She heard fabric rustling, felt him shift behind her. When he pressed against her entrance, she tried to push back, take him in, but his hands on her hips held her still.
“My pace,” he said, and pushed in slowly, letting her feel every inch.
The stretch was intense from this angle, deeper, more overwhelming. She pressed her face into the sheets, muffling the sounds escaping her throat. Her fingers twisted in the fabric, knuckles white, as he set a rhythm that drove every coherent thought from her mind.
The warmth in her chest pulsed with each thrust, golden light flickering beneath her skin. She could feel it reaching for him, recognizing its other half, and the sensation layered with the physical pleasure until she couldn’t separate them. The fear she’d carried all day dissolved under the onslaught of sensation—his hands gripping hard enough to bruise, the sound of his breathing getting rougher, the way he filled her completely.
“That’s it,” he said, voice rough. “Stop thinking. Just feel.”
One hand slid around to find her clit, finger teasing until he shattered her completely. She came with a cry that might have been his name, her whole body convulsing, the warmth exploding outward in waves of golden light that painted the walls.
He didn’t slow down, using his grip on her hips to hold her steady as he chased his own release. The continued stimulation when she was oversensitive had her gasping, caught between too much and not enough. When he finally came, pulling her hips back against him and holding her there, she felt it through the warmth—his pleasure mixing with hers until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
They collapsed together, him turning her and pulling her against his chest before she could even catch her breath. She could feel his heart racing beneath her ear, could feel the possessive way his arms wrapped around her.
The fear that had been choking her earlier felt distant now, buried under layers of endorphins and exhaustion. She knew it would return, but for now there was only this: skin against skin, his marks fresh on her hips, and the absolute certainty that nothing could take her from this room while he held her like this.
“Better?” he asked against her hair.
She nodded against his chest, not trusting her voice yet.
“Sleep,” he commanded softly. “The wards will hold. I’ll hold. Nothing touches you tonight except me.”
The courtyard was empty when Briar arrived, her breath misting in the cold morning air. Fresh snow blanketed the ground, pristine and undisturbed, though the sky had cleared to a pale winter blue. She pulled the fur-lined cloak tighter around herself, grateful for the practical clothing—woolen pants tucked into tall boots, a fitted leather vest over a warm tunic. The outfit was distinctly Star Court in its pale grays and silver embroidery, but functional in a way her previous dresses hadn’t been.
She turned in a slow circle, wondering why Eliam had told her to meet him here before rushing off without explanation. The courtyard was large, surrounded by high walls that blocked the wind, with archways leading to various parts of the Star Court residence. But there was no sign of—
Movement caught her eye. Eliam emerged from one of the archways, and he wasn’t alone. He was leading a horse—massive, white with gray dappling across its flanks, its breath steaming in the cold. The animal’s hooves crunched through the snow with measured steps, clearly well-trained despite its size.
Briar’s stomach dropped. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Eliam said, though the slight curve of his lips suggested he knew exactly what her objection would be. He was smiling more often now and Briar wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“You’re going to tell me I need to learn to ride that thing.”
“That thing has a name. This is Phaeon.” He stopped a few feet from her, the horse towering over them both. “And yes, you need to learn.”
“I really don’t.” She took a step backward, eyeing the horse warily. It turned its massive head to look at her, dark eyes far too intelligent for her comfort. “I can just ride with you. It worked fine before.”
“It worked when we had no other option.” His free hand caught her wrist before she could retreat further, pulling her closer to both him and the horse. “If we’re traveling into the Wildwood, you need to be able to ride independently.”
“Why? We managed—”
“We weren’t being hunted by my brother.” His voice had gone serious. “What happens if we’re separated? If something happens to me? If we need to split up to evadepursuit?” His thumb brushed across her pulse. “Or would you prefer to be pressed against me for days on end, feeling every movement, every shift of muscle?”
Heat crept into her cheeks at the suggestion in his tone. “That’s not—”
“Because I recall you finding it rather… distracting last time.” His voice had dropped to that particular register that made her stomach flutter. “All that friction, the rhythm of movement, my thighs wrapped around—”
“Fine!” She cut him off, face burning. “Fine, I’ll learn. But when this giant thing throws me and I break my neck, that’s on you.”
“Phaeon won’t throw you.” He released her wrist only to place his hand on the small of her back, guiding her closer to the horse. “I was assured he’s well-trained and patient. Unlike some horses I could mention.”
The horse snorted, as if offended by the comparison to others. Up close, it was even more intimidating—all muscle and power barely contained.
“First,” Eliam said, his hand still warm on her back, “you need to let him know you’re not a threat.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be worried about threats,” Briar muttered, but she let Eliam guide her hand to the horse’s neck.
