“Beastlywife?”
“Beastly queen?” he asked, tilting her face up to meet his.
A vulpine grin lifted his lips. Up close, he looked as tired as she did. There were dark presses beneath his eyes. A wild shadow of stubble along his jaw. Usually, his eyes were bright. But today the light in his eyes had been thrown into shadow. Perhaps like her, he was just tired. Yet when he reached for her, she couldn’t help but notice how hot his skin was to the touch. But then his fingers trailed up her spine, and her thoughts dissipated into the air.
She smiled. “Beastly queen is only a marginal improvement. I am wounded.”
“Are you?” he asked. But the tease from his voice disappeared, replaced with something rougher. “Let me make amends.”
His hands went around her waist, pulling her body to his. Gauri’seyes drifted shut. The sun had risen higher in the sky, warming her face. Her back had arched against his hands, and her whole body was ready to melt into a kiss…
… that was not happening.
She opened her eyes. Vikram watched her, his face dangerously close to hers. His eyes looked touched by fever.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Drawing out the inevitable.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said. “May I ask why?”
“Because you are thoroughly spoiled. You expect to be kissed when you wish for a kiss, and you should be denied every now and then. Trust me. It will make them sweeter. Like a victory.”
She frowned. “That can’t be true.”
“No?”
He kissed her.
And whatever she was about to say was snatched up by his lips. The touch of Vikram’s lips filled Gauri with the same sensation it always did: a sort of drowsy hunger. He filled her with a want so dense she imagined she might sink her teeth into it. Gauri leaned into him, her fingers digging into his arms. Vikram answered by holding her so tightly that he nearly lifted her off the ground. And then, right when the kiss tilted on the edge of something dangerous… he pulled back and gathered his breaths.
“Was I correct?”
She said nothing. Which made him grin.
“Say it…”
“On my deathbed,” she retorted, even as a smile tugged at her lips.
“Don’t say that,” said Vikram, his voice raw. “I don’t ever want to imagine that.”
Gauri didn’t know what to say. What does one say to that? It was too immense. To return it would seem empty. To ignore it would be an insult. To thank him would be worse.
She loved him. This much she knew. What she did not know were the boundaries of what she felt. Was that good? Was that bad? What was shedoing?
Again, that panic frosted any warmth the kiss brought. She couldn’t see the end of this. Not that she wanted it to end, but love felt like wrestling the sky. It made her feel small and epic all at once, and it… confused her.
“It was just a jest,” she said, embarrassed. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on something she considered wholly arbitrary. The sword hanging from his hip. “What’s that for?”
“Ah,” he said, a slight frown furrowing his brows. “Part of my joint-sovereign duties now include sword fighting. Our courtiers seem to think I will be cutting a path to my side of the throne every day.”
“You might as well be,” she said.
Plenty of people were eager to see the new sovereigns deposed. Even then, a thread of resentment wound through Gauri. She would have given anything to be at the barracks and training instead of—
“How was the library?” asked Vikram wistfully.
“My eyes were so assaulted by history texts that I did not recognize my reflection in the evening.”
