His words are cut off by my cry, my body tightening around him as I climax, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm. The pleasure crashes over me in waves, each one stronger than the last, until I’m shaking in his arms.
He follows moments later, his release explosive, pulsing deep inside me as he empties himself with a guttural moan that echoes off the tile.
The world spins, the steam swirling around us in a dizzying haze as we cling to each other, hearts pounding, breaths ragged. His lips pressagainst my temple, his body still trembling as he holds me tightly, his voice a soft whisper. “Fuck, Cyra. That was?—”
“I know,” I murmur, my fingers tangling in his damp hair. “I know.”
The withdrawal is still there – quieter now after last night’s healing, but never truly gone. It’ll come back louder soon, demanding more. But right now, I can feel something else beneath the craving. Stirrings of emotions that feel … genuine.
The water continues to pound against the tile, a relentless rhythm that echoes the aftermath of our collision, our bodies still humming with residual energy. Zevran reaches past me and shuts it off. For a long moment neither of us speaks; only the echo of dripping water remains, our foreheads pressed together. I place my palms on the cool tile, trying to steady my breathing. My legs shake as my feet find the wet tile.
He steps away to grab us towels.
I watch him for a moment, the way his shoulders rise and fall as he exhales, the way tension eases from the corners of his eyes. He looks younger like this. Unburdened. Stripped of rank and duty and centuries of Mars expectation. When he’s commanding troops or facing the Houses, his control is absolute, a wall no one cracks.
But just now, he’d come undone.
Not weak. Never weak. Just free.
His voice, usually clipped and precise, had roughened. His body, always held like armour, had moved without restraint. For those moments in the steam, he wasn’t Lord Zevran of Mars or a future contender for Solar Sovereign. He was a man allowed to feel something.
He catches me watching him as he returns with a towel.
For a heartbeat, neither of us looks away.
A knock from the chamber door jolts through the quiet, Ren’s curt voice on the other side. “Lord Zevran? Lady Cyra? The Cardinals have sent word that all leaders must report to the Hall of Houses.”
Zevran exhales, a sound that’s half-sigh, half-curse.
Duty waits on the other side of the door. Alliance and expectation and scrutiny. The Houses. The Conclave. The entire system...
“Cyra.” His voice is quiet, soft “Whatever happens out there … whatever they ask of me…” A pause, as if he has to carve space for the truth.
My heart skips, pulse pounding in my ears. He steps closer, and gently cups my face with a hand, his thumb brushing my cheek reverently.
“I will protect you,” he says, steadier now. “No matter the cost.”
The Hall of Houses is already crowded when we arrive. Light filters down from the domed ceiling overhead, where the solar system moves in real time across panels of crystalline glass. Planets cast coloured shadows across the marble floor below: Mars bleeding crimson, Venus glowing amber, Jupiter’s stormy pulse illuminating the crowd in shades of bronze and ochre. The floor itself is cut with planetary sigils inlaid in precious metals, each one glowing faintly as delegates gather in their House sections.
Ren takes her place beside me, posture rigid and watchful, her hand resting near the blade at her hip. Zevran stands by the Mars banners, expressionless in his usual uniform. No one could guess what happened between us barely an hour ago.
Delegates murmur among themselves in tight clusters. Cardinal Benedict waits at the centre of the chamber, hands folded behind his back. He’s dressed in formal white Cardinal robes, with Cardinal Maria beside him.
“Thank you for assembling quickly,” Cardinal Benedict begins, his voice filling the hall with practiced authority. “There was an incident last night. A security breach inside Lady Cyra’s personal quarters.”
A ripple of voices moves through the room, some sharp with alarm, others edged with suspicion.
Cardinal Maria steps forward, her eyes unblinking as she surveys the crowd. “The intruder gained access using a security panel override device. The attacker has been removed from the premises, and Lady Cyra was unharmed.”
Removed, not captured.The distinction settles over the hall like frost.
Cardinal Benedict continues, his tone carefully neutral. “The override device was analyzed – it appears to be of Uranus origins.”
All eyes turn to Commander Kaelix.
They stand beneath Uranus’s banners, arms crossed, their electric blue eyes glowing brighter in the charged atmosphere. Their expression doesn’t shift, but their posture sharpens. “And you’re suggestingwhat, exactly?” Their voice carries an edge of contempt. “That I authorized an assassination attempt?”
“We would never suggest such a thing. Nevertheless,” Cardinal Benedict says, his expression unchanging, “the technology matched Uranus specifications.”
