She collapses back against his chest, boneless, eyes half-lidded. Damon tucks her shirt back down over her breasts like an afterthought, and pulls the sheet up around her hips. She curls into him immediately, already drifting again.
I stand there a moment longer, chest heaving, cock softening in my hand. The room smells like sex and sweat, the faint metallic edge of whatever those books left in my head slowly fading. Everything feels quieter now. Less jagged.
I drag a hand over my face. Exhaustion hits me all at once–bone-deep. The weight in my skull has dulled to something bearable. I cross to my side of the room, kick off my boots and clean off my dickwith my boxers, before tossing them in the hamper. Ares follows, circling once before dropping at the foot of my bed as if nothing happened.
I slide under the covers, my back to them, listening to Arianette’s soft breathing even out into sleep again. Damon follows.
Morning’s close. The house is still.
And for the first time in hours, I feel like I can finally fucking rest.
29
Arianette
It’sthe first day of winter break, and there are no classes or events to get up for, but the smell hits first–toast, eggs and brown sugar. Damon’s still in the shower down the hall, water pounding steady and familiar, and Hunter’s already gone out with Ares. I take off the bonnet and pull on a pair of sweats and Hunter’s WXFU sweatshirt and enter the sitting room.
“Good morning, Baroness,” Graves says, arranging plates of food on the table.
“Good morning.” I flex my jaw; it’s sore, in a good way. Waking up to Hunter coming to me instead of finding another place for release gives me a warm feeling.
Graves pulls out the chair and before I’m even settled in my seat, I notice an envelope propped carefully against a glass of juice.
White. Thick. Expensive.
The script on the front is elegant and looping, the kind ofhandwriting that knows it will be admired. In the corner, embossed in gold and purple, is the Prince’s crest–a crown pressed deep into the paper, regal and unapologetically Royal. I run my thumb over it, feeling the raised edges, the weight of the invitation. It’s heavy in a way that has nothing to do with paper.
I immediately know what it is, and my hands shake with excitement. Still, I open it carefully, sliding a finger beneath the seal so I don’t tear anything.
It’s an invitation to the Royal Ascension.
My lips curve before I can stop them.
“We’re invited,” I say out loud.
Graves hums as he pours me a cup of tea. “Did you think you wouldn’t be?”
I glance back down at the card, rereading the date. This weekend. Soon enough that it feels like it could be a last-minute decision. “I don’t think the Princess likes me much.”
“I very much doubt it has anything to do with you,” he says calmly, handing me the cup.
I look up at him over the rim and meet his eyes in understanding. “Do you think he’ll want to go?”
“Want?” Graves repeats, almost amused. “Unlikely. Will? Certainly. It’s important to have a presence at formal events, even if it’s in an enemy’s house.”
That makes something bright and eager bloom in my chest.
I grin, unable to help it. An event. A real one at the Purple Palace. A place where I can stand beside my husband and let the world see us together–let them see how well I fit, how carefully I can behave, how good I am when I’m given something to do.
“I’ll need a dress,” I say, already imagining it. “Something fancy, don’t you think?”
Graves’s mouth twitches. “I’d say that would be appropriate.”
The bedroom door opens behind us.
Damon steps into the room, hair damp and dark, water still clinging to his shoulders. His shirt hangs open, unbuttoned, muscles and abs on full display. The faint glint of the rings in his nipplescatches the light when he moves. His pants hang low on his hips, and my gaze falls below, remembering waking up to the feel of him deep inside.
He takes one look at the tray, the envelope in my hand, and the way I’m smiling.
