I shut my eyes against his gentle caress, the sensation stirring desire in me that I know he can sense. “Then what happened?”
“I thought about what he’s done to you, to your family, what he would do if he ever got his hands on you again, and I could not leave him alive for one more second.” His breath skates across my lips.
And his words sink in. “You executed him for me.” The king chopped off a lord’s head in the middle of an assembly for me? I swallow against that truth. “That’s … sweet?”
His deep chuckle vibrates in my chest.
Finally, I dare open my eyes to find his trained intently on my lips.
“Should something happen to me, at least he cannot harm you.”
“Nothing will happen to you.”
He smirks. “Let us consider the history of Islorian kings for a moment, shall we? King Ailill was executed by his own son, my father was poisoned by his future daughter-in-law, my brother was betrayed by me, his brother. The only king who died peacefully of old age was Rhionn, and even he faced countless assassination attempts. So, yes, Gracen, something will likely happen to me, but at least you and your family will be safe from whatever sick obsession that keeper had with you.” He cups my cheeks with his palms. “Though I think I am beginning to understand it.” His hands slide back, falling to my neck, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin behind my ears. “Because you are in my thoughts far too often to be healthy.”
“As you are in mine,” I admit brazenly, my pulse pounding in my eardrums. Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift onto my toes to press my lips against his in a tentative and soft kiss.
His eyes blaze with hunger as he breaks away, a mixture of surprise and raw heat in them, and something I can’t easily decipher.
I don’t have a chance to try before his mouth is on mine, parting my lips and sliding his tongue in, his fingers tangling through the untamed curls he just released.
This is … even better than the earlier kiss, his grip tight against my body, sandwiching us together as his tongue delves in with a skill I didn’t know possible. I’ve never kissed anyone like this before, but I’m learning fast, meeting each stroke with one of my own. On impulse, I graze his top teeth with the tip of my tongue. There’s nothing sharp there to prick me.
“Gracen.” My name is a groan on his lips. His hands slip under my cloak to fist the material of my dress, as if he’d like to tear it off right here. But he doesn’t. He only grips my waist tight and kisses me harder, his lips never leaving mine as our tongues and teeth and breaths tangle with increasing abandon.
Is this what it’s like to be the king’s tributary? If so, no wonder Sabrina danced around the castle the mornings after and moped with longing on the days he didn’t call.
Strange new sensations are igniting in my body—heat between my thighs, an ache in my lower belly. Feelings I’ve heard others whisper of but never experienced myself, and all stirred by a kiss from this Islorian male.
I barely notice when Atticus hoists me and sets me down on the altar, the stone cold and hard against my backside. Our mouths are still frantic against each other as he slides his hands over my thighs, and the hemline of my dress begins to hike.
“Wait!” I manage between kisses, my hands finding his chest. “Wait.”
He peels away, his breathing ragged. “What is it?”
My own breathing is also uneven. “This is the nymphaeum. Is this okay? I mean, nothing will happen?” I look to him knowingly.
A grin slowly emerges. It’s downright devilish. “I know I’m good, Gracen, but I’m not that good. It’s not Hudem. And you’re mortal. And this is just a kiss.” He leans in to trace my bottom lip with his tongue.
“It is not just a kiss,” I whisper against his mouth. It’s utterly euphoric and addictive, and a thousand times more intimate than anything I have ever experienced with a male before.
“No?” His eyes are wild with lust as they search my face. “What is it, then?”
I don’t know how to describe it except … “Hope.” That my past will not taint everything for my future.
That a kind king might lead Islor to a better place.
That my children might not be relegated to a life of misery.
A strange look flickers across Atticus’s face. “You didn’t have any hope before?”
“Not until …” Princess Romeria saved me. “… I came here.” I smooth a hand over his chest. “And now I’ve met you, and no one has ever made me feel like this before.”