He laughed, the sound softer than I’d ever heard. “You’re fucking dangerous, you know that?”
“So are you,” I shot back, and nipped his shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark.
He pulled me closer, hand splayed over my lower back. “Don’t let anyone on the Council see you do that. They’ll think I’ve gone soft.”
I bit back a smile. “You’re the king now. You can do whatever you want.”
He mulled that, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “After yesterday?”
“Are you?” I countered.
He considered. “Wasn’t ready to die. But if I had to, that would have been the way.”
I propped my chin on his chest, the sheet pooling around my waist. “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
I hesitated, then let it out. “On the call with my mom…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“She’s… free,” I said, and felt the truth of it. “She never said it, not in front of him, but she hated my father. She said she’s been waiting years for him to die. She wanted to thank you.”
He blinked, surprised. “For what?”
“For saving me. For giving her a reason to keep going. For letting Griffin take the throne and not making her deal with it anymore. Mostly for just… surviving.” I swallowed, the words thick in my throat. “And she’s happy. You know why?”
He shook his head, bemused.
“Because she gets to be with her mate now. Her true mate. He’s been waiting for her for twenty-five years. She told me that last night. First thing she did after getting the news—she ran to him. She gets to be loved finally.”
Menace was silent, letting the words sink in. He wrapped both arms around me and justheld on.
I could have wept for my old life, for all the years I’d lost, for the way trauma kept bleeding through the future like dye in water. But instead, I let myself hope for what was to come.
I ran my hand down his body one last time, savoring the shape of him, the miracle of him. I kissed the angel mark on his chest, the place where death had tried and failed.
“Thank you,” I whispered, not for the act, not for the rescue, but for just existing, here, now, alive.
He kissed my forehead, then my lips. “Anytime, Red.”
The day was just beginning, but for the first time in years, it felt like it might not end in tragedy.
We lay there a while, not speaking. Not needing to.
We could have laid there forever, burrowed under the quilt, but the world was nothing if not insistent. At seven a.m. sharp, a knock split the silence—three hard, staccato raps. Not a question, not a suggestion. The day demanded us.
Menace answered, wearing only a towel and a snarl. The woman on the threshold blinked, caught herself, then handed him a folded parchment. “Council requests your presence at nine. There will be a formal witness to dress you both.” Her voice was flat, her eyes never dropping below his collarbone, as though acknowledging any part of him might dissolve her professionalism. She set a lacquered trunk on the carpet, then fled, heels clacking down the corridor like castanets.
Menace whistled, low and mocking, and closed the door. He flicked the parchment open. The wax seal was already broken. “We’re to be in the anteroom at eight for prep,” he read. “Then the crowning at nine. You up for this?”
“I think I am,” I said with a grin.
He smiled back, then peeled away the towel and started digging for fresh clothes. I let myself watch—the lean muscle, the angel mark now faded to the color of a clear sky, the ease with which he wore his own nakedness. He caught me staring and winked.
“Want me to help you get ready?” he asked, the wolf in him still alive and hungry.
“Tempting,” I said, “but the attendant might faint. And you’re supposed to look respectable for once.”
