His jaw clenches. “It’s Aelith. He won’t stop giving to Dawson.”
Giving. My stomach tightens. “You mean…?”
“He’s disappearing,” Kael says, voice low, barely a whisper. “I had to sedate him. Iris helped.”
My mouth drops open. “You drugged your prince?”
“It was for his own good.”
I nod quickly. “Of course. It’s okay. You did what you had to.” But guilt is rolling off him, thick and oppressive. I step closer. “You shouldn’t be alone with that in your head.”
He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?” My gut tightens. My heart aches for him—but I’m still me. Still deflecting, still grasping for something solid when the air between us turns heavy with everything unsaid.
He glances at me, and something fractures in his gaze, a quiet shattering that almost makes me look away. “Because I feel guilty,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, like guilt itself is sacred and should only be spoken of in a hush.
“About what?” My voice is steady, but inside, I already know.
“You,” he breathes. “That I get to have you. That our bond strengthens, becomes something undeniable… while his fades into pain. While he suffers.”
His words are a blade—sharp, precise, and unshakably kind. I raise an eyebrow, trying to hide the sudden ache swelling in my chest. “You wanna martyr yourself now? What, next you’ll tell me you’re off to live in a hovel and write poetry about forbidden love?”
A faint puff of air escapes him. Not quite a laugh—but almost. A moment of warmth in the ruin. “I just?—”
“Kael.” His name is a tether. I cut through the spiral before he can drown in it. “Sit down. Rest.”
He hesitates, caught in the limbo between guilt and surrender.
“Do you care for me?” I ask. The question lands heavily in the space between us.
His answer is immediate—like it’s been waiting, coiled and urgent. “More than anything.”
I press, softer but no less firm. “More than anyone?”
He flinches like the truth hurts him to admit, like it’s a betrayal even though it’s the only thing that’s ever felt right. Then he nods—agonising, but certain. “Yes.”
That’s all I need.
I guide him towards the bed, my touch light. He lets me strip him, piece by piece, not helping, just allowing. Trusting. The size difference between us is… notable. He’s all breadth and height, solid muscle, his skin that deep, dark blue that gleams faintly in the dim light. His bioluminescent markings pulse gently along the ridges of his arms and sides, hypnotic.
He sits, waiting. Still. Like I might change my mind.
“You okay with this?” I murmur, my hands at the waistband of his trousers.
He nods, breathless. “I want you.”
That’s enough.
I reveal him slowly, my breath hitching as I take in the sheer size of him. He’s… glorious. Sculpted and overwhelming. But I can take it. I want to. I encourage him to lie back, then reach for my own clothes, letting them fall to the floor until I’m bared to him.
His gaze devours me, reverent and hungry.
“Good,” I whisper, a smirk playing at my lips. “I was worried you might be missing a cock.”
He growls low, a sound that vibrates through me, and I can’t help but grin.
“I mean,” I add, climbing onto the bed beside him, “it wouldn’t have been a dealbreaker. But this is a hell of a bonus.”
