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I maneuvered us so her back was pressed to my chest. Lyra made a move to protest, but I took the lobe of her ear between my teeth.

Her gasp was the sweetest sound.

She did not open her eyes when I spoke softly to her cheek. I have some ideas.

“Roark.” Her hips pressed into mine. “You’ve…you’ve been ill and—”

I covered her mouth with one hand, then let my fingers run down her chin, her throat, until I could speak against her rising chest. We go into a battle. Whatever the dawn brings, this night will not be spent sleeping when it has been too long since I’ve heard my wife’s moans.

“Gods,” she said in a rough rasp.

One palm slid down the curve of her waist, and my fingertips teased the loose waist of her trousers. Lyra panted. She bucked her hips and tried to roll over to face me.

I only tightened my grip around her waist and shook my head. No. Stay put.

Any complaints choked off in her throat when I slid my other arm beneath her head, then reached down the front of her tunic. I palmed one of her full breasts at the same moment my other hand cupped between her thighs.

I was torn in two, and remnants of my soul were bleeding into my heart, but for a moment I was whole—villainy and goodness in alignment, wanting more of this woman.

Never would I get enough of her sounds, her taste, the heat of her body beneath my touch.

I kissed the curve of her neck, thrusting two fingers inside her slit, curling the tips. Lyra gasped and rocked over my hand. She curled her palms around my forearm and moaned when I pinched her nipple.

“Roark,” she said, breathless. “Let me touch you too.”

I shook my head and added a third finger.

“Bas…bastard.” The word ground out in a long groan. Lyra let her head fall back against mine. She rocked and moved over my fingers; she covered my hand on her breast, holding me there.

A whimper slipped through her lips when I quickened the thrusts of my hand. She pressed her hips against the hardness of my length, and it spun my head. Tonight was hers. I wanted her to fall apart in my hands, in my clarity. I wanted to own her cries, her breaths.

Fadey would try to take her from me. He did not see her as the brightest soul. Tonight I would worship her. I would show her every move I made was for her alone. No crown, no craft, no clan.

It was all for Lyra. A woman I was meant to despise, a woman who destroyed me, both edges of my soul, and I never desired to heal from her ruin.

Lyra sobbed and writhed, her movements erratic. She seemed to attempt words, but they slurred into more perfect, beautiful gasps and moans.

She gave in. Her body was mine to command. My fingers pinched and stroked her core, thrusting deeper and deeper until her mouth parted and rough pants rolled over her full lips. Tender attention went to her breasts. I kissed her throat, and my tongue ran over her pulse, nipping her skin there.

All at once, she went taut, her cries of release climbing. I tilted her chin and swallowed the sounds with a furious kiss. My fingers slowed inside her, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure.

Slick with her, I traced the planes of her belly, her ribs.

Lyra’s eyes flashed, the silver scars of her craft like a falling star. “You have a cruel soul to not let me touch you.”

I grinned. And you love both edges.

“No.” She dragged her nose along my cheek. “I just love you. Hunter, villain, prince, warrior. To me, all those edges are simply you. That is who I love.”

At the dawn—every step, every strike, every death—it would always be for her.

—

Mists gathered at the top of a knoll when the pale dawn began to break the night. I stood on the edge beside the queen with Kyrre at my side, whimpering. My mother, clad in her leathers for battle, stared at the half a dozen Dark Watch warriors and two fara wolves who urged the boy into one of the smaller tents, concealed from the open fields.

Sindri looked over his shoulder to where Jordis stood, a spear in her grip, her braids tightly woven behind her head. Like the Dark Watch, Nivek’s wife had painted jagged streaks of black down her cheeks.

“I am not Draven,” she told the queen. “But I stand here in my husband’s place and fight for his people.”