“No. No one can ever know. No onewouldknow if someone hadn’t been creeping after me down the halls.” He looks over his shoulder and winks as I finish applying the ointment.
“All done. Keep your shirt off while it dries. And you should change your trousers—they’re saturated with blood around the waistband.”
He rises, so I do too.
“Don’t go yet. Wait here … please? Unless you want to come help me change?” He raises his eyebrows.
“I’m okay here,” I mumble, heat rising to my cheeks.
He leaves but pops his head back in a moment later.
“Oh, and thanks, Alaya.” He grins and disappears again.
While he’s gone, I gather the supplies, placing them in the middle of the coffee table.
When he returns, heat floods through me and I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath that escapes my lips. He’s cleaned up—his hair damp and tousled, water still glistening at his temples, his face clean and he’s changed into loose black trousers that hang sinfully low on his hips, revealing the defined V-shaped muscle that disappears beneath the waistband. My mouth goes dry. I can’t tear my eyes away from the lean planes of his bare chest, the way shadows play across his skin with each breath.
I’m staring.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop.
He sits beside me on the sofa. Awkward silence stretches between us.
“About last night,” he starts, twisting towards me. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“Scared me? Why would you think that?”
“Running away and slamming the door in my face was a clue.”
It wasn’t fear. Not of him. When he looked at me like that, his feelings so raw and honest, a tiny part of me remembered who he is, who his father is, where I am and why I’m here. It made me want to run from those feelings, from that reality of what he’s becoming to me.
“I’m not scared of you, Kiernan.”
He sighs with relief. Perhaps it’s that, or this shared secret, but something makes me feel bold.
I bring my hand up and stroke his cheek, down to his jaw, rough where he hasn’t shaved.
He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs.
This is the Fae beneath all the scars he bares—not the Prince with his cold authority, not the dutiful son bearing his father’s cruelty, not any of the carefully constructed maskshe shows the kingdom. This version of him, unguarded and at ease, stripped of pretence—he’s breathtaking. In this quiet, unmasked moment, he’s beautiful in a way that makes something in my chest ache.
I move my hand up his neck and behind his head, burying my fingers in his damp hair. I gently pull him down to me. He doesn’t resist. As his lips reach mine, I brush mine against his.
This isn’t the first kiss—the crushing passion and lust. This is the soft caress of a second kiss, the kiss to explore and discover. I kiss gently along his lips, down the corner of his mouth to his jaw, the stubble rough and chafing. I bring my hands to his strong shoulders, then lower, my palms feeling his smooth, hard chest, my fingers dancing over his skin.
As I kiss back to his mouth, he leans into me and deepens it. When I reach his mouth, it opens for me and our tongues search for each other. He tastes like lightning and storms, like spring rain and sparks of static. He groans as we explore each other, his tongue insistent.
“I need to feel you closer,” he whispers, pulling away slightly. I nip his bottom lip in protest, and a low rumble rises from his throat.
He grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto his lap, his hands sliding down to clasp my rear.
We kiss again, deep and savage this time. Fire ignites in my belly as I loop my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands come up to bury into my curls, his fingers knotting in my hair. He pulls my head gently back so he can take more of me. His hips raise slightly, and I gasp as I feel his very evident, very hard erection rubbing against my underwear.
“You feel that, Princess? That’s all for you.” The fire spreads into my core as he adjusts himself again, this time on purpose, his need seeking me roughly. I clench around him, wanting him too.
“Gods, Alaya, I can feel your wetness already.” His words are like tinder. I lose myself in the taste of him and the feel of him between my thighs.
“I need to taste you. All of you.” He pulls back to look into my face. “I’m not sure if anyone has ever kissed youthere—not that I want to know, if I’m being honest. But I think I might lose my Gods-damn mind if I don’t.”
