Gods, I have never wanted anyone like this. Never wanted anything so desperately as I want this male inside me, to feel the stretch of him, to see if my heat would devour him whole and chase away the last fragments of his cold. To hear the way he would snarl my name into my skin as he fills me completely.
That is why I can barely believe it when I am the one who stops.
My chest heaves as I press my hand against his mouth and shake my head, every part of me screaming in protest even as I do it.
“What do you think you are doing?” he groans into my palm, pressing himself against me as if daring me to change my mind.
I grip his wrist, slowly dragging his hand away from my mouth, and he trails his fingers over my lips as I do.
“Not here,” I manage at last, breathless and shaking. “I want you to take your time with me. You can’t do that here.”
He scowls at first, his bottom lip pushing out like a petulant brat. Then, slowly, a feral grin spreads across his face, and I shiver when his canines slip free.
“You’re right, Neve Devlin,” he whispers. “You deserve hours of my undivided fucking attention.”
And even though it leaves me aching and throbbing, he lowers me back to the ground.
We straighten ourselves, and Luceran sweeps his hair back from his face.
“I barely recognize the castle. It should be enough to please House Taramethos.”
“Perhaps you could pause the snow,” I say. “Save us from having to dig it out again.”
He studies me for a moment. “Perhaps I can. Just for a little while.” His thumb trails along my jaw. “Just because you asked.”
“Who knows,” I say. “Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you’ll want to end the winter altogether.”
It was meant lightly, almost teasing, and my brow furrows when he pulls his hand away, his arms falling to his sides.
“Maybe,” he replies, but I do not believe a word of it.
I know it in my bones, as surely as he does. The winter will never end.
He will not allow it.
“I should go,” he says, and the smile he leaves me with never reaches his eyes.
He turns and strides across the ballroom, lifting a hand toward the door. The doors that once took a handful of men to open part at his command, moved by nothing more than a rush of cold air.
I remain where I am, alone in the glittering silence of the ballroom, left with questions that settle heavy in my chest. About his past. About Aluna. About the truth of this winter that came with her death and never lifted.
And the hardest truth of all, the one I cannot escape, no matter how close we become, no matter how intimate.
Luceran Frostwyn will always keep part of himself locked away from me.
By the end of the day, after the repairs, the alterations, the cleaning, Frostwyn no longer feels abandoned or forgotten. It is a castle framed by winter now, not consumed by it. Not a frozen tundra, but something closer to an enchanted wonderland.
I do not know if Luceran approves.
He does not return for the rest of the day. I feel the conversation in the ballroom had something to do with that.
When the last of Lady Atilia’s court departs, their voices fading down the road, and the straggling miners hurry after the final wagon bound for the Aurevault, I close the doors and stretch long and slow. My bones ache pleasantly, the deep, honest soreness that comes from a day of hard work. I have never shied away from it. A good night’s sleep will set me right again.
The castle is close to ready for the banquet, though not finished. There is still the food to arrange. The wine. More staff will need to be brought in if the entire court of Taramethos is to be properly attended.
But that is a problem for tomorrow.
I turn toward the stairs and then stop.
