“You first, and my name better be on your breath when you do,” he retorted, sinking his teeth into my shoulder with a deep strangled moan. He held back from what I knew he wanted so badly, waiting for me.
The windowpanes slammed open as a gust of wind swept through the room. It whirled around us as I let out a cry. My body turned over to him, knees weak and chest meeting his.
“Let go now. Come with me,” I pleaded into his ear.
His hips bucked and pace quickened as I shattered—and did as I was told.
“Emmerick,” I moaned.
When he tensed and a guttural sound escaped him, I dug my fingers into the hard planes of his shoulders as he slammed in to the hilt and spilled into me, crying out.
Neither of us moved to separate; my bones were surely molten. The rise and fall of his chest lifted me; our pulses thrummed together.
Everything about it felt right.
We lay there, entwined long after our hearts had slowed—his arms an impenetrable fortress around me. Which was lucky, because I could float to the ceiling with how light I felt.
I was whole.
He was home.
Chapter 58
Larkspur
Dritan and I had returned to Luz after King Mattock kicked us out of Lamoreaux. I’d sighed a breath of relief the night prior when we’d realized my parents had already retired to their bedchamber.
I’d slept fitfully, knowing that I’d face alotof inevitable shouting this morning. Long after the sun rose, I left Dritan in my bed and pulled on a warm wool robe over my thick nightshirt and linen pants.
With bare feet, I padded down the palace steps. The marble chilled my toes.
I found Papa in the entryway, lighting a few candles that had gone out. Bracing, I cleared my throat.
When he diverted his gaze to me, he offered me a weak smile.
Good start.
No shouting yet.
“Is Mama awake yet?”
He shook his head. “No, it was a rough pain night for her. I let her sleep in.”
Heat built behind my eyes, and my throat constricted. I hated being the source of Mama’s stress, hated that my actions might have tired her.
“Papa...” My voice cracked, and the tears flowed freely. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
My vision blurred, but I heard him approach. Sturdy arms wrapped around me—the same ones that had embraced me after my first fall off a horse, and when I’d been made fun of by the children at school.
“I amverypissed off about that, Larkspur.” His tone lacked the grating quality that usually paired with his anger. “Why didn’t you come to us first?”
When he held me by the shoulders and assessed me, his brow furrowed.
An overwhelming sense of disappointment enveloped me; to my surprise, his feelings were aimed inward. His being melancholy withhimselftugged at my guilt more than if he’d started shouting.
“I thought if I told anyone, they’d try to keep him away. I love him, Papa. It hurts to think of a day apart from him, never mind an eternity.”
My father’s body tensed, but he looked over my shoulder at the statue standing on the thick marble podium, and his throat bobbed for a moment.
