Page 194 of Beast and Remedy
Beau stiffens underneath me, his dick pulsing when he thrusts one final time.
Our movements slow, fatigue taking over. But we don’t part. We bask in each other’s hold, kissing fervently and lovingly until Beau eases away and locks his eyes with mine.
“I love you, too,” he breathes, brushing his nose along mine.
I beam as he guides me against his chest, tension leaving me and lulling me toward sleep.
Beau traces his fingers on my spine, his heartbeat hammering in my ear, matching my own. “Let’s clean up,” he murmurs, easing us up and toward his bathing chamber.
He grabs a rag, and I reach for another. The two of us help wipe each other before dressing again, and I hate that I can’t stay all night underneath his sheets and tangled up in him.
But as I tidy my waves, I stop on the bouquet of red roses and a familiar case on his work desk.
Is it what I think it is? How did I not see that earlier?
I break into a wide grin as I rush toward it.
The box is carved from oakwood and covered by gilded paint. Paint I remember using when I was younger to create small roses, bows, and arrows.
I pick it up and run my fingertips along the container, noting the chipped spots. The latch also matches the golden pattern, and it is easy to unlock.
Arms pull me against a hard chest. I try to put the box back, but Beau whispers softly, “Open it.”
I peer up. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to pry. I can—”
“What’s mine is yours. Go ahead.” He kisses my neck.
I unclick the latch to the case I gave him so long ago, gasping at the collection of letters upon letters filling it to the brim. Each one is neatly folded, the parchment the only tell of old versus new.
“I’ve kept every one. Even the ones when I ignored you when we were preteens.” He chuckles as he plucks out the oldest letter.
He opens it and offers it to me to read over my young, sloppy handwriting.
Autumn, The Makers Year 1008
To the Prince of Torgem,
Hello.
Please forgive me as I’m still learning my letters. Mama and Papa told me to practice and write my sister and friends.
Marian is good in her writing and it makes me mad. But I thought since meeting you and your family, I could write to you as well.
When will you visit me again?
You promised to play with me and tell me some stories.
The Princess of Belmur,
Vivienne
I laugh, trying to diminish the tightness forming in my throat. “I can’t believe I wrote that.”
“Well, you did always like playing make-believe with me.” He folds the letter and returns it.
Heat floods my cheeks, remembering Marian teasing me when I was a kid, telling her I got Beau to play with me. “I still don’t know why you even entertained yourself with associating with me at that age.”
“I couldn’tnotplay with you. You looked so hopeful, and your green eyes were almost filled with tears when I hesitated.” He exaggerates a long sigh. “My hands were tied.”
