"Open yourself to me."
Raveena placed her hands on either side of her labia. With her fingertips, she pulled the flushed flesh apart. Her body undulated under his perusal, eager.
"These are all thingsyouwant." Graham rested his head against her thigh as he looked at his favorite sight in all the world. "What doIget out of it?"
"You get me."
Graham’s teeth flashed—white and sharp like the wolves that prowled the ice-laced forests of Fenvalen. That old, familiarhunger coiled low in his gut, the kind he thought he’d buried on the battlefield but never quite shook—not where she was concerned.
“Hmm.” The sound rumbled in his throat like a satisfied growl. “You’re right, Ray. I do want you. Badly.”
He didn’t wait for permission. He never had—not with her. His head dipped, and he sank his teeth into the soft curve at the apex of her thigh, claiming her the way beasts claimed what was theirs. Not to hurt. Not to wound. But to mark. To remind her—and anyone who dared come near her—that this thing between them had never burned out. It had smoldered, banked beneath years and war and betrayal, but now it roared to life again.
Raveena arched toward him. Her clit grew bigger, rounder with each nip of his teeth. He hadn't even touched her there. Her skin still tasted of snowmelt and summer lightning.
“I want something more than my queen’s attentions.”
“Anything. Name it.”
He held her gaze. Didn’t blink. “I want Greymoor.”
Even though her body pooled with pleasure, Graham felt the calculation in her mind. Saw it in the curl of her fingers. "Greymoor? You’re asking for territory I’ve been negotiating with the Winter Assembly over?”
The land was on the eastern border. It lay between Everfrost and Fenvalen and shared a slight border with Valebright, the Charming stronghold. The tract was near the river mouth, where the spruce trees grew thick and wild. Because it bordered three queendoms, no one ruled there. There his men could be free of anyone's rule, save their own.
Her hesitation made him want it all the more. The fact that she was thinking it over, considering his ask, made him giddy. He knew all the right buttons to push, and so he did.
"You're the queen. Get it for me and I'll take care of your little problem."
He tapped her clit. She snapped her legs closed, trying to hold his hand in place so she could receive her pleasure. But he was already pulling away from her and striding toward the door.
"Graham!"
Graham paused at the door and called over his shoulder, "If you let him touch you again, I will castrate him, and the deal is off."
And with that, he walked out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Raveena's steps were deliberate, her gait slowed by the weight of her own body. This morning, she'd had a thigh gap; that space between a woman’s inner thighs when she stands with her feet together. Though the majority of the queens in the Snow Kingdom wore long gowns that covered their entire bodies, when they disrobed in saunas or indoor pools, they all displayed that particular stance on beauty that indicated that they were youthful and thin. After her encounter with Graham, Raveena would not be showcasing that particular fad anytime soon.
The space between her thighs was no longer bruised. It was swollen. Graham had left his mark with the deep, unshakable ache of being thoroughly claimed but not quite satisfied. Her inner muscles fluttered with every step, sore from pleasure, from surrender. She should have drawn herself a bath. Should have curled beneath velvet sheets and let the warmth coax the tension from her limbs. But she was a queen. So she walked on—wearing the evidence of him like a secret crown.
It was cruel, the way he played with her. Always had been. He'd wind her up until she was coiled like a spring, trembling onthe edge of release, only to pull away—just to hear her beg. Just to see if she would.
She always did.
And by the godmothers, she would again. Only the next time, she would have him fully, forever. She would tether him to this place like the walls tethered her—firm, inescapable, hers.
Her fingers drifted along the brickwork as she passed, gliding over the cool surface of the stones. The palace hummed around her, solid and familiar. The fixtures, the sconces, the etched frost-glass panes. Every curve and corner of this castle held her shape. She had poured herself into it over the years—into its defenses, its traditions, its elegance. It had become an extension of her body, of her rule, of her strength.
It protected her.
It obeyed her.
It stayed.
Just like Graham would.
