71. Arran

My entire life, the terrestrial court had sneered at my mother. She'd allowed herself to be debased. She was not powerful enough to fight back against the males who'd raped her for the heir she would one day bear.

I had systematically slaughtered everyone who dared to utter those words.

I knew they had not stopped, that those evil words still lived in the minds and on the tongues of the powerful at Wolf Bay.

Now I was their king. Now, I could truly punish them. Kill anyone—

Except we needed able-bodied warriors. A war was coming, whether Veyka accepted it or not. The succubus would not wait for her and her companions to research. Even if they did find a solution, a way to stop the succubus from entering Annwyn, it could come too late. We had to prepare. We needed warriors, elementals and terrestrials—

Terrestrials, who sneered at their queen. My wife. My mate.

"You are the High Queen of Annwyn." And I will punish anyone who treats you as anything less.

I knew she heard my unspoken words. I listened to her teeth scrape across her lower lip before she responded— "I am an elemental."

I pulled her tighter against me without thinking, without regard for her injury. But she did not wince this time. She even pulled away—just a bit. Just enough that I knew she'd turned her face to mine, even though I could not see anything in the blackness of the cave.

"Arran, you used to hate me," Veyka said softly.

The heat of her breath caressed my skin. For a heartbeat, I let myself savor it. This stolen moment, this sacred space between us where we shared breath and no one else existed.

"Why?" I had to know. I wanted to know every detail that had been stolen from me. "Why did I hate you?"

She laughed softly. Not at me, I thought. But at the memory. "You told me that I was selfish. That I only cared about myself and not my kingdom."

I could not see her face, but I had to know. I reached out, so slowly, until my fingertips grazed her silk-smooth skin. The curve of her lips. The soft smile that melted away under my touch.

"And you were right," she breathed against my fingertips.

No.

I did not remember anything that had happened between us. Not even an echo. All I had was the tug of the mating bond in my chest, the low growl of my beast pushing me ever-closer to her. But I did not need the memories to know that I'd been wrong.

Veyka loved her golden knight and her handmaiden. I'd seen it with my own eyes.

She loved her kingdom—why else would she be so insistent on protecting as many as possible with the amorite? She was not selfish, even if she was wrong about the best way to go about it.

She had fallen in love with me.

And only I could understand the depth of selflessness that would have taken.

And it must have been the darkness, the depth of desperation, the threat of her injury that made me say softly, inches from her lips, "I can see how I fell in love with you."

She tried to pull away. I caught her chin between my forefinger and thumb.

"You are more clever than you let anyone see."

Was that her lip trembling? Or was she fighting to pull away. I eased my hold on her. She stayed. I pressed my thumb into the center of her lower lip.

"Part of being an elemental," Veyka said. Her chest was moving too, in time with her trembling mouth.

I wanted to ease that pain, the same way I had set her wounded leg. It would hurt. I knew it would. But I wanted to heal it, to heal her. Us.

"You use the expectations people have of you against them, subvert them. All while flashing that wicked smile and luscious body." It had worked on me, too well. She had to know that it would—she'd used it against me before, I was certain, even if I could not remember. I did not resent her for it, not in that moment.

Veyka attempted a muted laugh. "Use what you have."

"And all of it for Annwyn."

I waited for her to deny it—to explain away the best parts of herself. To tell me I had misjudged her. But she did not, because she could not.

"That isn't the female you fell in love with," she said softly. "I'm not the female you fell in love with… not anymore."

If it had not been so dark, I might not have noticed. But every nerve, fae and beast, was attuned to her. I could feel her in my soul. So, I had no doubt that the tiny droplet of water that hit my hand was not a melted bit of ice, but a singular tear.

Veyka spoke again—faster, desperate. "I was angry and selfish and depressed bloodthirsty—"

"You're still plenty bloodthirsty," I interrupted. My cock was already hard, had been since she'd first tucked herself in against my side. But the mention of blood, of her unbridled vengeance and glorious brutality, had me near ready to explode.

Still, Veyka tried to deny who and what she was. "The queen I was… I …"

She lost her words.

I had them.

"Why can't it be both? Why can't both versions of you be worthy?"

Another tear. I could smell them now, the faint saltiness merging with the ever-present primrose and plum that was so perfectly Veyka. There was no hint of blood; the scabbards did not allow it. But I imagined I could smell the coppery tang of her through the delicate skin of her throat. A throat I wanted to taste. To claim, because she was mine.

And whether I was ready to accept it or not, I was hers.

Slowly, guided only by instinct in the dark and that golden thread that connected our souls, I replaced my fingers with my lips.

"Arran, I…" Veyka trembled against my mouth.

I pulled back, just enough to let her speak. She was injured, more fragile than perhaps even she realized. I would sit here at her side for the entire night, cock aching to be sheathed inside of her, soul yearning to touch hers.

"Tell me to stop," I breathed.

Her words were as tortured as my own— "I can't."

Thank the Ancestors.

"I won't hurt you."

Yes, you will.