“We’re aware,” Erik said, voice level as still water.
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” The envoy’s gaze moved between them, assessing, weighing. “Which is why I’m certain you’ll understand when I say that His Majesty requires more than… circumstantial evidence of consummation.”
Claricia’s hand tightened on her cup hard enough that her knuckles went white. “More than bloodied sheets?”
“I’m afraid so, my lady.” He had the grace to look somewhat apologetic. “His Majesty requires a public witnessing. A demonstration before your household, and myself as royal witness to ensure that this union is genuine and that both parties are… indeed amenable to one another.”
Claricia’s stomach dropped to her feet.
“A demonstration.” Erik’s voice had gone dangerous—the kind of quiet that might precede violence.
“A kiss, Laird Thorsen. Nothing more scandalous than that. Simply a kiss between husband and wife.” The envoy spread his hands as if the request was perfectly reasonable. “Surely that’s not too much to ask?”
The laugh that broke from Claricia’s throat was sharp as broken glass. “Of course. Because naethin’ says true love like performin’ on command fer an audience.” She knew she should stop, knew she was making it worse, but fury burned hot and bright inher chest. “This is absurd. First ye inspect our sheets like we’re horses at market, now ye want us tae put on a show?”
“Claricia.” Erik’s voice cut through her tirade like a blade.
She whirled on him, all the fear and humiliation of the past hours boiling over. “What? Ye cannae possibly be considerin’ this. ‘Tis humiliatin’. ‘Tis…”
He moved before she could stop him, his hands coming up to cup her face with a gentleness that completely undid her. The touch burned. His palms were warm and rough against her skin, callused from sword work, and she hated how her body leaned into that warmth like a plant seeking sun.
“I ken ye’re furious,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Ye have every right tae be. But unless ye want tae see what the inside of a dungeon looks like, we’re daein’ this.”
“Och… I hate this,” she hissed, but the words came out breathless.
“I ken that too.” His thumb brushed across her cheekbone in a caress so tender it made her eyes sting. “But ye’ll kiss me anyway.” His voice dropped to a tone that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
Something surged through her— a challenge recognized and accepted. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with all the defiance she could muster even as her heart hammered againsther ribs. “Fine. Kiss me then, ye stubborn beast. Show them all how desperately in love we are.”
He leaned down slowly. And then he did.
It was supposed to be for show. Brief. Chaste. Convincing enough to satisfy the crown’s envoy and nothing more. A performance. A lie made real just long enough to save their lives.
But the moment their mouths met, the world caught fire.
Och… goodness… what is this feelin’?
He tasted like honey and steel and she wanted more of him—desperately, urgently, with a hunger that shocked her. His lips moved over hers with a confidence that made her head spin, coaxing a response she shouldn’t give.
“Mhmm…” When she made a small sound—surprise or surrender, impossible to tell—she felt him still for just a heartbeat. Then his control shattered like ice under spring sun.
His hands slid from her face into her hair, scattering pins across the floor with small metallic sounds that seemed impossibly loud in the watching silence. He dug his fingers into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and she gasped as her mouth opened under his and Erik’s tongue swept against hers with devastating skill, her entire body humming with desire.
Her fingers fisted tighter in his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away like she should. Like shemeantto. But intention and doing had become entirely separate things, and all she knew was that she was drowning and he was air and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let go.
This is just fer show.Ye’re both actin’. This isnae real.
But it felt real. When his thumb found the racing pulse at her throat, pressing there with gentle possession, Claricia trembled—not from fear this time but from something far more dangerous. When they finally broke apart, because breathing had become necessary, they stayed close. Foreheads nearly touching. His hands still cradled her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones with a tenderness that made her want to kiss him all over again.
She looked up at Erik through her lashes and found him staring at her mouth like he was considering devouring her whole. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide, and the raw want in them stole what little breath she’d managed to reclaim.
He wants me. Truly wants me. And heaven help me, I want him too.
Someone cleared their throat. Claricia jerked back, suddenly remembering they had an audience. The envoy smiled, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Quite convincing. His Majesty will be most pleased.”
The Great Hall erupted into movement as people dispersed, but Claricia stood frozen, Erik’s hands still framing her face. She pulled free, needing distance before she did something foolish like kissing him again.
I kissed him back!
