Dimitrios had watched the light grow from nothing, one arm stretched beneath Milonia’s neck, the other around her waist. Her small, naked body was turned into his, her hands in loose fists, one beneath her cheek, the other against his chest. Her dark hair fanned across the pillow, and the furrow that usually held court between her brows was gone, smoothed out by exhaustion or trust—or both. Her breath was steady, untroubled.
For the first time in—god, he didn’t know how long—Dimitrios felt still.
Not vigilant. Not strategizing. Not haunted by ghosts.
Just still.
He followed the rise and fall of her chest for several minutes. Soaked in the warmth of her body. Inhaled her scent—part lilacs, part him. All of it carved a smile onto his lips before he could think to stop it. He was happy.
And, for better or worse, he hadn’t let thoughts of Sophia or Aris ruin any of it. Not because they hadn’t mattered, but becausethisdid.
Milonia stirred, her body curving toward his chest. He pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair, letting his eyes drift shut again.
If this was what moving on looked like…He wanted it.
He wanted mornings exactly like this. Quiet. Sunlight stretching awake while the world outside slept. He wanted her scent, her sounds, her trust. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it—or how long it might last. But for now, she was still here. Still his.
“Are you smiling?”
God, that voice. Sleepy and soft.
Milonia hadn’t opened her eyes, but the curve of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
Dimitrios kissed the top of her shoulder. “Am I not allowed?”
She rolled onto her back and stretched, a graceful cat in morning light. “You’re allowed,” she said through a yawn, “but it’s suspicious. Kings don’t smile.”
“I’m not a king.”
A part of him wished he could say that forever and have it be true.
Her eyes cracked open, and she shifted back to look at him, really look at him. Her fingers found his stubbled jaw and traced the outline of his face. “And I’m not a servant,” she finally said, the corners of her mouth dipping slightly.
He kissed those corners and pulled her close. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny anymore, is it?”
Milonia tucked her face into the crook of his neck and combed lazily through his hair. “Every day, more and more people see who you truly are. To the people who love you, you’re already their king.”
“The people don’t get a vote.”
As of now, he still wouldn’t win a provincial vote.
Slow, gentle kisses fell across his neck, and he closed his eyes. Her arm came around his waist, and her hand splayed across his back.
“Let’s see if I can make that smile more permanent,” she whispered across his skin. Her hand dipped low and found his growing erection.
Dimitrios’s breath caught, and all the blood rushed from his head straight to the center of his body. “Now…hold on…fuck.”
Milonia pushed him onto his back and straddled his lap. Her slick heat hovered—nearly lined up, nearly his.
Outside the room, a door slammed.
“Caius,” she whispered, then groaned. She rolled off the side of the bed, where she wrapped herself in a blue silk robe. “Stay here. I’ll distract him elsewhere so you can sneak away.”
Dimitrios reached for her hand. “What if you didn’t?”
A line burrowed between her eyes. “Didn’t what?”
“I don’t want to hide. Not from Caius. Not from anyone.”
