I back away from him and frown. "It's not pity that I am giving you. In fact, I wish to shout at you."
He lifts a brow, and a glimmer of humor returns to his face.
I'm huffing, shaking my head at him as I cross my arms over my chest. "And if anything, I want to be mad at you," I whisper, the vulnerability in my voice. "But I can't be. I understand why you did the things you did, but still, I cannot deny that it didn't hurt Darius... you've made it known that you are here for me through my weaknesses, my moments of bliss or anger. You know parts of me that no one else has ever witnessed. Not even my brothers."
He stares at me, and a thousand emotions flicker through his eyes. Sadness, relief, maybe hope.
I move toward him again and reach out for his hand. His eyes are trained on every movement as I pluck three of his fingers up and rest them against his heart. "You have a purpose, Darius." I stare into his eyes. "You are the ruler of tides, the ruler of the night."
And I, the ruler of land and life...
He's not saying anything despite my beseeching eyes wanting him to.
"You can still be king," I say.
He shakes his head. "It's a risk against Sarilyn—"
"And a risk for those who believe Aurum can be brought back, I know." I sigh, pressing myself even closer to him. "But you are the rightful heir."
He scoffs, a self-mocking smirk etching his lips. "I am a wanted criminal in Emberwell, Goldie."
"I thought you loved being wanted?"
That gets a chuckle out of him, and I smile because I'd never realized how Darius smiling or laughing could be my favorite thing to witness. I'd taken it for granted before.
He lowers his hand, clutching mine in his. He rubs my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, and a pensive murmur hits my ears. "She was right, you know."
I tilt my head as his gaze shoots up.
"The Galgr. When she said, I believe you to be my queen."
My breath catches.
"I always have since the moment we met again." He closes the distance between us. His gaze is heavy as he looks down at me. It's so deep, so meaningful. "You have always been my queen... my Goldie."
A surge of painful desire thrums between us as he whispers those words.
My Goldie.
I make a noise deep in my throat. It comes out as a helpless whimper, and then with one look, his hands are on my face, his lips on mine, and he's pushing me against the door with enough force to break a dam. I'm fiddling with the doorknob, prying my door open, and never breaking apart from him. He kicks the door shut, and my hands travel everywhere, on his neck, chest, and abdomen. I can feel the fine lines of muscle tensing at the run of my fingers as I try to yank his shirt off.
Our lips press together in a sensual urge that cracks against my back like a whip. He's not as tender as other times. This feels primal. This feels like we've gone so long without breathing that we are each other's oxygen and sanctity.
We're fumbling to get our clothes off, and once my tunic is on the floor, our lips meet fervently. He twists us around, backing me up against the wall, careful not to knock over any candles. My breasts are flush against his chest. It's chaotic, just as we have always been with one another.
"I have to ask you something," I pant, pulling back. My eyes are closed, and my lips long to be on his again.
He chuckles. "Really, Goldie? Now?"
"Yes." I open my eyes, breathing raggedly. It's hard to even form the following few words. "I know what would have been my fifth question," I say, and he cocks his head to the side at such a random thought. "I would have asked if you truly do love me."
He looks at me as if he cannot believe I'd think otherwise.
A sensual grin carves his lips. He lifts my legs up and wraps them around his waist, making me gasp before he says, "With a passion." And kisses me.
My lips smile against his.
That's right, because you hate me, isn't it?