We stay in the bath until my muscles stop trembling and he decides I can be trusted to walk without falling apart. He wraps me in a thick, emerald towel, drying every inch of me with slow, reverent hands that make my pulse skip.
Breakfast waits on a nearby table—fresh fruits, warm bread, spiced meats, and something that looks suspiciously like a dish Slade made specifically because he knows I love it.
We eat together, knees touching, his hand resting on my thigh every time he reaches for his cup. I steal bits of fruit off his plate. He lets me—barely.
By the time I finish my meal, I’m warm, full, and steady again.
Which only makes the hunger for him sharper.
I lean closer, brushing my lips against the edge of his jaw. “So… what does this tour include?”
He stands, pulling me gently to my feet. His eyes darken with slow, promised heat.
“Everything,” he says. “The gardens. The living flame springs. The old throne hall.”
“And then?”
He sweeps his thumb across my lower lip.
“And then,” he murmurs, “I bring you back here… and ruin you properly.”
Heat pools low and sweet inside me. I lace my fingers with his, letting him lead me toward the wardrobe where clothes for both of us wait. He pauses in the doorway, looking down at me with something warm and fierce and newly settled. “Ready to see your realm, Piper Athalar?”
My breath catches. Not Piper the cursed witch, or the outsider. PiperAthalar.
I nod, heart tripping hard in my chest. “Show me everything.”
He smiles—a slow, wicked, devastating thing—and opens the door. “Good,” he says. “Hold on to me.”
And gods help me, I always will.
***
Slade leads me through the archway, and the moment we step into the corridor, the entire estate seems to inhale—recognizing him, recognizing me.
Torches flare brighter. Shadows shift like bowing attendants. Magic hums down the marble floors like welcome home.
His hand stays wrapped around mine, thumb brushing my knuckles in lazy, possessive circles.
“Where first?” I ask, trying not to gape like a tourist.
“The gardens,” he says, voice low with something close to pride. “You’ll like them.”
We move through the palace until a set of carved obsidian doors swing open at his mere approach. Beyond them, the world expands into a breathtaking, impossible landscape—an underworld Eden.
The air is warm, threaded with faint jasmine and something spicy and wild, like cinnamon bark burning in the distance. Blackstone paths curve around bioluminescent blooms, each flower casting its own soft glow—violet, ember-red, ghost-white, deep gold. Some float, some pulse with an internal heartbeat, others shift shape as if dreaming.
Slade watches my reaction like he’s memorizing it.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
“It’s ours,” he corrects.
We walk slowly, our fingers still laced. Trees rise tall around us, their leaves shimmering like brushed metal. Strange birds—inky creatures with ember eyes—flit overhead, leaving brief spirals of glowing dust behind them.
I pause beside a massive blossom shaped like a flame. When I reach out, it curves toward my palm, warm as breath.
“It recognizes you,” Slade murmurs.
