The tent.
Ours.
And this time, I don’t hesitate.
The tent rises before us, standing taller and more regal than the others, its heavy fabric shimmering in the firelight like woven stardust.
Thick, dark hides stitched with golden thread stretch across the wooden beams, reinforced with carved bone. The entrance flap is embroidered with the same symbol that gleams on my belt—a mark of belonging, of sovereignty, of something more.
Low-burning lanterns dangle from the outer posts, casting flickering patterns across the fabric, their glow dancing like captured fireflies. The air is thick with sandalwood and spice, curling tendrils of incense weaving through the space like a quiet invocation, a silent acknowledgment of the night’s purpose.
Inside, the air is warmer, quieter, the pulse of the music outside muffled to a steady, rhythmic hum. The walls are draped with heavy tapestries, embroidered in ancient patterns—stories of warriors, gods, and Stars stitched in silver and gold thread. Furs and thick woven blankets line the floor, soft and decadent, a stark contrast to the raw, primal energy of the Vaythari revelry beyond the canvas.
At the center, a low wooden table holds a decanter of Silverwake, two ornate drinking vessels carved from onyx, and a delicate plate of honeyed figs and spiced nuts—a quiet offering, a final indulgence before the night unfolds.
The bed is no mere cot, but a nest of thick pelts and layered silks, the kind meant for a queen—or for ruin.
I swallow hard. My fingers tighten around Kael’s.
He says nothing, but I feel the shift in his stance, the way his breath deepens just slightly.
He feels it too.
The weight of this. The inevitability. The choice.
And this time, for the first time in my life—I choose.
I choosehim.
I release his fingers then, and begin loosening the laces on my leather pants, boots long since forgotten around the fire.
“Stop,” he commands. “Let me do that. Lie down.”
I do as he bids, liquefying under his instruction.
My body melts into the silks, smooth and decadent against my skin. Kael’s hands smooth back my hair, brush down my cheek—deliberate, reverent.
“A fucking goddess.” The words are thick, dark, and worshipful. Before I can respond, his mouth claims mine, a slow, languid stroking of his tongue against mine, taking his time with me. I don’t know whether I relish it or want to combust.
He shifts lower, removing the lacy straps of my undergarments, exposing my breasts to the cool air. A shiver cascades down my spine—but then his mouth is there, warm and wet, sucking, biting, claiming.
A small moan escapes me, and his grip on my thigh tightens.
“I dream of that sound every night, Elyssara.” His voice is breathy, rough with hunger.
His tongue circles my nipple, his mouth devouring me like a man who’s suffered too long without this.
“It’s enough to bring any man to his knees.”
Another moan rips from my throat, my back arching, and something in his restraint snaps.
He pauses, breathing heavy. The room thickens with something unspoken.
“I don’t want any man,” I pant. “I wantyou.”
His entire body stills.
And then, his voice drops to something lethal, something edgedin pure, brutal possession. “Well, allow me to get on my knees, then.”
