But she wanted to keep it as a reminder—a scar she would wear with pride.
“You scared me,” he said. “Not because you were in danger—though you were—but because I realized something I should’ve said a long time ago.”
She swallowed. “And what’s that?”
“That I am in love with you,” he murmured. “Utterly. Hopelessly. Permanently. I don’t care if you’re a fugitive or a queen or the girl who fell on me in the woods. I want you.”
Esther felt her heart drop into her stomach and rise into her throat at the same time.
She stepped closer. “Then take me.”
His breath hitched.
“Essie—”
She pulled him down into a kiss.
It wasn’t frantic like before, Draewyn.
It wasn’t desperate, or rushed, or fueled by impending doom.
It was steady.
Warm.
Full of a future, she finally allowed herself.
He kissed her back. Slow at first, then deeper, unhurried with intent. His hands framed her face as though he needed to memorize every inch of her. Esther curled her fingers in his shirt and tugged him closer, until there was no space left to doubt, until she could feel his heartbeat thrum hard and certain against her own.
The world softened around them.
Her body melted into his without thought or fear, instinct guiding her where courage once had been. His mouth traced a reverent path down her jaw, lingering at the corner of her lips as if reluctant to leave them, then lower. He kissed her throat. Across the pulse he’d spent too many nights afraid of losing.
Her gasp broke the quiet.
Nythir shuddered at the sound, a low, helpless breath leaving him as his grip tightened around her waist, grounding and possessive all at once.
“Essie,” he murmured, voice rough now, nothing careful left in it.
“Nythir,” she breathed back, fingers sliding up to curl at the nape of his neck, holding him there.
He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breath uneven. “Tell me what you want.”
She didn’t hesitate. “You,” she whispered. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Always.”
Her hands went to the fastenings of his tunic. He went to the laces of her dress. There was no fumbling, only a shared, silent urgency. The heavy fabric of his tunic whispered to the floor. Her dress followed, a pool of dark blue at their feet. The cool air of the chamber kissed her skin, raising goosebumps, but his gaze was hotter than any fire.
He looked at her, standing in only her thin shift, and the raw hunger in his eyes stole her breath. “You’re beautiful,” he said, the words a hoarse truth.
His hands settled on her hips, calloused thumbs stroking the delicate skin just above the line of her undergarments.Every nerve ending there sang.He lowered his head and kissed the scar on her collarbone, his tongue tracing the mark with a reverence that made her whimper.
He guided her backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving her skin. He kissed a trail down her sternum, over the swell of her breast through the linen, his hot breath seeping through the fabric. Her head fell back. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair.
“Off,” she pleaded, tugging at the fabric of her shift. “Please.”
He obliged, pulling the garment up and over her head in one smooth motion. The cool air hit her bare skin, but only for a second before his warmth replaced it. He stared, his gaze drinking her in, and the sheer intensity of his focus was its own kind of touch. Then his mouth found her breast.
Oh, stars.
