We walk through empty corridors in charged silence.
My heart pounds with every step. Kyrell's hand remains at my back, warm through the fabric of my gown, steady and possessive in a way that makes my breath catch.
When we reach my chambers, I expect him to bid me goodnight. Protocol demands it, propriety requires it. He's been so careful about maintaining distance, about not crossing lines that can't be uncrossed.
But he follows me inside and closes the door behind us.
"Kyrell…" I start, turning to face him.
"Please don't." His voice comes out rough, almost harsh. "Don't say I should leave or call this inappropriate. Don't give me reasons why this can't happen."
"I was just going to…"
"I watched you on that balcony with King Leander." He stops, jaw clenched, struggling with something he's held back for too long. "Watched whatever was happening between you. And I can't anymore. I can't keep doing this."
My heart pounds so hard I think it might break through my ribs. "Can't keep doing what?"
He crosses the space between us in three strides, and suddenly he's so close I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They're darker than usual, burning with something that makes heat flood through me.
"I can't watch you with him and pretend it doesn't kill me." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Can't keep distance when all I want is to be close to you. Can't maintain honor and duty and propriety when every instinct I have screams that you're mine."
His hands come up to cup my face, forcing me to meet his gaze directly.
"So tell me just once. Tell me I'm alone in this madness. Tell me you don't feel this thing between us. Tell me you don't think about that kiss every night. That you don't want this as much as I do."
His thumb strokes across my cheekbone.
"Tell me, Sybil, and I'll leave right now. I'll never mention it again, I will keep my distance and be nothing more than your protector. But you have to tell me. You have to say the words."
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. "I can't."
"Can't what?"
"Can't tell you that." My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Because it would be a lie. But…"
Something blazes in his eyes. "But what?"
"I already have children." The words rush out, my last defense crumbling. "I should be thinking about them, about getting them back, not about... about this. About you. About how you make me feel. And I can’t ask you to care about another man’s children as much as I do."
"Sybil," his response is immediate, fierce and leaving no room for doubt, as he shakes his head. "I'll raise them beside you. I'll love them as my own. When you bring them back, and you will bring them back, I'll be there. They're part of you. That makes them mine to love too."
The words steal my breath completely. I stare at him, trying to process what he's offering, what he's promising.
"They're Leander's sons…" I manage. "Heirs to his throne. You'd raise another man's children?"
"They're your children." He leans closer, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "That's all that matters to me."
His voice becomes quieter, more vulnerable.
"I'm not asking for one night, Sybil. I'm not asking for something temporary or hidden or shameful. I'm promising you everything if you just give us a chance."
"What are we then?" My voice breaks on the question. "What would this be?"
"Everything." The word comes out absolute, certain. "My protection. My loyalty. My name if you want it. A home for you and children where you're safe, loved, wanted. A partner who will fight beside you for your throne."
His hands slide from my face to my waist, pulling me closer.
"A man who sees you. Not the princess, not the broken wife, not the madwoman everyone claimed you were. Just you, Sybil. The woman I'm completely, and desperately in love with."
The confession hangs between us, heavy with promise and possibility. I see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that he's said too much, revealed too much. That I'll pull away now that I know the depth of what he feels.
Instead, I reach up and trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. "Say it again."
"What?" His voice is rough, strained.
"That you love me." My hand slides to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his soft hair.
"I love you." His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me flush against him. "I'm insanely, recklessly, impossibly in love with you, Sybil. I have been since…"
I don't let him finish, closing the distance between our mouths and swallowing whatever he was going to say next.
The kiss starts gentle, almost tentative, as if we're both afraid this moment will shatter like all the others. But then his mouth opens under mine, and suddenly gentle isn't enough. Not nearly enough.
His hands slide from my waist to my back, pressing me closer, and I make a sound I don't recognize—desperate and needy. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him immediately, tasting wine and want and something that's purely him.
My fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He groans against my mouth, the sound vibrating through both of us, and walks me backward until my back hits the wall.
The impact drives the breath from my lungs, but I don't care.
Not when his body is pressed against mine, solid and warm and absolutely right.
His hands tangle in my hair, pulling pins loose until they clatter to the floor and my hair cascades around my shoulders. He breaks the kiss long enough to bury his face in it, breathing me in.
"You have no idea…" he murmurs against my neck, lips brushing skin that's never been so sensitive. "How many nights I've imagined this. How many times I've almost—"
"Stop talking." I pull his mouth back to mine, harder this time, more demanding.
My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in through fabric, wanting to tear it away and feel skin instead. He makes that sound again—half groan, half growl—and his hands drop to my waist, to my hips.
He pulled me against him so close that I can feel exactly how much he wants this.
Wants me.
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly, making me ache in ways I'd forgotten were possible. I arch against him, seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything.
We break apart only because we have to breathe. His forehead drops to mine, both of us gasping, trembling. His eyes are so dark they're almost black, pupils blown wide with desire.
"Sybil…" My name comes out ragged. "Once we do this, I won't be able to pretend anymore. Won't be able to watch you with him without…" He stops, jaw clenching.
I pull him to my mouth, kissing him with all the want and need and longing I've been suppressing for all this time.
When he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes are searching mine one last time. As if asking permission, or offering escape. Giving me one final chance to stop this before we cross a line we can never uncross.
I answer by pressing my body against his with unmistakable intent.
And then his hands finally find the laces of my gown.
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