Page 33 of Realms of Swords and Storms
"You feel what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Free," I admitted, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.
Something changed in her expression then—a softening, a moment of vulnerability that I'd never seen in her before. I reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek.
"Why do you keep pushing me away?" I asked, my voice low. "And don't tell me it's because of our families."
She hesitated, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, I allowed myself to imagine an impossible future. One where I wasn't the prince. Where I could take Livia and disappear to some distant corner of the empire, or beyond its borders. Where we could live simply, without the weight of duty and bloodlines. It was a dangerous fantasy, one that would be considered treasonous if my father ever discovered it.
And yet, standing there with her, it felt more real than the future that had been mapped out for me since birth.
"Jalend," she whispered, and there was a warning in her voice, but also something else. Something that sounded like longing.
I closed the final distance between us, my hand sliding to the back of her neck. I gave her a moment to pull away, to stop what was about to happen. She didn't.
Her lips were softer than I’d imagined, and for a heartbeat, that was my only thought. Then she answered the kiss. A soft gasp parted her lips, and a small, desperate sound escaped her throat as her hands came up to fist in the front of my tunic, pulling me closer as if she were drowning and I was her last breath of air.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I rested my forehead against hers. "Still think it's complicated?" I murmured.
Instead of answering, she pulled me back to her, kissing me with renewed fervour. My hands slid down her sides, feeling thecurve of her waist, the flare of her hips. She made a small sound against my mouth that sent heat coursing through me.
I found myself speaking without planning the words, whispering against her skin all the things I'd imagined doing to her. How I'd thought about the taste of her neck, the feel of her bare skin under my hands, the sound she might make when I touched her in just the right way. Words that would have shocked the imperial court, words that shocked even me with their raw honesty.
Her response was to tug my shirt free from my trousers, her hands sliding beneath the fabric to trace the muscles of my back. The feel of her fingers on my skin was electric, sending a shudder through me. I caught her lower lip between my teeth, gently biting down, and was rewarded with another of those small, intoxicating sounds.
My mouth moved to her jaw, then down the column of her throat. She tilted her head back, giving me better access, and I took full advantage, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse beneath my lips. All my carefully constructed control shattered. The fire I had been banking for weeks roared to life inside me. I pressed her against the rough wood of the stall, my other hand tangling in the silken chaos of her hair, pulling her head back. This was reckless. This was madness. And gods, I didn't care. I kissed her again, tasting the faint sweetness of wine on her tongue, felt the frantic beat of her heart against my chest. Her fingers clenched the fabric of my tunic, pulling me closer still, her nails digging into my back through the thin material.
It was a collision of unspoken things, a raw and hungry claiming that sent fire through my veins. All thoughts of the palace, of my father, of duty, burned away in the heat of her mouth against mine. There was only this—the scent of hay andher skin, the surprising strength in her grip, the feeling of finally, finally touching something real.
I broke the kiss only to slant my mouth over hers again, harder this time, a groan tearing from my own throat. I was devouring her, and she was letting me—no, she was answering with a ferocity that stole the air from my lungs. One of my hands slid from her hair down the curve of her spine, pressing her flush against me, wanting to feel every line of her. She arched into the touch, her hips meeting mine in a silent, desperate language that had nothing to do with words or status.
A deep, guttural rumble vibrated from the stall, a sound that seemed to shake the very stones. It wasn't a threat, not yet, but a possessive warning. Sirrax. The dragon’s massive head lifted from the hay, and a puff of hot, sulphur-tinged air washed over us. For a sane man, it would have been a signal to stop, to pull away. For me, it was only fuel. The danger, the impossibility of it all, only sharpened my need.
My mouth left hers to trail a burning path down her jaw, to the frantic pulse beating in her throat. I tasted her skin, salt and sweat and something else that was uniquely Livia. "Tell me to stop," I rasped against her neck, my own voice sounding foreign and raw. "Tell me you don't want this."
