“If they don’t, I’ll kill them,” Zev growls, nipping at my lower lip.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
“Your Majesty? Uh, Prince Zevayr, your father—”
“If you value your life, you will leave,” Zev snaps loudly, head swiveling toward the door. Our room darkens as storm clouds gather outside.
A beat.
“Sire, please, King Varad—”
“Leave.Now!” Zev roars, and a crack of thunder roars along with him.
I yelp at the sudden sound, and my husband whips around, running a gentle hand up my side, pressing a chaste kiss to my parted lips. “Sorry, baby.” His apologetic smile is open, boyish.
Muffled voices seep in through the door, then a different voice says, “Apologies, sire. The matter is urgent. Otherwise, we would never … impose.”
Zev growls, scrubbing a rough hand over his face. “Lightning damn them to the Skies and back,” he mutters. He leans closer, one large hand splayed possessively between my breasts. “Stay. Right. Here.” A kiss for every word. “I’ll be right back. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, disappointment blooming in my chest.
I watch unashamedly as he quickly dresses and walks to the door.
“Aren’t you going to wash your face at least?” I call after him, clutching the sheets to my bare chest.
His mouth curls into a wicked grin. He licks his lips. “No. I don’t think I will.”
I wait for nearly forty minutes before I can no longer ignore my body’s needs. Stretching out my languid limbs, I pad to the washroom to relieve myself.
Now that the haze of lust has dissipated, conflicting feelings churn in my gut—mostly guilt and frustration.
My eyes catch sight of my face in the large mirror above the sink—my cheeks are flushed, hair a tangled mess of dark waves. My blue eyes are bright. Electric. Swollen, rosy lips from Zev’skisses. I press my fingers over them as if I might brand the memory into my skin.
I don’t regret what we did. Not at all. And if we hadn’t been interrupted, then we’d have—
With a deep sigh, I fill the tub with steaming water and a generous handful of bath salts before lowering myself in. Water laps at my skin in gentle ripples, soothing any lingering aches in my legs and back.
I soak for nearly fifteen minutes before the door opens in our chambers, followed by the familiar thud of Zev’s boots. His footsteps grow louder, and then the bathroom door swings open.
Stormy gray eyes ensnare me where I’m shoulder-deep in bubbles. There’s a petulant twist to his mouth, and my lips curve into a smile.
Then I take in the rest of him. He’s dressed for battle—dark leather pants, metal shield strapped to his chest, bracers covering his forearms. My brows knit together, and Zev sighs. His footsteps are measured as he stalks closer, kneeling on the tile behind me.
“My wife was not where I left her,” he murmurs, brushing my hair away from my neck. His lips are gentle as he presses a lingering kiss against my pulse.
“Your wife grew impatient.” A beat. “Where are you going?”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he skims his nose along the column of my neck, inhaling deeply as if wanting to commit my scent to memory. A muscled arm comes to rest over my chest, the bathwater soaking his sleeve.
“The border. We suspect the Rebellion will launch another attack.”
My stomach plummets.
“When do you leave?”
“An hour ago,” he says grimly.
My breath catches, dread freezing my blood. “Zev—”
