"I won't kill your prince for you, Raveena."
"Fine. Then kill the princess."
Graham pinched the bridge of his nose. It was the second time tonight he'd been tasked with killing a royal. He'd barely been back in the city for a full day and already the intrigues were trying to drown him. All he wanted was to return to his pint of ale. Get sloshed. Then sleep it off for a week.
No, that wasn't entirely true. What he truly wanted was a taste between this woman's thighs. He wanted to erase that bruise that the fool had left her and bury her with pleasure that only he could give her as that sweet nectar ran down her thighs.
That was the drink he needed. That was the stupor he wanted to drown himself in. He'd left this place to get lost when the only place he'd ever truly been able to lose himself was inside of her.
"Take off your dress, Raveena."
The queen's grin was triumphant at the command.
Graham watched her disrobe. Watched the reveal of the pale skin that was white as snow. The curtain of the gown lifted on the rosebud of a nipple that he knew could go blood red if he pinched it hard enough. The petals of her labia that he'd suckle until that flower was engorged.
"Lie back on the bed and spread your thighs."
She did as she was told. This queen of the realm was completely bare, completely defenseless against him. No, that was never true either.
She had magic that could turn him cold. She had never used it on him. Would never need to. She knew she held his will in the palm of her hand.
Though if that were true, she wouldn't have allowed him to leave her. She would've made him stay. She would have forced him to sneak into her bed each night after the king consort left her.
Would that have been so bad? He knew the old man hadn't had her heart. Knew she hadn't had his. King White had loved his first wife. A rare love match in this matriarchal kingdom where women traded men as bed partners all the time.
Raveena had had lovers before him. But she'd had none since they found each other. Graham knew that for a fact. Had never once questioned it. Which was why he was so floored when she’d accepted the king's hand in marriage.
That vow that Raveena gave King Snow of her own free will had hurt Graham more than if she had cheated on him.
Graham took her hand now. He brought her fingertips to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her index finger, then her thumb. His lips trailed a path to her palm. There, he tasted the salt of her skin. It was just as he remembered. Her taste hadn't changed.
It was as though someone turned the lights on inside of him. All of the memories of their time together came flooding back in the vivid color of spring—lush and blinding and impossible to ignore.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her, high above the training yard, sunlight kissing the silver-threaded braid that crowned her pale hair. He’d been bloodied from a sparring match, chest heaving, sweat in his eyes, and yet she’d made the whole world still. Princess Raveena of Fenvalen, perched like a queen-in-waiting on the stone balcony, had looked down at him as if he were something worthy of notice. That look alone had undone him more than any blade ever had.
Graham had never liked getting tangled with royal women. They wanted things—discretion, power, pleasure without consequence. He preferred the blunt honesty of village girls who knew what it meant to share a bed and a burden.
He told himself he’d only take a taste. Raveena had tasted like fire and frost. After the first time, he hadn’t been able to stop. She’d pulled him back night after night, eyes burning, magic clinging to her skin, whispering secrets against his neck like spells that would never break.
They had made a world in the shadows of Fenvalen’s stone towers. A world of warm beds and whispered promises and the kind of love that left marks no one could see. Oh, he'd marked her milk-white thighs, to be sure. She'd hidden them beneath corsets and lace, only the two of them knowing they were there.
Graham had started to believe it might last. That maybe he wasn’t just her distraction. Then the courtship by their nearest ally. Then the engagement. Then her wedding night when she took another man into her bed after he'd made her thighs shake and tears threaten her eyes.
Now in that same bedroom where he'd last had his princess, Graham pulled the queen's hand from his mouth. He placed her hand on her thigh. "Heal it."
Raveena searched his eyes. All she got back was his hard, implacable glare. She did as she was told.
Ice prickled at his fingertips as her magic came forth. When she pulled her hand away, it was as though the bruise had never been there. If only Graham could erase Charming's touch from her mind. If only he could be the prince to give his queen what she truly needed. Instead, he gave her what she wanted.
Graham spread Raveena's thighs wide. He looked over the flesh that wept for him: pale pink, blushing red with the heated desire that pooled there.
"I'm not going to kill your stepdaughter, Ray."
"Fine. Throw her in the dungeons."
"And the prince?"
"Like I said, after we marry and I'm with child, we throw him in the dungeons as well."
