His mouth pulls away slightly. I feel him smile against me. He lets out a small laugh.
“Finally, you say my name. If I’d known this is what it would take, I would have done this a long time ago.”
I tilt my head away from him and look up into his eyes. They’re heavy with passion and something else. For the firsttime since I’ve known him, I see his vulnerability—unfiltered and stripped bare. This isn’t one of his masks. He’s not the Prince, son of the feared and powerful King Malaxor. He looks at me like he knows every part of me, like he’s known me forever.
A jolt of fear pierces my chest. My eyes go wide.
He leans down, and this time he brushes his mouth against mine—a soft caress. The tip of his tongue traces my bottom lip.
I push against him and he gives easily, preoccupied with what he’s doing.
“No, I—we can’t,” I whisper. I close my eyes tight, shutting him out before the look on his face can make me a liar. He lets out a small cry and buckles against the wall as I slip from his grip.
I make for the door, yank it open, and slip into my suite.
I don’t look back.
I don’t trust my own resolve.
Chapter Eleven
Prince Kiernan
If I could, I would live in that moment from last night forever.
Her rage had finally overwhelmed me, and my need to have her roared free like a caged animal breaking its chains. Nothing prepared me for the taste of her—warm sunlight and desperate heat. When she opened for me, when her tongue met mine, I couldn’t get enough. Her need matched my own as she pulled me closer, and my erection strained against her, every primal instinct screaming at me to press between her thighs where I knew she’d be wet and ready.
And then she said my name.
Simply Kiernan.
Not Prince. Not bastard. My name from her lips reached into my chest and caressed something vital, something I didn’t know could be touched. It took every ounce of strength not to throw her to the floor and taste every inch of her.
Then she left.
Shut that damn door right in my fucking face.
Now I’m making my way to my father’s personal office, summoned by the King himself, and all I can think about is that kiss. He probably wants to discuss the Equitae threat again, more orders for the Thorn Guards. I should be focused on strategy. Instead, I’m remembering the heat of her mouth, the way it felt against mine in that stolen moment. Thewarmth that spread through my entire body, electric and all-consuming. The softness of her lips, the gentle pressure, the way time seemed to stop completely.
I force the memory away, banishing it before I enter a meeting with my father with evidence of my yearning for more.
I’m admitted at once when I knock. King Malaxor stands with his back to me, looking out the window. When he turns, I see his temper hasn’t abated since yesterday evening.
“They are too bold, Kiernan,” he hisses. “Have we grown too complacent? They don’t fear us as they should. We need to destroy them.”
The maniacal flash in his eyes is still there. He’s losing control. And King Malaxor losing control of his Thorn Gift isn’t good for anyone.
“Your Thorn Guards will do their job,” I say carefully. “With the extra Amplifier Fae, they’ll be unstoppable. Strike them where it hurts. Take the battle to Heartwood.”
He smirks, reaching for a scroll on the shelf. He spreads it across his desk, slamming down weights at each corner to hold it open.
The map shows Kaladia in far more detail than the one in the Main Office. He traces his finger from the Castle of Thorns in the south, up across Deeproot Crevice, past where the Whispering Glade used to be, through the Glass Thread—a deep gorge where a great river once ran—up into Heartwood.
We discuss attack strategies, numbers of Thorn Guards and Amplifier Fae. He starts to calm as we form a plan.
“If I didn’t follow Earthbound Fae customs so diligently, I would have you married and bonded to that bitch right now.” His voice cuts through the tactical discussion like a blade. “We need your Gift stronger. You need to be out there leading this army with the General.”
My jaw tenses at how he speaks about her, but I keep my words careful. His grip on control is still tenuous.
