The swift morning sun crept higher in the sky, casting a golden blanket across the northern lands of Elyria, painting the sky a brilliant orange and red. Liseria stirred first, her bare shoulder pressing deeper into the feather-stuffed mattress as she stretched beneath the linen sheets. She blinked against the light, her sapphire blue eyes adjusting slowly, and exhaled through her nose, the warmth of Arterius’ chest still pressed against her back. His breath was steady, rhythmic—unbothered by the dawn creeping in through the open balcony doors.
His arm was draped over her waist, heavy and possessive in a way that sent a thrill of safety down her spine. She smiled to herself, pressing back slightly into the heat of him. Six months. Six months since the King’s summer celebration—since the first time they’d tumbled into his chambers, on spiced wine and reckless laughter. And yet, despite the reckless start, she had never once regretted it. Not when his fingers traced idle patterns over her hip now, not when his lips brushed the nape of her neck in silent affection.
She shifted carefully, twisting onto her other side to face him. The sheets whispered against her skin as she moved, her bare legs tangling briefly with his before settling. His face was softer in sleep—relaxed, unguarded. The stern lines that usually marked him as the King’s Commander, were smoothed away, replaced by an almost boyish peacefulness. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the scar that cut across his eyebrow, a remnant of some battle she hadn’t been there to witness. She didn’t touch it, afraid to wake him. Instead, she let her hand drift lower, tracing the faint stubble along his jaw.
The temptation to stay curled against him was almost unbearable, but duty had never cared much for comfort. With a quiet sigh, she peeled herself away, the morning air biting at her exposed skin as she slipped from beneath the sheets. Her yellow nightdress—a gift from him after she’d complained about the draftiness of his chambers—caught the sunrise, turning the thin fabric into liquid gold as she padded across the stone floor. It clung to her hips, still warm from the bed, and she resisted the urge to glance back at him.
The balcony doors were already half-open, a habit he’d picked up in the war camps—always leave yourself an exit. She pushed through them, the hinges silent beneath her fingers, and stepped into the light. Below her, Elyria sprawled like a living tapestry: emerald fields rippling under the dawn wind, the jagged silhouette of the Blackspine Mountains cutting the horizon, and the distant glint of the Silver River winding through it all. The scent of damp earth and morning dew rose to meet her, mingling with the faintest hint of woodsmoke from the waking city below. This was their charge—this land, these people. And yet, for the first time, the weight of it didn’t settle on her shoulders like armor. It felt like something softer. Something shared.
She exhaled slowly, letting the morning seep into her skin, her fingers curling against the cold stone railing. Then—warmth. Arms slid around her waist from behind, calloused palms pressing flat against her stomach, pulling her back into the solid heat of his chest. Arterius. His breath ghosted over the nape of her neck, stirring loose strands of her hair as he buried his face against her shoulder. “Stealing my warmth again,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, and she could hear the smirk in it.
She leaned into him, tilting her head to give him more room—an invitation. His lips traced the line of her throat, slow and deliberate, each kiss igniting sparks beneath her skin. His hands slid upward, fingers splaying over her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightdress. A shudder ran through her, sharp and involuntary, and he chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her spine. “Cold?” he teased, but his touch was anything but.
Liseria bit her lip, stifling a gasp as his palms found her bare skin beneath the loosened neckline, calluses scraping lightly over her nipples. She knew this game—knew how he loved to unravel her before the world fully woke, how he reveled in the way her body yielded to him before she could muster even a token protest. And gods help her, she let him. Every damn time. His teeth grazed her earlobe, then the sensitive spot just behind it, and her knees nearly buckled.
“You,” she breathed, “are a menace.”
Arterius laughed—a dark, knowing sound—and spun her to face him, the balcony doors swinging shut behind them with a muffled thud. The morning light fractured through the thin fabric still tangled around her elbows, painting gold across his collarbones, the scarred planes of his chest. He stepped forward, backing her toward the bed with deliberate slowness, and she let him, her pulse hammering against her ribs. The nightdress slithered to the floor, pooling around her ankles like liquid sunlight.
“Your menace,” he corrected, voice dropping to a growl as his fingers traced the curve of her hipbone.
She arched into his touch, nails scraping down his forearms as he lifted her onto the edge of the mattress. The vision of her nakedness always sent a jolt through his body—not just the taut peaks of her breasts or the flare of her waist beneath his palms—but the way she looked at him, half-lidded and unguarded, as if she’d already memorized the shape of his hunger. He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip, watching her tongue dart out to taste him.
