“You have decided modesty no longer applies to you,” I say, my tone light but curious, my attention lingering on the line of his chest. I try to ignore the possessive part of me that wishes for him to cover himself, the thought of anyone else lusting after him making me furious.
A faint smile moves through him. "Siakars run hot," he says, his voice low, close enough that it seems to belong to the air between us rather than the room. "Covering too much feels unnecessary. I prefer to feel the air against my skin. It keeps me aware."
He pauses.
"After almost dying," he continues, quieter. "After almost losing you. I have decided life is too short to be uncomfortable for the sake of appearances."
His hand comes to my waist, drawing me closer. "I am not the prince who hated the world and wanted to be left alone," he says. "I am king of the beasts. Heir of Shalvar. And I am Prince Colsar of Veynar, rightful heir to the throne."
His mouth lowers to my ear. "Kings do not make themselves uncomfortable for the sake of others," he murmurs. "No one matters but you."
A slight pause.
"I am siakar, and I have fyrekin blood running through me. I run warm." His hand tightens slightly at my waist. "And I am done hiding any of it."
My fingers close against him, my breath shifting as I turn just enough to find his mouth.
"Then don't," I say.
His hand slides lower, slow and certain, brushing along my thigh beneath the fabric as his mouth traces the line of my shoulder.
"I will be king," he says against my skin.
I still, listening.
"Not just for revenge," he continues, his voice more intent. "But because I will not be anything smaller than what I am. At every turn they have tried to control us. Use us. Make us easier to manage." His mouth presses once more to my shoulder. "I would rather be the one who makes the rules."
His voice lowers.
"It is my right. And I will not take that from our children."
A brief pause, then closer still?—
"A queen should not be married to anything less."
Something pulls low in my body. I lean into him without thinking.
He guides me backward until my hands find the edge of the vanity, pressing me forward until my chest rests against the cool surface. His touch deepens and a sound leaves me before I can stop it.
"I will teach my son," he says, unhurried, as though nothing else is happening, his fingers pressing harder, making it close to impossible to think. "Rule number one. Kings do not make themselves small to accommodate others. Others make themselves small to accommodate them."
His mouth finds mine, firm and patient, while his hand works me toward an edge I can feel building low and insistent. When he pulls back something almost amused moves through him."Perhaps I should make it law. All men are required to wear open robes."
A laugh escapes me. "A tyrant already."
"Only where it benefits me."
I kiss him again anyway, and it breaks into something else entirely as his fingers find exactly the right place, my body arching against the vanity, grip tightening on the edge. I come apart against his hand, trembling, a sound leaving me I could not have stopped if I tried. His hand slows but does not stop, drawing out every last tremor until I am spent and breathless.
He pulls the strap of my dress down, exposing me. His hand, still slick with me, moves slowly across my chest, circling with a pressure that makes me shiver. He lowers his head and I feel the heat of his mouth on me, drawing a sound from my lips, my back arching into him.
He lifts his head and turns me with a firm hand until I am facing the mirror.
"Look at you," he says quietly, his eyes finding mine through the reflection, his body pressed close against my back.
I look.
Lips swollen. Hair loose around my face. My full breasts rising and falling with each breath, still sensitive from his touch. My abdomen curved softly with the life we made. His hands on my hips, holding me steady.
