And though Lara knew that she’d painted a target on her back, that her father’s assassins would never stop hunting her, for the first time in her life, she felt free.
Driven by some strange sixth sense, she drifted into the antechamber and opened the door to the courtyard, the wind buffeting her with the force of a giant. Stepping outside, she found herself in a hell of wind and rain.
The air shrieked as it circled the courtyard, carrying leaves and branches and rain that bit into her bare arms and slapped her cheeks. The tempest was deafening in its fury, multipronged bolts lancing across the sky, the thunder battering her eardrums.
In the midst of it stood Aren.
He was shirtless and barefoot, staring up at the sky, seemingly heedless of the tempest circling around him. Or of the danger he was in.
A branch ripped from one of the trees to hurtle across the yard, exploding against the side of the house. “Aren!” But the storm drowned out her voice.
It was impossible to keep her feet as she struggled down the path, knocked over time and again by gusts of wind that threatened to lift her into the air. Her hair whipped in a wild frenzy, blinding her, but not for a heartbeat did she consider turning back. Regaining her feet on the slick stones, she lunged.
The winds died as her hands closed on Aren’s arms, as though the world itself gave a sigh and relaxed, the debris falling softly to the ground and the rain easing into a gentle patter against her skin.
“Lara?”
Releasing a ragged breath, she tilted her face up to find Aren staring down at her, his expression bewildered, as though he couldn’t comprehend how she’d come to be standing before him.
“Is it over?” she asked, finding it difficult to breathe. And even more difficult to think. “The storm?”
“No. We’re in the eye of it now.”
The eye of the storm. Her chest tightened. “What are you doing out here?”
The hard muscles of his forearms flexed beneath her grip. “I needed it.”
Instinctively, she understood what he meant. Most people sought solace from danger, but for him, the danger was solace. The rush of adrenaline that cleared his mind, that wiped away the uncertainty that plagued every decision he made as king. The fear of erring. The consequences of doing so. In the storm, he knew his path.
She understood, because she felt the same way. “You could’ve died today. Doing what you did.”
“You would’ve died if I hadn’t.”
His hands closed around her arms, and though his palms were feverishly hot, Lara shivered. “You might have been better off if I had.”
His grip tightened. “Do you honestly believe that I could have ever forgiven myself if I’d stood there and watched you drown?”
“But what I did—”
“Is in the past. It’s behind us now.”
Her pulse was a dull roar in her ears as his words sank in. Aren had forgiven her. How he’d found it in his heart to do so, she couldn’t understand, but there it was. What she’d wanted more than anything, but hadn’t had the hope to wish for.
“Do you want to leave Ithicana? Because if that’s what it takes for you to be happy, I’ll set you on any shore you wish with everything you need to make a life for yourself.”
Lara had planned to leave. Her father’s assassins would soon been on her heels, and she hadn’t believed there was anything to be gained by staying. A relationship between the two of them would never have a chance—Aren would inevitably discover the truth about her and would never forgive her for it.
But Aren knew the truth. And against all odds, he had forgiven her. Now . . . now the thought of turning her back on this place, of turning her back on him, was the worst future she could imagine.
“You can’t let me leave Ithicana.” Her throat felt tight, and the words came out breathy and strange. “I know too much. You’d be risking too much.”
His eyes burned into hers, and never in her life had she felt like someone else saw her so perfectly. “I can let you go, because I trust you.”
She couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t want to leave.” The words were a truth dug from the depths of her heart. She did not want to leave Ithicana. She did not want to leave him. She wanted to stay, to fight and sweat and bleed for him and his harsh, wild, and beautiful kingdom.
The storm circled, watching but leaving them untouched for this one moment.
Aren’s hands loosened on her arms, and for one terrifying heartbeat, she thought he’d let her go. That he wanted her to go.
Instead his fingers traced up the backs of her arms, the light touch leaving rivers of sensation in their wake. Gentle strokes up and down, as though he were calming some wild thing that was apt to bite.
Or testing the waters.
His hands grazed the sides of her breasts, and Lara exhaled a soft breath as his thumbs hooked on the straps of her dress, easing them down as he bent, his lips brushing one naked shoulder. Then the other.
A whimper escaped her as Aren pulled her damp hair away, exposing her neck and kissing her collarbone, her throat, the line of her jaw. Only his grip on her dress kept it from falling away and leaving her naked before him.
Lara wanted to touch him.
Wanted to feel his sleek skin stretched over hard muscles, but she was afraid, because she knew to do so would be her undoing. There would be no turning back.
Aren’s lips paused, and she held her breath, waiting for them to descend on her own even as she wondered whether, if she allowed herself to sink into this hot pool of desire, she’d ever surface again. Whether she’d want to.
But he only rested his forehead against hers. “I need you to say that you want this, Lara. That you’re allowing this because you choose to, not because it was forced upon you.”
Her chest burned, and emotion so intense it hurt surged through her. She pulled back so their eyes locked. “I want this.” And because that wasn’t the sum of it, she added, “I want you.”
The storm returned with a vengeance as their lips collided, but Lara barely felt the winds as Aren lifted her against him, his hands gripping her hips as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms sliding around his neck. His mouth was hot, his tongue slick against hers, the rain drenching their skin as he carried her through the tempest and into the shelter of the house.
Inside, his feet slid on the wet tile and they slammed against the wall, knocking what remained on the shelves to the floor. He braced himself, his hands to either side of her, his breath hot against her throat as Lara ground against him. Her heels dug into his back as she pulled him closer, wanting nothing between them, even as the friction of his belt against her dragged a moan from her lips.
Her back arched until only her head touched the wall behind her, and her dress, the skirt already bunched around her waist, was pulled down to expose the top of her breasts. She felt Aren’s breath catch.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he growled. “Insufferable and venom-tongued and the most incredible woman I’ve set eyes on.”
His words made her thighs slick and she gasped. “Door. Shut the damned door.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, before allowing her to slide to the ground, the hardness of him pressing against her stomach before he turned to wrench on the door and shut out the storm.