A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(61)

Maybe I should.

“Rhen,” I whisper. “I’m asking you for peace.”

He’s almost rigid against me. Rhen does not back down from a challenge. Syhl Shallow caused a lot of damage to Emberfall—but so did Rhen himself. And Karis Luran is dead.

And Lilith wants a victory. Not an alliance.

He takes the dagger from my hand and turns it over, pressing a finger against the blade, but not hard enough to draw blood. “I have already sent a regiment to the border,” he says. “And so has he.”

“So … send a message. Ask for a conversation.”

“If I send such a message, Lilith will—”

“Lilith is not the crown prince of Emberfall.”

For an instant, he goes still. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. But then he exhales against my hair, and he says, “Indeed, Harper. Neither am I.”

My heart is pounding in my chest, but I shift to look at him. His brown eyes are dark, glinting with gold from the fire.

“You are right, my lady,” Rhen says, his voice soft and resigned. He tosses the dagger onto the table. “As before, the only way to defeat Lilith is not to play.”

“You’re going to yield to Grey?” I almost can’t believe I’m saying the words.

“I will try for peace.” His eyes flash, a hint of that familiar spark in their depths. He traces a slow finger over my lips. “I am not yielding to Grey. I am yielding to you, Harper. For you.”

My eyes fill. I wish he could see what he looks like right now. What he sounds like. I think somewhere in his brain, this feels like defeat, but it’s not. Once again, he’s putting his people first. Not just his people, but the subjects of Syhl Shallow, too. He’s taking the hit so others can thrive. I’ve always thought that his greatest strength is when he’s patient, when he waits, when he doesn’t demand and instead waits for others to give.

I press a hand to his cheek. “For the good of Emberfall.”

He smiles. “For the good of—”

I silence him with a kiss. It’s gentle and soft and a bare press of my mouth against his, but every cooled nerve ending under my skin sparks a new flame. He makes a low sound in his throat, and then his hands land on my waist. I’m suddenly straddling his knees, my shift and dressing gown spilling down his legs. He pulls me closer, until I’m flush against him, my fingers tangling in his hair. I’m gasping, warmth gathering in my body, but the feel of his mouth on mine is so addictive that I don’t know if we’re slowing down or speeding up.

Then his hand finds my thigh beneath the layers of silk, and I suck in a breath. I’m wearing nothing under these gowns, and if his fingers move another inch, that’s not going to be a secret. His mouth lands on my neck, though, and the thumb of his free hand strokes over my breast, and I shudder.

But then he stops. His hands venture no farther. He’s breathing against me, his forehead against my neck. The air is suddenly full of hesitation. Uncertainty. Fear.

He’s so strong and sure that it takes me by surprise. But I remember why we’ve never gone this far before.

My hands disentangle from his shirt, and I wind my arms around his neck, pressing close. I brush my lips against his jaw. At first he doesn’t move, and I realize he’s withdrawing the way he always does. Protecting me. Protecting himself. From memories, from fear, from the very real threat of an enchantress who takes every small joy and twists it to torture him in the most effective way possible.

“Don’t yield to her,” I whisper. “Don’t even yield to the memory of her.”

He draws back a little, just enough so I can meet his eyes.

“Don’t yield to me either,” I say, and I have to swallow past the sudden emotion in my throat. “Yield to yourself. Yield to forgiveness. Yield to happiness. Yield to this moment. It’s not hers. It’s yours. It’s mine. It’s ours.”

“Ah, Harper.” He closes his eyes, and for a moment, I think he’s going to turn away from me. But then I’m lifted from the chair, swung into his arms for the second time today. He kisses me so deeply that I don’t realize he’s laid me on the bed until I feel his weight against me, and his hands are tugging at the skirts of my dressing gown.

This time, when his hand skates up my thigh, he doesn’t stop. I almost cry out when his fingers touch me, but he catches my gasp with a kiss. He’s so slow and determined that I can’t think past it. My entire world centers on the feel of my body and the touch of his hand, at the heat pooling in my belly. I instinctively reach for him, my hand seeking skin, pulling at the suddenly irritating fabric of his shirt. My fingers find his waist, the smooth muscle of his abdomen, the tied belt of his trousers.

My hand drifts lower, and he hisses, then grabs my wrist.

“It has been a very long time,” he says.

It startles a giggle out of me. Then he moves his other hand, and my back arches involuntarily. I see stars and clutch at the bedsheets. “Not too long,” I say, when I can breathe.

He grins, and possibly for the first time in my life, I see Rhen blush, just a bit. He leans down to kiss me. “Let’s see how much I remember.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

RHEN

Harper is curled against me, her breathing slow and even, but sleep eludes me as usual. The darkness presses against the windows and swells into the room like a silent visitor. The fire in the hearth has dropped to glowing embers, providing little light, but I don’t mind. In the dark, it’s easy to pretend there are no worries waiting for me outside her chamber doors. I’m warm and content, and Harper is at my side.