He pulls the shirt over his head, the linen catching briefly on the curve of his shoulders before it falls away completely. The candlelight turns his skin to gold. The muscles across his stomach tighten with each slow breath, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of the sharp lines that disappear beneath his trousers.
There are scars—some faded to pale ghosts, others still raw. New, perhaps. I trace them with my eyes like I’m memorizing a language only I can understand.
He drops the shirt to the floor. The loose linen trousers hang low on his hips, soft and worn, the drawstring barely holding against the curve of muscle. Barefoot, bare-chested, he looks both mortal and myth—something forged for beds and battlefields.
He steps closer to me, his fingers working the ties of his trousers efficiently, before letting them fall to the floor.
His cock is already hard, his body sharpened and forged into a weapon of his own making, but it’s his eyes—locked on mine, unflinching. Daring me to look away.
“Your turn, Duskae,” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to scrape against my ribs. “Let me see you.”
I fight the urge to shrink. But I refuse.No more.
I rise from the bed, facing him, eyes locked on his.
The linen of my nightdress is whisper-thin, catching on the swell of my thigh as I lift the hem. It smells faintly of lavenderand smoke—like peace borrowed from someone else’s life. But I don’t want peace.
I want war and worship.
I lift the thin dress over my head, revealing my bare frame, watching as my only protection falls away.Until there’s nothing left to hide behind.
Hair unbound and falling forward over my shoulders, breasts craving his touch, pussy pulsing in need of his tongue—I stand exposed.
His lips part in silent reverence as his eyes rake over me, hungry and desperate.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes, tilting his head to the Stars as if he’ll find patience there.
But I can’t take my eyes off his chest—off the constellations etched into his skin that map the cause of our ruin. Because gods, he’s fucking beautiful. The Stars and lines race across the muscles of his chest, drowning in every dip, rising with every curve.
“My Sky,” I breathe.
His eyes are on mine, devouring, worshipful.
“My light,” he claims.
And for a long moment, we stare at each other. Exposed. Revealed. Unfurled before each other, and I know that we are not just naked bodies.We are naked souls.
The air between us hums—not with lust, but with recognition.
He doesn’t move at first. Just breathes—ragged, reverent—as if he’s seeing something he’s prayed for and never thought to deserve.
“I told the Stars about you,” he breathes. “I prayed to them for a reason to keep going. Then you set a voidroot wagon alight, and jabbed your blade at me, and I knew it was you. Thatyouwere the reason.”
Warmth floods my chest.
Then, slowly, he reaches to the satchel by the bed and pulls something into his hand.
“There’s one more thing, my love,” he breathes.
And for reasons beyond my understanding, my heartbeat quickens.
“I promised you no more secrets,” he begins. “This,” he says softly, his gaze never leaving mine, “is the last thing I’ve kept from you.”
Kael removes his hand from the satchel. Candlelight spills across silver metal, etchings blazing to life under the light.
I can’t believe it?—
“My mother’s cuff,” I breathe, awed.
