I feel the moment he surrenders.
It's in the way his shoulders drop. The way he exhales and pulls me closer. The way he buries his face in my neck and justbreathes.
"I don't deserve you," he murmurs against my skin.
"That's not your choice to make." I thread my fingers through his hair. "I choose you, Vorak. Not the contract. Not the Crown. Not the curse.You."
He pulls back enough to look at me, and his eyes are bright. Too bright.
Then he kisses me, and it's different than before.
Slower. Deeper. Less about claiming and more aboutholding.
I lose myself in it—the taste of him, the heat of his hands, the way he touches me like I'm something precious and dangerous all at once.
When he lays me back on the bed, I go willingly.
When he peels away my shift, I help him.
And when his mouth finds the brand on my shoulder—that mark the Crown burned into me to show I was property—I feel him pause.
"This," he says quietly, pressing a kiss to the scar. "This is what they did to you."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters." Another kiss, softer. "You're not property. Not to them. Not to me."
"I know." I cup his face, making him look at me. "You've never treated me like property."
Something fierce and protective flashes in his eyes.
He kisses the brand again. Then the faint scars on my wrists where shackles used to sit. The places where the Crown tried to mark me as less than human.
His hands are reverent as he maps my body—learning every curve, every mark, every place that makes me gasp.
When his fingers finally slip between my legs, I'm already slick and ready.
"Good?" he murmurs, circling slowly.
"Yes." I arch into his touch. "More."
He gives me more.
One finger slides inside, careful and patient. Then two, working me open with maddening precision. His thumb finds my clit and circles, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
"Don't," he says, watching my face. "Let me hear you."
So I do.
I let him hear every gasp, every moan, every broken plea formoreandpleaseandVorak.
When I come apart around his fingers, that golden warmth flickers under my skin again—not explosive like in the courtyard, but gentle. Responding to pleasure instead of danger. To trust instead of desperation.
Tohim.
He watches the light with wonder in his eyes.
"You're extraordinary," he breathes.
