease muscles I hadn't realized were tense.
As the warmth soaked into my bones, I tried to make sense of what I was feeling. These sensations were new territory, uncharted waters that had no names in any language I knew. To call them mere attraction seemed insulting, too small to contain the vastness of what stirred in my chest. Love was a word I'd heard in songs and stories, but this felt larger than poetry, more consuming than any ballad could capture.
I simply held onto the feelings, cradling them like precious gems. They made my heart warm in ways I'd never experienced, sent butterflies dancing through my belly, left my body humming with contentment and desire in equal measure. Rhazir's hands on my skin had felt like coming home to a place I'd never known I was searching for.
My thoughts drifted to the Three Isles, to tall waves crashing against black volcanic cliffs, to candlelit chambers where duty and protocol governed every breath. I pictured the small door that connected my apartments to Rhazir's modest room, a barrier that had always seemed so absolute. Now I imagined him crossing that threshold in the deep of night, imagined welcoming him into my bed with eager arms.
The fantasy made my pulse quicken with anticipation I had no right to feel.
Then, like storm clouds gathering on a clear horizon, reality intruded. The crown. That iron circlet studded with pearls torn from conquered waters, waiting for me across the dark sea like a patient predator. With it came duties I'd always known would define my life: marriage to some lord's daughter chosen for political advantage, the production of heirs to continue the bloody legacy of my line.
My heart plummeted to depths that made the sunstone's warmth seem like mockery. I slid beneath the water's surface, holding my breath until my lungs burned, letting the heated embrace of the pool surround me completely. When I finally emerged, gasping and dripping, I was no wiser than before.
The truth was simple and terrible: I could not marry a woman. The very thought made my skincrawl with revulsion. How could I touch another when Rhazir's hands had claimed every inch of me? How could I produce an heir when my heart belonged entirely to the man sworn to protect me?
