His pupils darken at my words, his fist slowly unfurling where it sits between my hands, his fingers carefully lacing with mine.
With terrifying slowness, he brings my hand to his cheek, right where I rested my palm and stopped the Frost King from killing him.
Gently, he presses my hand, but his voice is harsh, defying the question filling his eyes. “The only way I can prove this to myself is to give you pleasure without taking any for myself. Will you allow me to do that?”
A shot of heat rushes from my chest to my core, pooling in my center.
When he washed me last night, I was in shock. I needed the cold burst of water and the nearness of his body to keep me anchored. He didn’t warn me of his monstrous nature during those moments, even though he was holding me closer than he is now.
I don’t know what has changed for him today to be so troubled now.
But I’m certain that unless he breaks through whatever fears he holds closest to his heart, I will never be safe with him.
So for now, I put aside the False Queen’s curse and what I saw in the Chronicle and the golden shard that cut my face and the fact that Antony’s fate is irrevocably entwined with mine, and I focus only on his heart and mine.
Exhaling any lingering fear, I whisper, “I will allow it.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Thyra
Without taking his eyes off me, Antony moves slowly, removing first the metal glove covering the hand holding mine, then his other glove, maintaining the contact between our hands at every possible moment.
The softestclicksounds as he releases the ruby circlet.
It falls from my wrist, the loose end clattering softly to the ground, the other end remaining around his arm.
A moment later, he steps slowly to the side, pressing his back against the wall, leaving the space behind me completely open.
“You’re free to step away from me at any time,” he says, his gaze burning mine. “If you want to stop, moving away is all you need to do.”
I sway toward him, closing the gap that formed when he adjusted his position, but our clasped hands between our chests keep me from pressing as close as I want to.
“If you want me to take off any part of my armor, just ask.” His voice is increasingly ragged, his focus falling to my lips. “But be warned: This armor constrains me. The more I wear, the safer it is for you.”
“I understand.”
Slowly, I pull his shackled hand down and out of the way, allowing me to step into him, reach up on my tiptoes, and draw his head to mine.
Finally, I press my lips to his.
My mind fills with all the darkness of his mouth. The taste of blood and tears. A life of iron and death.
He stands completely still for a devastating heartbeat.
Then his free arm rises around me, dragging me closer, clamping hard against my back.
His lips destroy me, desperate kisses, his groans thrumming against my mouth.
My body floods with need.
A need that’s been building since he first lay over me and protected me from the vampyrs.
When my head spins, and I gasp for breath against his lips, his eyes glitter down at me.
He drags his free hand from my shoulder and slowly around the side of my neck and down to my collarbone.
I gasp again when I realize he’s touching me, not through the Lethian armor, but skin on skin.
