"The guards know not to approach this section of the wall when I am here," I murmur, my gaze locked on hers. "You are safe. You are cherished. And I wish to... worship you."
My head dips, and my tongue finds the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself. I taste her slowly, learning the flavor of herskin, the way she shivers when I press a kiss to the tender flesh just above her knee. I move upward with deliberate slowness, ignoring her soft pleas and shaky breaths, until I reach the heart of her.
She is already damp for me, her scent a heady mix of arousal and stunned disbelief. My tongue traces the delicate folds of her sex, and she cries out, a sharp, broken sound that is pure pleasure. This is a different kind of claiming. Not the brutal, rut-driven possession of our first joining, but a patient, thorough exploration of her body, an act meant solely for her release.
I learn what makes her writhe, the specific pressure that makes her hips lift off the fur. I taste her slick on my tongue, the sweet flavor of her desire, and it is more intoxicating than any wine. When I find the swollen pearl of her clit, her entire body goes rigid.
"Please," she gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair. "I'm going to..."
"Let go," I command softly, my tongue circling that sensitive point with relentless focus. "Come for me, my queen. Show me how you break apart."
The climax tears through her with a violence that makes her scream my name, the sound stolen by the mountain wind. Her body convulses, her inner muscles clenching as waves of pleasure wash over her. I hold her steady, thrusting my thick tongue deep inside her folds, murmuring praise against her slick flesh until the last tremor fades.
She lies limp and panting on the fur, her eyes dazed, her skin flushed. I move back up to lie beside her, gathering her into my arms. She curls against my chest without a word, her breathing slowly returning to normal.
This is a new kind of intimacy for us, a new level of trust. She has given me her body, and I have given her its pleasure, with no expectation of anything in return.
Later, as the twin moons begin to rise, I walk her back to our chambers. At the door, Captain Bren is waiting, his face grim.
"Warlord," he says with a respectful nod to Vesha. "A word."
I kiss Vesha's temple. "I will be along shortly." Once she is inside, I turn to Bren. "What is it?"
"A patrol report from the eastern border. The Ironjaws are testing our defenses again."
I let out a frustrated sigh. "Of course they are. On the eve of the ceremony." All I want is to be with my mate, to focus on the future we are building. Instead, I have to deal with the petty grievances of rival clans. "A nuisance we will need to address."
"We can hold them for now," Bren says, "but if they press the attack, you will be needed."
"Keep me informed," I growl, my frustration clear. "I want one night of peace for my queen. One night. See that I get it, unless our blood is being spilled."
VESHA
The morning of the ceremony dawns bright and clear, mountain air crisp with the promise of celebration. I wake alone in the great bed, Ghazrek already gone, and for a moment I simply lie still and marvel at how much has changed.
Four days ago, I was a terrified tribute hoping to survive. Tonight, I'll be crowned queen of the Stoneblood clan.
The transformation should feel impossible, but instead it feels inevitable—like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. I'm not the same woman who arrived here in desperation. I'm not even the same woman who faced down the human envoys three days ago. I'm becoming someone new, someone stronger, someone worthy of the crown that waits for me.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, and I call for whoever it is to enter. The door opens to reveal Aino, the head seamstress, her arms full of midnight blue silk.
"Time for the final fitting, my lady," she says, her tusks gleaming as she smiles. "Today we make you a queen."
"Will the children be ready?" I ask, thinking of Lavi's excited chatter about flower-scattering and Jorik's serious dedication to polishing his ceremonial blade.
"Oh, those two," Aino laughs, pins between her teeth as she adjusts the hem. "Probably off on one of their adventures. They'll turn up when their bellies start growling."
After the fitting, I make my way to the great hall to review the final preparations. The massive space has been transformed into something magical—garlands of mountain flowers draped from every beam, long tables set with polished metal and carved wood. Servants bustle everywhere, carrying trays of food that smell like celebration itself.
"My lady!" Greta calls from near the high table, her massive arms gesturing at the feast laid out. "Come taste the honeyed wine. It's the Warlord's favorite vintage."
I sample the sweet, complex liquid that warms all the way down. "It's wonderful. Strong enough to honor the ancestors?"
"Strong enough to wake them," Greta laughs. "Perfect for toasting the new queen."
The morning passes in a blur of final preparations. I approve flower arrangements, review seating charts, practice my ceremonial responses with Elder Thrakk until I can recite them in my sleep. Everything is perfect, exactly as it should be.
Which is why Nessa's worried expression when she finds me in the kitchens stops my heart.
