Page 149 of Given to the Black King

Iona notices.

“Out.”

No one moves.

I turn my head.

The hall empties in seconds.

Ghenn is last. He closes the doors behind him.

The latch falls.

Silence spreads through the hall.

Iona shifts on the broken arm. The stone grinds beneath her skirt.

Through the bond, I feel the pull between her thighs.

My gaze drops.

She goes still.

“Torgan.”

“You should not sit there.”

“Why?”

I come down one step. “Because the court has just left.”

“The doors are closed.”

“The throne is damaged.”

Her mouth curves. “Then stop talking about the throne.”

I reach her in two strides.

I hook one arm around her waist and draw her against me. A sharp thrill surges through the bond: being taken at the seat of my court while the last footsteps still echo outside.

“You are sore,” I say.

“Less than this morning.”

I feel the truth and the remaining tenderness together.

“Tell me if it changes.”

“Yes.”

That is the last measured exchange we manage.

I kiss her hard. I angle the fangs clear and bruise her lips with mine.

She grips my horns and pulls.

My claws slide out.