Page 63 of Severed Heir

He was careful—his desire poured into every movement, every breath, as his hips ground into mine. I dipped my head back, meeting his silver gaze.

Heat surged through my veins as he spun me to face him, pulling me onto his lap.

“Burn for me,” he whispered as I moved against him. “Ride me. Ride out that moan.”

I gasped as the wave of pleasure claimed me, crashing over us both.

“One last time.”

Ash swirled around us, drifting like smoke through the lantern-lit room, settling on our slick, bare skin. I hadn’t known shadows could burn, but ours did. They flickered with embers, like a cloak of fire had wrapped around us, setting the linens aglow with heat.

I could have spent hours like this—days lost to him, lost to us—as I melted into a different life. One where love wasn’t a betrayal.

“I can’t pretend,” I said finally.

“Then hate me,” he murmured against my neck. “You have many reasons to hate me.”

He thrust hard, binding my arms back with shadows. I dropped my head forward as his rhythm slowed again, deliberate and wrecking.

“I—I can’t hate you.”

He drove deeper into my core, thrusting until stars lined my vision and light fractured across the edges of my sight.

“You’ll find a way,” he growled.

Not now. Not when another climax blurred the world, filling my mind with stars and blackening everything else.

He gave one final thrust, pulling my hips flush to his, like he needed to mark his desire as deep as it would go.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

He pulled out—only to slam back into me again, now wetter, messier, more frantic. Then he picked me up, hoisting my legs around his waist as he carried me to the wall.

“Come for me,” I whispered, lips brushing his neck.

My spine grazed the wall as his mouth crushed into mine, deepening with every thrust. With every pound, he took more. And when he came, his breathing slowed, steadying as he pulled back slightly.

As he lowered me to my feet, he said, “I don’t want you to ever hate me, Severyn. Not in this gods-damned world.”

Exhausted, aching, I collapsed into him, my hands resting on his shoulders. “I don’t have the strength to hate you,” I whispered.

And I didn’t. Not even close.

Chapter Twelve

I assumed word of my titling had reached theSerpent Pressby now, but I still hadn’t seen it. I wondered what Cully had written, and where he was now.

Weeks ago, when I was healing, Archer hadn’t let anyone else near me. Now, he wouldn’t even look at me.

Since returning from Tyvern, he’d kept his distance, clinging to the façade that I was only his heir. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe pretending made it easier. But watching him command his guards like none of it mattered, likeIdidn’t matter, was starting to rip me apart from the inside out.

So I went looking for him.

I searched nearly the entire estate—hallways, training courts, even the eastern balconies—before I finally found him in the library. He didn’t look up when I stepped inside. His attention was buried in a dust-covered book, the kind that looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades.

I crossed my arms, letting the silence stretch. “What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Prance around in a dress all day while you play ruler?”

No reaction. Just a slow, deliberate glance up. He sat with one leg slung over the other, dressed in a dark, tailored suit. The emerald buttons caught the light, gleaming like they belonged to someone who wasn’t shattering behind the seams.

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