“Fuck, yes,” he gasps out. He feels like he’s being split open, cut in half, and his eyes slip closed as he adjusts to the feeling of Vaike buried deep within him.
Vaike’s mouth curves into a smile and he captures Evran’s lips once again as he slowly withdraws, the head of his cock catching on Evran’s rim. Evran bites down lightly on Vaike’s lip and inhales sharply when he carefully slides back into him. The Warlord keeps the pace slow and steady, letting Evran feel every ridge and vein as he moves. Evran feels like he is teetering on the edge of a cliff, at constant risk of losing himself into an abyss, and he can’t even bring himself to care. He squeezes himself down on Vaike’s dick as the other man bottoms out.
Vaike props himself up, wrapping his hands around Evran’s hips, and sets an agonizingly steady pace. Evran’s eyes roll back into his head at the sensations streaking through his body, his fingers scrabbling frantically at Vaike’s arms in desperate search for an anchor to keep him grounded. Vaike tilts Evran’s hips ever so slightly and stars explode in Evran’s mind as Vaike pounds into him, hitting his prostate on every second or third thrust. Evran is distantly aware that the strangled shouts echoing throughout the room are his own, but he doesn’t have the self-control or the mental ability to keep quiet or even form coherent sentences.
“I want to see you come,” Vaike tells him, his voice a hoarse pant. Evran fights to pry his eyes open, his breath catching at the sight of Vaike looking down at him. Vaike shifts his weight and wraps his hand around Evran’s cock, hard and leaking against his stomach. “Show me how you come on my cock, Evran,” he says as his hand twists over the slick head.
Evran’s back arches and his mouth opens in a soundless shout as Vaike rips his orgasm from him with a tight squeeze of hishand. He feels the warm spatters land on his stomach and chest before Vaike’s palm presses against his chest as he chases after his own release. Evran pries his eyes open just in time to see Vaike’s head tilt back, his hips stuttering as he empties himself into Evran, wringing out another bone-deep shudder from him when he feels Vaike’s cock twitching deep inside of him.
Vaike is breathing heavily when he lowers himself down onto Evran a moment later. Evran’s arms immediately come around the other man, holding him tightly. The Warlord kisses him, slowly, carefully, and Evran feels completely safe for the first time in his life.
They hold each other as they come down, exchanging lazy kisses and gentle touches. When Vaike finally pulls away to clean them up, Evran feels the loss acutely but not fearfully. He knows this is just the beginning.
“Stay with me,” Vaike murmurs against his lips. “Not just tonight. Stay with me.”
“Yes,” Evran breathes, because there’s nowhere else he wants to be. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Chapter 17
The first snow arrived three days ago, transforming the stronghold into something magical. Everything is covered in white—the terraces, the rooftops, the mountains stretching away in every direction. The air is crisp and clean, cold enough to make breath visible but not unbearably so, and the sun on the snow is almost blindingly bright.
Evran stands by the fountain in the main courtyard, watching the way ice has formed intricate patterns around the edges of the basin. Beside him, Eira is bundled in a thick cloak and fur-lined boots, her cheeks pink from the cold as she tells him about a book she's been reading—some epic tale of ancient clan wars that she's completely engrossed in.
Life has settled into a comfortable rhythm over the past week. Mornings spent training with Kellin, afternoons learning more complex weaving patterns from Aether, evenings at communal meals surrounded by friends. And nights—nights spent in Vaike's chambers, in his arms, learning each other in ways that still make Evran's heart race to think about.
He's happy. Genuinely, profoundly happy in a way he never thought possible. The constant anxiety that used to follow him everywhere has faded to occasional shadows rather than a constant presence. He sleeps through the night now, wakes up feeling rested and eager for the day rather than dreading what it might bring.
"—and then the hero realizes his enemy is actually his brother, which explains so much about their earlier confrontations," Eira is saying, her hands gesturing animatedly. "I should have seen it coming, but the author hid it so cleverly—"
She stops mid-sentence, her attention caught by something behind Evran. Her expression shifts from animated joy to confusion, then to something that looks almost like fear.
"Evran," she says quietly. "There are riders at the gate."
Evran turns, following her gaze to where the main gates are swinging open. A group of horsemen enters the courtyard, perhaps a dozen of them, and even from this distance something about them makes his stomach clench with unease.
Then he recognizes the man leading them.
Captain Frederick.
The world seems to tilt, ice flooding through Evran's veins that has nothing to do with the winter cold. Frederick is here, in the Drakarri stronghold, riding at the head of a delegation bearing the colors of House Ashworth.
His father has sent them.
"No," Evran breathes, the word barely audible. "No, no, no."
Eira's hand finds his arm, gripping tight. "Who are they?"
"They're from my father's house," Evran manages, his voice shaking. "That's Captain Frederick—he's the one who escorted me here."
The riders dismount, and Frederick begins speaking to the Drakarri guards at the gate. Even from across the courtyard, Evran can see the tension in the exchange, can sense somethingis wrong. Then Frederick looks up, scanning the courtyard, and his eyes land directly on Evran.
Recognition flashes across the captain's face, followed by what might be satisfaction or relief. He says something to the guards and starts walking purposefully in Evran's direction, several of his men following.
"Evran, what's happening?" Eira's voice is tight with worry. "Why are they here?"
"I don't know," Evran says, but that's a lie. He knows exactly why they're here. His father has decided he wants him back—whether because the political situation has changed, or because Evran's refusal has become useful in some new way, or simply because Callum Ashworth doesn't like being told no.
Frederick is closer now, close enough that Evran can see his expression—professionally neutral but with an edge of something harder beneath. The captain stops a few feet away and inclines his head in a gesture that's more formality than respect.
