“The Hollowborn didn’t hurt me,” he says bluntly.
I take a couple steps closer. “I know he didn’t, but I think I might have hurt you.”
He looks away, those beautiful blue eyes of his filled with a million things that I’ll never get to hear. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, then before he can answer, add, “I know I upset all of you when I came back with Sevrin and seemed close to him. I know we talked about this, but you and I didn’t really get to talk.”
He sighs. “You know how I feel.”
I come closer. “I really don’t.”
When he meets my gaze again, the pain there takes my breath away. “I’ve just been asking myself over and over again what’s different about Sevrin. Why is he so easy to love when I’m so hard to?”
My heart breaks, and I walk over to him and put my hand against his cheek. He presses his face against my palm like it’s all he’s been waiting for. “I never said that. I just said things were complicated between us, and Sevrin has made things easy.”
“How? How has he made things easy?” Gareth asks.
“Prince Gareth–”
“Call me Gareth. You call him Sevrin. I’m going to be your husband too.”
I nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Gareth, I tried to explain it before with all of you, but maybe I didn’t do a great job. Sevrin has just made it clear from the very beginninghow he feels about me, but that hasn’t been the case with any of you.”
He’s staring at me intently. “When you arrived at the academy, you were like nothing we’d ever seen before. A female dragon rider on a male dragon. Someone who wasn’t from nobility. We tried to handle things the best we could, but we clearly failed in everything we did.”
“Not in everything,” I tell him gently. “I mean, I’ve clearly grown to care about you.”
“Have you?” he asks, and there’s hope in his voice.
“I have.”
“And you know that I– that I– feel things for you too?”
I smile. “Yes, I know that.”
He looks relieved. “And you know that I, well, I want you to be my bride too. Right?”
“That’s good to know,” I say, still smiling.
He’s just so damn sweet. Watching him trying to get his words out is both darling and painful. It’s like the man has never once talked about his feelings in his life. How he got to adulthood without ever being vulnerable, I’ll never know.
Or maybe I will. I’ve met his father, after all.
“Here’s the thing.” He fights for his words, opening his mouth several times, then closing it. His brows drawing together in frustration while he works his jaw. “You’re like my sword.”
“Your sword?” I repeat, trying to follow his logic.
“Yes.” He nods enthusiastically, looking hopeful. “My sword stays at my side. That’s its place. I need it to survive. I don’t know what I would do without it, and I would die to make sure no one would ever take it from me.”
I rise up on my tiptoes. He watches me carefully as I plant a soft kiss to his lips, then murmur, “I can handle being your sword.”
“Yeah?” He sounds… excited.
Capturing my lips again, he kisses me harder. Our kiss ends, and he kisses me again, and again. My smile, my amusement, are gone as he takes my breath away with each touch of his lips. I’m breathing hard, my hands running down his wet chest. My fingers splay as I reach his stomach and feel the shudder that rolls through him.
His tongue darts into my mouth, and mine meets his. They tangle together, deepening our kiss, until I feel like I need more. My hands move to his towel, hesitate, then undo it. I feel him tense, and then I reach down and wrap both my hands around his length.
“Oh fuck,” he growls, and the sound of his rough voice makes my nipples harden.
