I follow Finn into the washroom as he tugs his damp tunic over his head in one fluid motion. He flips on a faucet, then starts unbuttoning his undershirt. Finn’s eyes are sharp, watching me, as he peels off the remaining fabric covering his stomach and chest. I suck in a low breath, almost involuntarily. I’ve seen these parts of his body before. But here, in the darkened chamber, I feel very differently about the half-naked figure in front of me.
“You should wash, too,” Finn suggests playfully.
My heart skips a beat, and there is only a second of hesitation before I respond, “Sure.”
I’m reminded of our first encounter, at the waterfall, when I stripped off my overdress so thoughtlessly. That day seems so long ago, and remembering it makes me shiver. This is nothing like that. I’m the opposite of thoughtless as I reach up and carefully unbutton my dress. All Finn’s attention is focused on me as I undo the buttons one by one, then shimmy out of the long dress. Now I stand in just my corset and chemise.
“It’s best to be thorough,” I whisper.
“I agree.”
With strenuous effort, Finn forces his gaze from my chest. His eyes lock onto mine as he slowly reaches for his belt. It clicks and then hisses as he slides it off. As I stand, doe-eyed, in my underthings, I half expect him to make a quip about reciprocation—something to cut the tension of this moment. But he just stares and stares, until I understand that he’s waiting for me to decide what I want.
I’ve already decided. I want him.
First, I reach gently for my kerchief, surreptitiously brushing my ears to check the concealment charm. It’s still in place. So, heart pounding, I untie the silk and tug it off my hair, letting the brown curls tumble free.
Then my fingers drop to the strings of my corset. It takes longer than usual as I fuss with the ribbons. Finn doesn’t complain. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches with that wanting, hazy look until I’ve finished.
There’s no change in his expression as I slip off the corset, but I hear the shift in his breathing. It speeds as I slide off my chemise, tugging it down my body, lower and lower, until it falls to my ankles. In total vulnerability, I gaze back at him.
The prince of Verdinae.Myprince.
“Pretty easy to make you speechless,” I murmur.
“Come here,” he says roughly.
I obey.
With hands that speak of experience, Finn guides me under the shower. He picks a bottle from the shower bench, a creamy ivory soap that smells like vanilla. I’m looking up into his eyes as he pours the contents over me. It’s cold but not painful as it slides down the plane of my stomach. I shiver.
He reaches for a washcloth. Finn starts on my upper back, washing in gentle circles until each area tingles. He works over my arms and hands, then down my legs, lingering at my feet. His hands seem to memorize my shape, tracing it over and over. Every touch aches. He takes his time, following the lines of my figure. Never quite slipping where I want him.
When he finishes washing me, it’s my turn. I copy his movements with a sort of quiet reverence: just appreciating his form. Finn’s hard-muscled body is a weapon of its own. I can see the hours in the sword yard outlined with every vein and fiber. Thick silence has overcome us. I’m wholly occupied with my work—every part of me blazing. Finn hangs his head, letting the hot water drip down his hair as I wash over the swell of his chest and the arc of his shoulders.
After we’ve finished, I change into a nightdress, and Finn rummages in the closet until he procures a clean pair of trousers, which are only slightly too small. Then we crawl together under the blankets.
My body finds his, and I curl into him.
He’s deliciously warm. Muscled arms wrap around me, and Finn pulls me flush against him. I can’t restrain my hands from creeping up to trace his chest…then his shoulders…then the hard lines of his stomach. All the parts I’ve woven back together. His fragile shell of skin.
It strikes me, as we lie in the darkness, that it’s frightening how much I care about his well-being. The thought of harm befalling him makes me physically ill. I’ve been battling an outright obsession with him from the moment I dragged himback to the cottage. I’m no better than his sycophants, making him my sun.
It’s quiet. Then Finn asks abruptly, in a soft voice: “Do you think I’m a bad person?”
I’m so taken aback by the question, I just lie there breathing for a while. His body is tense, awaiting my answer.
“I think we’re only as good as our next choice,” I finally say thickly. “That’s what my mother would say.”
I’m thinking of the raiders he fought, the prisoner at the feast, the fyrehound. It will take time to comb through the knots of conflicting experiences.
“Can I askyousomething?” I say.
“Of course.”
“You said that you’ll be accepting if your father chooses Sebastian. But if he doesn’t, why would youwantto be king?”
His thumb idly traces the back of my neck. After a long silence, he says quietly, “You know, I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked me that.”
