I laugh—surprised, genuine—and Lady Valorian looks at me like I’ve done something unexpected.
Maybe I have. Maybe laughing is something her family doesn’t do enough of.
We walk back into the chaos together.
Finally.Finally. We’re alone.
Rynn closes the door behind us—the nicest guest suite in the fortress, which means actual furniture and candles and a bed that looks big enough for creative activities—and I hear the lock engage with a sound that feels like victory.
“If Zip or Rusty interrupt this,” I say, already reaching for the clasps of my dress, “I’m spacing them both.”
“Noted.” Rynn’s voice is rough. Through the bond, I feel his hunger—banked all day, simmering through the ceremony and the reception and the endless formal conversations. Now blazing free. “I’ve disabled the comm system.”
“You learned.”
“I’m highly motivated.”
He’s still in his ceremonial attire, all those ridiculous layers and formal sashes, and he’s looking at me like I’m water and he’s been dying of thirst.
“Come here,” I say.
“No.”
I blink. “No?”
“If I touch you right now—” His eyes have gone dark, pupils blown wide. His scales are flushing gold at his temples, his throat. “I want to do this properly.”
“Properly?”
He moves toward me, slow and deliberate. A predator approaching prey that has no intention of running. The bond pulses between us, heavy with want.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He stops just in front of me, close enough to feel his heat but not quite touching. “Every moment of the ceremony, every conversation, every time someone looked at you and saw what I see.”
“What do you see?”
“Everything.” He reaches out, traces a single finger along my jaw. The touch sends sparks cascading through my nervous system. “Everything I never knew I wanted.”
“You said that during the vows.”
“I meant it during the vows.” His finger traces down, following the line of my throat to where the mate mark pulses. “I mean it now. I’ll mean it for the rest of my life.”
I swallow. “You’re being romantic.”
“I’m being honest.” His hand cups the back of my neck, tilting my face up. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” My voice comes out rough. “Definitely not a problem.”
He kisses me.
Not like the ceremony—that was public, restrained, appropriate. This is none of those things. This is his mouth claiming mine with the full force of everything he’s been holding back, tongue sliding against mine, hand tightening in my hair.
I melt into him. My hands find his shoulders, his chest, start working on the clasps of his ridiculous formal wear.
“Too many layers,” I gasp against his mouth.
“Valorian formal wear is—”
“Ridiculous. I know. Keep talking.”
