Page 55 of Rhapsody of Ruin
I let out a brittle laugh. “Or more foolish.”
“Sometimes,” he murmured, “they’re the same thing.”
The silence after was thick, humming with everything we hadn’t said. The hunger that had chased us since our wedding night. The sparks that lit whenever our hands brushed. The fragile trust growing in the shadows of secrets.
I should have looked away. Instead, I reached for him.
My fingers brushed over his hand where it rested on the stone. His skin was hot, startling after the mountain cold. He turned his palm and clasped mine, firm and unyielding, as if he had been waiting for me to take the first step.
Heat surged through me, not from dragonfire but from something far more dangerous.
He shifted closer. Our knees touched. The air between us thickened until it felt like breathing embers. His eyes searched mine, asking without words.
So I answered.
I leaned in, tentative, lips brushing his once, light, testing, trembling. His breath caught. Then his hand came to cradle my neck, and the kiss deepened.
Slow at first. Then inexorable.
His mouth claimed mine, rough and consuming, but beneath it was something gentler, a question, a plea, a surrender. I pressed into him, fingers curling in his cloak, tasting salt and smoke and the barest sweetness of bread still lingering on his tongue.
When we broke apart, I was gasping, my lips tingling, heart thrashing against my ribs.
“This is dangerous,” I whispered.
His forehead pressed against mine. “So is everything worth having.”
And then he kissed me again.
The world dissolved. The brazier, the mist, the Shroud, all gone. There was only us, cloaks tangling, bodies drawn together with the inevitability of storm meeting fire. His hands roamed with reverence, mapping the curve of my waist, the line of my thigh, each touch asking and answering all at once. My gown slippedfrom my shoulders, and the cold that rushed in was instantly chased away by his heat.
I touched him too, broad shoulders, scars traced like constellations across his back, the raw strength of him. He shivered when my hands moved lower, proof that even dragons could be undone.
We came together on the stone ledge, the mountain our witness, the mist our shroud. The rhythm was unhurried at first, as if we feared rushing might break what we had found. But soon it built, fiercer, wilder, until every thought was burned away in the fire of him.
I clung to him, nails digging into muscle, as pleasure tore through me in waves. His name broke from my lips, raw and unguarded, and his mouth covered mine, swallowing the sound, claiming it.
When it was over, we collapsed into a tangled heap of cloaks and limbs, our breaths ragged, mingling in the cold dawn air. He held me close, one hand splayed across my back as if to anchor me, as if he feared I might drift away with the mist.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. There was no need. The mountain wind whispered around us, the brazier’s ash whispered nothing at all, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my cheek spoke louder than any words.
At last, he broke the silence. “Whatever comes, Elowyn… we face it together.”
I closed my eyes. The words sank into me, burrowed deep where no mask could touch.
“Together,” I breathed.
It was not a vow spoken in council. Not a promise gilded for courtly ears. It was a decision carved here, on cold stone, sealed by the heat of our bodies and the honesty of our breaths.
The Shroud pulsed overhead, a faint crack splitting its surface like the first fault line in glass. The world would not grant us peace for long.
But for now, I let myself rest in the arms of my dragon prince, tangled in warmth and want, and chose to believe we could stand against it all.
Partners.
Chapter 25
Rhydor
