“We’ve been walking for days. Your shoulders are one big knot. There’s dirt in your hair.” I let my fingers hover near a streak of dirt along her collarbone, not quite touching. Her breath hitched anyway. “I’m going to take care of you tonight. All of you. Starting with that bath.”
Suspicion warred with desire in her eyes. “You just want to undress me.”
“Obviously,” I said. “I’m not a saint, Princess.” I leaned in, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “But I intend to enjoy every step of the process. And so will you.”
A shiver rippled down her spine. Her grip on my shirt tightened—this time, dragging me closer. “Bossy.”
I smirked. “Get used to it. I’m the heir to a throne, too, after all.”
I pulled back and let my hand fall from the door. For a second, she stayed pressed where she was, as if testing whether I’d keep her pinned there. Tempting. Very tempting. But tonight was about drawing this out, not slamming her against the wood and losing my mind.
Later, maybe.
I turned toward the adjoining bathing chamber instead. The cabin was simple, but we’d stocked it well. A copper tub sat near the window, empty, waiting. I flicked my shadows toward the ceiling, banked them, and reached for the lever.
The water flowed, hot enough to cloud the air with steam.
Behind me, I could feel Aurelia watching as I poured a bottle of oil into the water. The scent of lavender filled the air.
When the bath was ready, I turned back to her.
“Come here,” I said.
She came forward slowly as if she wasn’t sure of this side of me. I didn’t bother to admit that neither was I. I’d never taken care of anyone like this before. Never wanted to.
I stopped her with a hand on her hip.
“Look at me,” I said.
She lifted her gaze. There it was—that flicker of trust she tried so hard to hide, softer than the rest of her, vulnerable and lethal all at once.
“We don’t know what’s coming next,” I said quietly. “We don’t know how long we have. So, if you want this, Furious… don’t hold back. Don’t brace for it to be taken away. Take it.” I slid my knuckles along her cheek. “Take me. Just as I will take you—if you’re still offering.”
Something in her eyes broke open at that. She exhaled, a rough, shaky sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob, and nodded once.
“Let me undress you,” I murmured.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t argue.
She turned around, and I went to work on the laces of her tunic. When it was undone, I pulled the garment over her head, baring the golden line of her shoulders, the sweep of her back, the marks she bore. Scars. Freckles. Gods, she was beautiful.
“Turn around,” I said, voice rougher than I intended.
She obeyed, and I reached for her trousers, unbuttoning them and shucking them down her legs until they were on the floor. Her undergarments went next, sliding away until she was standing in the soft candlelight in nothing at all.
For a long, delicious moment, I allowed myself to look. It was a gift I hadn’t allowed myself the first time I’d come to her. Back then, everything had felt urgent and final. Like a goodbye. I couldn’t bear the idea of looking at what I was losing. This felt like a beginning. And I was damn sure going to take my time saying hello.
Her shoulders were elegant, sloped like the promise of sunrise. Her breasts—full, soft, lifted slightly as she drew in a nervous breath—made heat coil low and hard inside me. Her waist dipped gently, drawing my gaze down the smooth line of her stomach to the flare of her hips… the place where tendrils ofmy shadows whispered greedily along her thighs as if they, too, wanted permission to touch her. To make her moan.
Gods. I had never wanted anything like this.
Her shoulders tightened under the weight of my gaze. “Say something,” she muttered.
“I am,” I said, unable to fight off the smile. “I’m just using my eyes.”
Color flared high on her cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“Yes.” I brushed a thumb lightly over a faint scar at her ribs. “And you are perfect.”
