I was falling into something I hadn't expected, comfort.
Prince Luka and I had begun spending more time together, our conversations growing easier with each passing day. What had started as duty was becoming something warmer, more genuine.
He asked about Veridian, not as a political strategy, but with real curiosity about my childhood, my favorite places, the small details that made a kingdom feel like home.
"Tell me about the gardens there," he said one afternoon as we walked through the palace corridors. "Are they as formal as ours?"
I found myself laughing, a sound that felt surprisingly natural. "Hardly. My mother preferred wildflowers to roses. She said cultivated beauty was lovely, but wild beauty was honest."
"Wise woman." His amber eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. "I'd like to meet her someday."
The casual assumption that there would be a someday, that our future was already written, should have made me tense. Instead, I felt something almost like anticipation.
Luka wasn't just charming, he listened.
More than once, I caught myself enjoying the rich timbre of his voice, the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking, as if I were a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve rather than a prize to be won.
That afternoon, he led me through the rose corridors beyond the main gardens, where climbing vines created archways of crimson and gold.
The air was thick with perfume and the lazy buzz of bees drunk on nectar.
"Your favorite color?" he asked as we paused beneath a particularly stunning arch.
"Blue," I said without thinking. "The color of morning sky just before sunrise."
He nodded thoughtfully, then reached up to pluck a deep red bloom from the vine above us. "Red suits you better, I think."
Before I could protest, he tucked the rose behind my ear, his fingers grazing my cheek with butterfly softness.
The touch sent warmth spiraling through me, not the electric awareness I'd begun to associate with desire, but something gentle, and sweeter.
I blushed and looked away, but I didn't step back.
When he leaned in slightly, close enough that I could smell the sandalwood oil he wore, I wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.
Not out of duty or expectation, but simple curiosity. I didn't, but the space between us narrowed, and something warm began to grow in the silence.
That evening, I made my way to the Pleasure Gardens for another lesson, the rose still tucked behind my ear. But when I arrived at Rios's chamber, it was empty.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, uncertain, then heard movement from the side room, his private quarters, I realized.
I shouldn't have wandered closer. Should have waited in the main chamber or come back later. But my feet carried me forward, drawn by some force I couldn't name.
Through a sheer curtain that divided the spaces, I saw him.
Rios was undressing with the same measured control he brought to everything else. His back was to me, bare and scarred, muscles moving beneath skin that looked like it had been carved from marble.
The single wing at his shoulder blade caught the candlelight, creating shadows that danced across the brutal beauty of his form.
Every line of him spoke of strength held in careful check, of power that could be devastating if unleashed.
The scars that crisscrossed his back told stories I didn't want to imagine, reminders of whatever had broken him before he'd learned to break others.
He turned slightly, enough for me to see the side of his chest, the curve of his shoulder, the elegant line of his throat. My breath caught in my chest, heat blooming through my body like wildfire.
I knew I should look away, I should retreat before he discovered my intrusion, but I didn't. My pulse raced as I watched him move with that fluid grace that made him seem more shadow than man.
There was something mesmerizing about his self-contained control, the way he commanded even his own solitude.
Finally, self-preservation won over fascination. I slipped away before he could see me, my heart hammering against my ribs as I hurried back through the corridors to my chamber.
Once inside, I locked the door with shaking hands. The image of him, scarred and beautiful and utterly controlled, burned behind my closed eyelids.
I tried to think of Luka, of his gentle touch and warm laughter, but it was Rios who filled my mind.
I undressed slowly, my skin hypersensitive to every brush of fabric, every whisper of air. When I lay back on my bed, it wasn't the prince with roses I thought of.
It was silver-gray eyes and scarred skin and the sound of a voice that cut through all my defenses.
This time, I touched myself with no hesitation, fingers sliding between slick folds without shame or pretense. My hands found the paths I'd begun to learn, the sensitive bundle of nerves that made me gasp, the entrance that clenched and ached with emptiness.
But the sensations were different now, sharper, more urgent, like every touch sent lightning straight through my core.
The image of Rios's back, his voice, even the sound of his footsteps, all of it wrapped around me like silk. I thought of his hands, wondered what they would feel like against my skin, wondered if he would touch me with the same measured control he brought to everything else.
My fingers moved with desperate purpose now, circling and pressing as wetness gathered and my hips bucked against my own touch.
Each stroke brought me closer to that precipice where thought dissolved into pure, animalistic need.
The release hit me like lightning, my body shuddering with an intensity that left me breathless and stunned.
I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle the cry that wanted to escape, my back arching as waves of sensation crashed over me.
When it was over, I lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, my heart still racing and my skin flushed with heat.
I should have felt ashamed, good princesses didn't pleasure themselves while thinking of men who weren't their intended husbands.
But I wasn't ashamed. Not enough to regret it, anyway. I was confused. Luka offered warmth and laughter and the promise of partnership.
He made me feel comfortable, desired in ways that were gentle and safe. Everything I should want in a husband.
But it was Rios who made my body sing. Rios who haunted my dreams and filled my thoughts when I was alone in the dark.
Rios whose image had finally given me the courage to let go completely.