Leaving him felt dangerous. It gave the queen an opportunity tocrack open this fragile thing between us and crush our plotting under her foot.
I wanted to stay. But when I felt raw and vulnerable, when I had already cried in front of him, when Iwanted…I also wanted to escape.
He came back through the doorway, dressed now in black pants that hung low on his hips and nothing else, and came to me. “I know it’s hard for you, but…let me take care of you.”
“I don’t need it,” I lied again.
“I know.” His hand slid over my shoulder. “You don’t need me. But Iwantto take care of you. Let me pretend.”
I hesitated. It was enough for him.
He lifted me into his arms effortlessly. He carried me into his enormous bathroom. Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating a sunken tub that was more than large enough for two, framed by lush green plants.
His bare chest was warm against my cheek, the beating of his heart soothing. He set me down beside the tub on a lush rug. Steam curled off the surface of the water, scented with something clean and fresh; the scent reminded me of the smell after the rain came, and suddenly I longed to dive into that water and wash away all the terrors.
Fieran’s fingers brushed my jaw as he pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was gentle, though there was nothing but certainty in the heat in his gaze.
He began to undo the bindings, his knuckles grazing my ribs, my breasts. He was unhurried, even as his touch set my pulse racing. He treated every bit of exposed skin as if it were something sacred.
He gently unwrapped the fabric and dropped it in a pile beside the tub. I was still now, letting him undress me. I couldn’t fully understand why I had become so passive.
His big hands skated over my hips, drawing my leggings down. He was careful with me, pulling off one leg, then the other. Now I wore nothing but my underwear, and I shivered with a sense of not just need but as if I were careening out of control.
Sex was one thing. What wasthis?
He returned to my waistband, tucking his thumb into the fabric androlling it down. His thumb brushing against my skin set a flame alight in me, and I bit my lip.
But Fear didn’t seem to notice. Always determined, he was intent on caring for me now. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the tub. He held me against his body as he dipped his hand in the water, letting it pour over my shoulders and my arms. My tense muscles unknotted.
His touch was tender, reverent, maddening.
He reached for a soft cloth and began to trace away dirt, dried blood, and the streaks of luminescence. Heat curled low in my stomach, a pull of need that drew a little tighter with every pass of his hand.
Moonlight clung in silver to his skin, as if the light itself wanted to drape itself over him, illuminating those carved cheekbones, the shape of his throat, the power of his shoulders. But he was still intent on nothing but me.
“I’m going to wash your hair,” he told me, drawing me through the water with him to some invisible bench. He pulled me into his lap, arranging me the way he wanted me, with the curve of my ass against his lap, my head resting against his shoulder.
He cupped water and gently poured it over my scalp. His fingers threaded through the strands, massaging softly, and my eyes fluttered shut.
I heard him exhale, unsteady.
His thumbs made slow circles at the back of my skull, working away tension. Each movement was deliberate and patient, as though he was coaxing loose every fraction of pain.
The heat of his palms soaked through me, relaxing muscles that had been tight for days. Since I came to the Trials.
Since long before the Trials.
He brushed the length of my soaking hair over my shoulder. “Finished.”
His fingers slid over my temple, sweeping away a wayward drop of water before it could fall into my eyes. For some reason, it was that careful care that made me feel totally unwound.
I kissed him, straddling his lap in one sudden movement. The two of us traded heated kisses until he suddenly rose.
He reached for a thick, plush towel and unfolded it with hands that weren’t quite steady, then wrapped it around my shoulders.
“Stand.” The command was soft, careful. I obeyed, gripping his forearm for balance as I rose from the water and stepped back up onto the marble floor.
He drew the towel around me slowly, as if memorizing each inch of skin. Then he swept me up in his arms, wrapped in the towel, and carried me to bed.
