A thrill of arousal pulses through me. “Yes, please.”
“Excellent.” He pulls me close and whispers, “There’s a servant’s entrance over by the west balcony. We’ll slip out when nobody is looking.”
We make our way to the entrance, Killian driving off curious nobles with nothing more than a look.
A few minutes later, we’re safely ensconced in his chambers.
Killian guides me into his bedroom and then lights the fireplace himself rather than calling on his servants. It’s an intimate gesture that reminds me of our days in the city—back when he was just Lee, a palace messenger stealing romantic moments with a bloodied street fighter.
Damn, so much has changed. He’s a prince, I’m bonded to a direwolf, and the king himself just authorized our relationship before the entire court.
Again, I tell myself I should be happy about King Cyril’s public approval, but a lingering uneasiness pushes the feeling away.
As the warm firelight casts the room in a rich golden glow, words bubble up inside me.
“Killian… your father…”
Killian straightens from the fireplace and turns to look at me. “Yes?”
“The way he talked about Perielle’s death,” I begin hesitantly. “He spoke of it as though heenjoyedit. I killed Perielle out of necessity. For the good of the pack. But King Cyril made it feel… dirty.”
Killian’s face darkens. “I know. I’m sorry, Mer. He’s…” He sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it onto a nearby wingback chair. “My father’s bloodthirsty nature is precisely why things must change.”
Brow furrowing, he crosses to the window and looks out over the world beyond—the kingdom he will someday rule.
Moonlight silvers his handsome profile as he murmurs, “I want to change it. The current system—all the bloodshed, the cruelty. I want to believe there’s a way to fix it. With the right ruler at the helm. One who doesn’t view death as a form of entertainment.”
He turns to look at me and something in his face makes my heart stutter.
“You could be that ruler,” I murmur, my mind drifting briefly again to my traitorous thoughts when I was in the city earlier today. That Killian will make a much better king than his father.
He smiles a little, then crosses the room to me, holding my gaze with a gravity that tightens my throat.
Killian takes my chin firmly in his fingers, tilting my face up until our lips nearly touch. His breath is hot against mine, and my lips part, hungry for his touch. But instead of kissing me, he spins me around, hooking his chin down over my shoulder, pressing bruising kisses into my neck.
“Icouldbe that ruler,” he growls. “And you could be by my side.”
My breath catches—we haven’t talked about this, not truly, since I found out who he really is. All our conversations about our future from the time we spent together as Meryn and Lee are so distant, now that everything has changed. Now that we have changed.
I want to have this conversation, but my mind goes blank as he takes my earlobe into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth. Sharp sparks of heat gather at my core, and I press back into him eagerly.
He’s already rock hard for me. The layered material of my dress doesn’t do much to disguise his length, pressed firm against my ass.
In three short steps, Killian walks us forward until we’re against the wall, still worrying my skin with his teeth as we move. I lean against the tapestry covering the wall, breath coming fast. The fibers of the weaving tease my already-flushed skin, goosebumps pebbling up and down my arms.
Killian yanks my dress up and over my head, tossing it to the floor behind us. Then, he pins my arms in place and presses himself against me, his cock straining against the material of his dress pants. With his other hand, he makes short work of mybreast bindings, which soon fall to the floor, followed quickly by my underthings. I shiver, arousal pulsing through me.
The sudden cool air against my naked skin, against my folds, makes me gasp. Panting, I twist my neck to look back at him and he smirks. “Naughty girl,” he rumbles, his voice making my thighs clench, wet heat already spreading down from my core.
He presses even closer, so that my nipples graze against the tapestry in front of me, the scratchy weave against my sensitive skin making me cry out. Without warning, his hand is suddenly there between my legs, fingers moving in confident strokes up and over my clit, down to my entrance, dipping inside, then pushing harder, stretching me.
“You’re mine,” he says, mouth hot against my ear. His hand presses my wrists even more firmly into the wall, hard enough to ache, but the sensation only makes me more turned on.
“Say it,” he instructs, his fingers playing with my clit lightly, then pulling away to wrestle with the fastens of his pants. “Say you belong to me.”
I gasp, desperate for his touch to return. “Killian.”
“Who do you belong to?” His voice is rough, and he knees my legs open. He presses against me, into me, the thick head of his cock stretching me even more, but then stopping, teasing me.
