“Not important at the moment.”
“I suppose not.” He sets his dagger and sword on my nightstand, within easy reach.
I frown at them. “Do I have something to worry about?”
“From me? No.” He moves closer, and I prepare for his weight, but he surprises me by dropping to his knees. “You have nothing to worry about from me. Ever. I couldn’t hurt you, even if I wanted to.”
“You did—want to, I mean. Have you forgotten? Has Malachi taken your memory too?”
He smirks. “No, though I am suitably distracted.” His palms slide up my thighs, stirring heat in my lower belly, his gaze tracing my face, my neck, my breasts, my abdomen, before moving back up. “But I no longer feel the desire to look backward. I only want to look forward, with you.”
Thick lashes frame eyes that beseech with their honesty. This gentleness is a jarring contrast to the other versions of him I’ve been treated to—everything from loathing to indifference. But now this, a vague professing of what?
I don’t know what I feel for Zander, and our dark past isn’t something that can be easily forgotten, but I don’t want to discuss it at the moment, not while the king of Islor is kneeling before me, plying me with seductive words.
I part my thighs.
His eyes drop and flare with heat as they take me in, and when I weave my fingers through his hair, around the back of his head to guide him forward, his dimpled grin makes the one from the throne room that day seem a frown.
“Not timid indeed,” he murmurs, his shoulders settling in between my thighs, his palms pressing against me.
I gasp at the first swipe of his tongue and fall backward onto the bed, reveling in his skill as he lowers his mouth on me. This isn’t my first time experiencing this, and yet it feels as though it is. My body hums as anticipation builds, my fingers coiled around the soft strands of his hair, my leg hooked around his shoulder and my hips moving against him, striving to get closer.
Vaguely, I fret that my cries might be heard through the open terrace doors, or all the way to Elisaf’s ears on the other side of the sitting-room door, but that worry slips away with all my other thoughts, save for the way my body comes undone beneath Zander’s skilled mouth.
His lids are heavy and his lips swollen as he crawls onto me, dragging my satisfied body up with ease to center me in the bed.
“Did you find my affinity down there?” I tease, my mind sluggish in the afterglow.
“No. But I know where to keep looking.” His teeth scrape across one nipple, then the other, sending shivers through me and down to my sated core. He doesn’t linger long, fitting his hips in between mine. Our foreheads touch. “I think maybe Wendeline was right, and Malachi did give us a gift,” he whispers, pinning my arms above my head.
I absorb the feel of our bodies against each other, no piles of chiffon and silk between us. “I think you might be right.” And despite my anger with Sofie, she saved me from a much different path. I can’t yet find my way to thanking her, though.
I open my mouth to remind him that we need a condom until I remember that his kind can’t reproduce outside of Hudem, and do condoms even exist here? At least I don’t think I have to worry about diseases.
The thought brings a smile to my face as I curl my hips into his, my body amply prepared and craving the fullness of him. Zander slides into me with a smooth, skilled thrust, burying himself deep inside, drawing my moan.
He stalls a moment, holding my gaze as he leans in to press a long, slow kiss against my lips, and then his hips begin moving above mine in a steady rhythm, with the same grace as when he dances with his sword, every muscle beautifully taut with tension and yet appearing to exert little effort.
My body responds, slick and undulating and aching with need, my legs hooking around him as I match his tempo. He leans in to kiss me and doesn’t pull away again until we’re both shuddering against each other, our cries surely carrying into the night.
I wake to the feel of someone fumbling with my ring.
My body tenses with panic as I quickly take stock of the situation. Zander is next to me in my bed, his hot, bare skin pressed against mine. He’s merely toying with it, I note with relief, not trying to slide it off. Now that I know what happens when I remove it, I know I can’t function without it.
“Good morning.” His voice is gruff with sleep.
It is a good morning. Sun streams through the windows, promising another bright day. The terrace door still sits wide open, allowing the sound of steel clashing against steel to drift in from below. And I’m lying next to this man—this immortal—who I find myself drawn to in a way I can’t describe.
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this content in my life.
“I was just thinking about the day I gave this to you,” he murmurs, his finger stroking the white stone.
“Really? Is this what we’re doing? Lying naked in bed and reminiscing about you with another woman? This is fun,” I tease dryly. “You know what would be even more fun to discuss is which male tributary you’ll be using the next time you have a need.”
He rolls onto his back with a groan and a stretch, the sheet sitting precariously low on his taut abdomen, highlighting the rigid length below.
My thighs clenches with anticipation.