He pressed a kiss to her neck, a reverent brand against her skin, and gave a ragged laugh.
“Storms, Princess… I never imagined you’d say that.”
“There are,” she breathed, dazed and glowing, “no words.”
Careful now, trembling with tenderness after ruin, he eased her leg down.
“Does this mean you’re ready to sleep?” he teased, a faint smirk curving his lips.
“I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again,” she said, smiling through the haze.
He bent to her ear, his voice a low promise.
“I wouldn’t dare exhaust my queen.”
“It is I,” she said, eyes heavy with fire, “who will exhaust you, High-Captain.”
A rumble escaped him, half laugh, half growl.
“Should we sleep apart like proper royals—for the safety of the realm?” he asked, mock-solemn, though his hand never left her hip.
She hooked her leg over his waist, lips brushing his ear.
“Try it, and I’ll have your door bricked shut.”
His laugh came helpless, bright.
“Get over here.”
He rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. She collapsed against his chest, flushed, tangled, smiling into his skin. His heart stumbled at the sight—wild hair, kiss-bruised lips.
His wife. His.
Like proper royals…
The phrase should have been a jest, but it struck deep. Because even with her warmth pressed to him, a darker truth stirred: he would burn the realm before letting anyone take her from him. The feral edge flared—hot, dangerous.
Then her sigh broke it. Her fingers traced slow, soothing lines over his ribs, and the heat eased. He exhaled, kissed her hair, and forced his breath steady.
There was still war beyond these walls. The elven Senate. The sand, the blood, the dragons yet unseen. Every oath he’d sworn still waiting to be tested.
The ache cut through him, sharp and merciless. But he held her tighter, fighting back the pull of duty, just for this breath—this peace.
He let himself imagine it: a life unburdened.
A house on Dunes Way. No crowns. No thrones. Just them.
“Amerei Seraphim,” he whispered, the name like a vow spoken to the night.
She stilled, eyes glimmering, lips parting. His thumb brushed her cheek.
“This is who you are,” he said softly. “Here with me. The world may never call you that—but it’s yours.”
Her lips quivered. “Say it again.”
“Amerei Aleksandra Seraphim.”
She folded herself against his chest.
