Nythir grabbed her hips and rocked against her. She may have been on top of him, but he was the one in control.
“I want to see you,” he groaned, tugging at the buttons on her dress. Esther caught his fumbling fingers before he could reveal her to him. “You first,” she huffed.
He laughed softly, breathless, and let his hands fall away as Esther shifted her weight and reached for him instead, fingers quick and decisive. She made short work of his clothes, tugging and pushing until fabric was forgotten somewhere at the edge of the bed, his attention fixed entirely on her.
When she returned to her own dress, it was slower now, deliberate, the slide of fabric and the shared intake of breath saying far more than bare skin ever could. By the time they met again, knees braced and hands roaming, there was nothing left between them but the shared need.
“Ready?” he asked, pushing his cock against her entrance.
She nodded and rocked into him. It burned as he pushed into her, spreading her open. But it was mixed with pleasure. And above all else, they were connected.
She was connected with the man she loved, for the first and last time. She was soaking in all his sounds and touches. Committing everything about him to memory.
They came together beneath the lantern’s glow, the world narrowing to heat and breath and the steady press of his body against hers. Esther clutched at his shoulders as sensation overwhelmed her, grounding herself in the solid truth of him.
When the light dimmed and the night closed around them, Esther let go.
Just for a little while.
Later, wrapped in warmth and quiet, she lay with her cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His arm was draped over her waist, possessive without meaning to be, protective in the way only someone deeply asleep could be.
Esther traced idle patterns against his skin, memorizing this too.
She did not cry.
But the ache in her chest told her she would remember this for the rest of her life.
She should have been happy. Sated. Safe.
Instead, guilt gnawed at her ribs.
She reached out, brushing her fingertips across Nythir’s forearm. He didn’t stir.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered so softly the lantern couldn’t hear it.
“I love you. But they need me more.”
She closed her eyes.
Tonight, she would return to the castle.
Tomorrow, she would accept her arranged marriage.
Carefully, she removed her bracelet and set it beside him, a small token of her fleeting time together. She hoped, selfishly, that he might remember her sometimes, just as she would never forget these moments.
Esther lingered at the door, taking one last look.
Then, with a deep, steadying breath, she stepped into the night.
37
Esther
How to keep a secret talk private: step one—don’t be Esther.
The streets were empty at this hour, the frost-slick stones gleaming under the full moon’s sharp light. Greyhollow felt as if it had paused, as if the city itself were holding its breath. Even the wind seemed still.
Esther’s boots echoed too loudly against the stone as she walked. Each step carried the weight of a choice already made. The cold sharpened everything. She counted her steps without meaning to—stone, stone, crack, uneven patch—focusing on the rhythm to keep her thoughts from unraveling.