Her answer was to thread her fingers into my hair, her grip tightening, pulling me closer. Her head fell back against the wood, baring her throat to me in a gesture of pure surrender that was anything but weak. It was a demand. "Don't stop," she breathed, the word a shattered plea.
The last thread of my restraint snapped. My lips left hers, trailing fire along her jaw, down the column of her throat where her pulse beat like a trapped bird against my mouth. She gasped my name—Jalend—and the sound was my undoing. I pushed a knee between her legs, pressing her more firmly against the unforgiving wood, and felt her hips rock against me in response.It was a purely instinctual movement, a plea for more that sent a jolt of raw possession straight through me. My hand slipped from her spine, sliding around to cup her breast through the rough fabric of her uniform. She cried out into my mouth, a muffled, broken sound of pleasure and shock. I was no longer a prince, no longer a student. I was a man starved, and she was the first real thing I had tasted in a lifetime of gilded lies.
Her hands slid from my tunic to my hair, pulling me impossibly closer as her mouth found mine again, desperate and searching. My thumb brushed over the rough fabric, finding the hardened peak of her nipple. She shuddered against me, a broken sob of a gasp swallowed by my mouth. I wanted more. I wanted all of her. My fingers went to the buttons of her shirt, fumbling with the fastenings she had secured so quickly just moments before. One came free, then another, the rough fabric parting to reveal the swell of her breasts above the simple band of her linen undertunic. I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glazed with passion, her lips swollen from my kisses, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. She was beautiful. Wrecked. And I had done this to her.
The sight didn’t cool my desire; it sharpened it into something possessive, something terrifyingly real. This wasn’t some courtly dalliance. This was primal. Dangerous. Unstoppable. She was fire and chaos, and I was burning in her, gladly. For the first time, I felt the truth of my own body, not as an imperial vessel, but as a man’s. A man who wanted. A man who could take.
I pushed her under tunic down, baring dusky brown nipples that just begged to be sucked. I obliged, first one and then the other. Her back arched against the rough wood, a sharp, keening sound tearing from her throat. I laved her nipple with my tongue, suckling hard, and she whimpered. Her fingers tangled tighter in my hair, not pulling me away but holding me to her asif she feared I might stop. I couldn’t have. The taste of her, the sound of her pleasure, was a drug, and I was insatiable.
Sirrax shifted again in the stall behind her, a sound like an avalanche of shale. The dragon’s head, larger than my entire torso, loomed over Livia’s shoulder, its golden eyes fixed on my hand where it rested on her skin. A low, guttural hiss escaped its jaws, carrying the scent of brimstone and a definitive threat.
I ignored it. I was beyond caring about the dragon, about the consequences. My fingers dipped lower, tracing the line of her trousers, and I felt her entire body go taut with anticipation. She cried out against my lips, a muffled, desperate sound as she ground against my thigh. This was no longer a choice. It was a need, sharp and absolute, and I would burn the whole world down to satisfy it.
My free hand slid from her waist, down the taut line of her stomach, and cupped the heat of her between her legs. She flinched, a full-body tremor, and her hips gave a convulsive jerk against my palm.
I felt the damp heat of her even through the thick fabric of her trousers. It was intoxicating. I began to rub, a slow, deliberate circle, watching her face as pleasure warred with shock in her eyes.
"Jalend," she gasped, the name a prayer and a curse.
Her hips began to move in time with my hand, a desperate, silent rhythm. Her head thrashed against the stall door, her eyes squeezing shut. I fumbled with the ties of her trousers, my fingers clumsy with need. She helped me, her hands covering mine, guiding them until the fabric loosened.
I pushed the rough material down over her hips, my hand sliding with it into the heat between her legs. She was already wet for me, slick and hot against my questing fingers. She gasped, her head falling back to thud against the stall door.Sirrax rumbled again from the shadows, a low, possessive sound that vibrated through the floorboards. And still, I couldn't stop.
