"No." His hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I missed you. Your voice. Your stubbornness. The way you argue with me." His grip tightened. "I wanted you. Not this. You."
She searched his face for the lie but found only the quiet truth.
The words struck hard. Eliam, this fae lord who claimed she was merely property, who insisted on ownership rather than affection, had missed her, not just her body, her. Briar’s heart stuttered at the raw honesty in his voice.
"I want to stay," she heard herself say against his throat, the words pulled from her by his confession. "I'm done fighting it... I want to stay with you. To be yours."
His whole body went rigid. For a moment, they were frozen, her confession hanging between them like a physical thing. Then his hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to look at him. His eyes searched hers, dark and intense.
"Say it again."
"I want to stay. I choose to stay. With you."
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, satisfaction, and something deeper he probably couldn't name. His grip tightened, and suddenly she was on her back again, his weight pressing her into the mattress. The careful control was gone, his thrusts grew rough, almost animalistic. Her nails raked down his back as she met him stroke for stroke.
"Mine," he growled against her throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "My chosen one. My little thief who stole into my realm and made me miss her. Made me count hours like a lovesick fool." His fingers found her clit, circling with desperate pressure. "Never again. Three days was too long."
The possessive desperation in his voice and the perfect pressure of his fingers, coupled with her own need, proved to be too much. Her back arched as the second orgasm crashed through her, more intense than the first. She felt him follow, his hips stuttering as he pressed deep, her name breaking from his lips.
They collapsed together, breathing heavy in the quiet room. He stayed inside her for a long moment, his weight carefully balanced on his forearms, forehead pressed tohers. Then slowly, carefully, he withdrew and gathered her against his chest. She draped herself over him, feeling his racing heartbeat gradually slow beneath her ear.
"The ball is tomorrow," she said eventually, her fingers tracing the lean muscles of his chest.
"The day after," he corrected, his lips brushing her hair. "Tomorrow is ours. I need to ensure you're properly prepared. Can't have you embarrassing me with incorrect dance steps."
She could hear something lighter in his voice, not quite teasing, but close. "Is that the only reason?"
His arms tightened around her, one hand splaying possessively across her lower back. "No," he admitted quietly. "But it's the one I'll tell myself."
The mark pulsed warm against her skin, and the warmth in her chest seemed to answer it with its own steady rhythm. As exhaustion pulled her under, safe in his embrace, Briar tried not to think about how this might be the last night she had this. The last time she felt chosen rather than trapped.
For now, she was home.
Chapter thirty-one
Sunlight streamed through the ballroom's tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Briar stood in the center of the vast space, feeling underdressed in her simple day gown while Eliam circled her with predatory grace. He'd woken her early, insisting she needed "proper instruction" before tomorrow's ball, though the way his eyes tracked her suggested this had little to do with protecting her from social embarrassment.
"First position," he commanded, stopping directly in front of her. Today he wore fitted black trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows in a casual display she rarely saw. It made him look younger somehow, less like the Forest King and more like someone who might actually dance for pleasure.
For the briefest of moments, he reminded her of Arion.
"I don't know what that means." She shifted her weight, hyperaware of the space between them.
"Of course you don't, which is why we're here." He stepped closer, placing one hand on her waist. "The formal dances of the fae courts are nothing like your human fumbling. They require grace, intention, and most importantly, trust."
"Trust?" She placed her hand on his shoulder as he guided her other hand into his.
"You must trust your partner completely, or the magic in the dance will sense hesitation and punish it." His fingers adjusted her grip, positioning her hand just so. "Too much distance between partners shows fear. Too close suggests impropriety. We aim for perfect balance."
He moved her through the basic position, correcting her posture with touches that lingered just long enough to make her skin warm. The mark on her arm pulsed in time with her heartbeat, responding to his proximity as always.
"Now, the basic step pattern." He began to move, drawing her with him in a simple box step. "Feel how I lead? You don't anticipate, you respond. The male leads, the female follows, creating harmony."
"How wonderfully archaic." She tried to watch her feet, but he tilted her chin up with one finger.
"Eyes on your partner, always. The floor isn't going anywhere." His thumb brushed her jaw before returning to its proper position. "In fae dances, breaking eye contact can be seen as an insult, or invitation, depending on context."
"What kind of invitation?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
