“If it’s your sense of touch that’s neglected, those waitresses were more than willing.” My words are teasing, but I’m not sure they belie my lurking jealousy.
“You think Iwantedtheir hands on me? It took every ounce ofcontrol to not tell them to fuck off. To stand up and shout to the world that I belong to you. To say that, not only can they not have me, but no one else can haveyou.”
The corner of my mouth ticks upward. “Lord Stregasi, we’re not betrothed to each other quite yet.”
“You think I give a fuck about semantics? You are mine.” His hand glides between my legs, cupping me there and making me whimper. “This. Is mine.”
I’m so hot and wet, and when his thumb strokes the bundle of sensitive nerves at my center, I gasp and push into him. “Fuck it.” I throw my arms around his neck and grind into his fingers.
He lets out a deep moan as he devours me with kisses, and my head spins as he guides me backward, his hand still stroking my pussy.
A loud series of hammering thumps makes us freeze in place.
We jolt apart as the books Nadya had piled up on the nightstand tumble, hitting the wooden floor loudly and landing in a chaotic heap.
My pulse is still thrashing when, from the other side of the door, Indira’s sharp voice calls out. “Your Highness? Are you all right?”
Dante’s breath is ragged, his eyes dark with lingering heat as he looks at me. I press a hand to my chest, trying to will my heartbeat back to something resembling normal before answering. He slowly slides his fingers away from my core. My body is screaming with disappointment, but my brain slowly gains clarity.
“I’m fine.” I force the words out evenly, still watching him. “Just—some books fell.”
A pause. “Why is your door locked?”
Dante lifts a brow, amusement flickering across his face despite the tension still crackling between us.
“You know, um, safety? I didn’t want any strangers walking in,” I say smoothly, though my voice is a touch too breathless.
Indira doesn’t sound convinced. “You should be sleeping, Your Highness. Shall I fetch you a tea?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “That would be—thank you, Indira.”
I listen as her footsteps retreat down the hall, and the moment she’sgone, Dante exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re going to get us both killed,” I jest.
“Worth it.”
I swat at his arm playfully, then steel myself to release him. It’s so hard to let him go, so hard to not get swept up in that storm brewing in those grey eyes. I swallow hard, still caught in the gravity of his gaze. He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles across my cheek, and my breath hitches.
Then, before I can think better of it, I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down into one last kiss.
It’s slow, lingering, as if he’s memorizing the feel of me before he forces himself to leave. When he pulls back, his forehead presses against mine for the span of a single breath, and then he’s gone, slipping through the door before anyone is the wiser. I press my fingers to my lips, steadying myself, knowing these next couple of months are going to push me to my limits.Gods help me.
ChApter
Nineteen
Isquint out the carriage window, holding a hand over my brow. The sun glares unforgivingly off the pristine white stone of Ironshield Keep in Podrosa, its towering walls smooth and unblemished, as if no enemy has ever dared lay siege to them. The fortress is impressive, a true testament to Podrosa’s unwavering order—nothing out of place, nothing left to chance. Even the banners, deep crimson with the insignia of a silver sword pointing down, encircled with black thorns, ripple in the breeze at perfectly even intervals, as if the wind itself has been trained to obey the land’s strict customs.
The moment my foot touches the ground outside the carriage, I feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me. I immediately school my expression into one of a sad princess.
A formation of Podrosan guards—Ironshields, as the guards are called—stands at rigid attention, their polished breastplates gleaming, their expressions carved from stone. Behind them, nobles line the courtyard in perfect rows, dressed in the deep reds and dark greys of their homeland. Not a single hem is out of place, not a single head tilts too far in curiosity. Even their bows and curtsies are uniform, executed withseamless precision. Almost as if they were machines.
This is a land that does not tolerate missteps.
At my side, Nadya exhales a low breath, barely audible over the rhythmic clang of the castle bells announcing our arrival. “They look like they’d march straight off a cliff if someone ordered them to.”
I suppress a smirk, keeping my expression solemn as I sweep my gaze over the assembled court. She’s not wrong. Podrosa has always been rigid, its people raised to follow rules above all else. Still, there is power in their discipline. They thrive on order, on absolute control, and I have no doubt their castle operates with the same ruthless efficiency.