“Still cold?” he murmured, though the heat between them could have melted steel.
His trousers hit the floor with a whisper of fabric, his cock already hard against his stomach, flushed and impatient. She exhaled sharply at the sight, fingers twitching toward him before curling into the sheets. Arterius caught her wrist, guiding her hand to his length instead, groaning as her fingers wrapped around him with practiced ease. He didn’t let her linger—didn’t trust himself to last if she did—pushing her back onto the bed in one fluid motion. Her gasp was lost against his mouth as he kissed her, deep and claiming, his knee nudging her thighs apart.
Liseria welcomed the weight of him on top of her, the solid heat of his body pinning her to the mattress as he rocked against her, teasing. She arched into the friction, her nails digging into his shoulders when he dragged the blunt head of his cock through her slick folds—once, twice—before pushing inside with a sharp, deliberate thrust. Her back bowed off the bed, a choked moan torn from her throat as he filled her, the stretch just shy of unbearable. Arterius stilled above her, his breath ragged against her temple, giving her time to adjust. It was a lie, of course—he was trembling with restraint, his hips jerking involuntarily when she clenched around him.
He withdrew slowly, dragging himself almost entirely out before sinking back in, deeper this time, his pelvis flush against hers. “Oh my god,” she gasped, her thighs tightening around his waist as he angled his hips just so—that perfect, maddening spot within her. Her vision whited out for a second, her fingers scrambling for purchase against his sweat-slicked skin. Arterius chuckled darkly, nipping at her jaw as he repeated the motion, watching her unravel beneath him. “There?” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction when she could only nod, her breath coming in shallow pants. He did it again, harder now, and she cried out, her toes curling into the sheets.
She dug her nails into the ridges of his spine, feeling the flex of muscle beneath her fingertips as he moved—each thrust deliberate, each withdrawal agonizing. The fullness of him inside her was overwhelming, the way he stretched and filled her so completely, so intimately. Her body throbbed around him, greedy for more, even as her mind splintered under the sheer pleasure of it. Arterius groaned when she arched beneath him, her inner muscles fluttering tight around his cock, and his rhythm faltered for half a second before he gritted his teeth and drove into her harder.
“Oh… my…” she gasped, her voice breaking as the coil in her abdomen wound impossibly tighter, heat flooding her veins. His thumb found her clit, circling mercilessly, and she shattered—”I’m cumming!” The words tore from her throat, ragged and breathless, as pleasure ripped through her in violent waves. Her hips jerked uncontrollably against his, her thighs trembling where they gripped him, and she barely registered his groan of satisfaction before he was moving again, chasing his own release with rough, uneven thrusts.
The aftershocks still pulsed through her when Arterius’ rhythm faltered, his cock twitching deep inside her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck with a choked curse. She felt him spill into her, hot and thick, his hips stuttering against hers as he rode out his climax. His breath was harsh against her skin, his shoulders trembling with exertion, and she traced idle circles over his sweat-slicked back, her own body still humming with pleasure.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough with satisfaction, and she laughed breathlessly, her fingers tangling in his damp hair.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as his weight settled atop her—solid, familiar, grounding. The scent of him enveloped her: leather and steel and something uniquely Arterius, beneath the sweat and sex. His heartbeat pounded against her chest, rapid at first, then slowing as his breathing steadied. He nuzzled lazily at her throat, his lips brushing over the pulse point there in silent affection, and she sighed, tipping her head back against the pillows. The morning light spilled over them, painting golden streaks across his shoulders, and she marveled at the contrast—the ruthless Commander softened in the aftermath, his edges blurred by pleasure and exhaustion.
“I love you.” The words were barely audible, murmured into the shell of her ear as if he feared the wind might steal them away. Liseria stilled, her fingers freezing mid-stroke through his hair. It wasn’t the first time—not even close—but it never failed to catch her off guard, the way his voice cracked around the admission, raw and unguarded. As if he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to say it. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight, and turned her face into his, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too,” she whispered back, a sincerity in her voice to mask the way her pulse fluttered beneath her skin.
Arterius slipped himself out of her before pushing himself back onto his feet, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving her momentarily bereft. The morning air prickled against her sweat-damp skin, raising gooseflesh along her arms as she watched him move—the fluid grace of a warrior even in something as mundane as fetching a discarded shirt. He tossed it to her with a smirk, his gaze lingering on the way her fingers trembled as she caught it. “Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, dragging the fabric over her head, the scent of him clinging to the linen. “You’re the one who—”
His kiss cut her off, rough and claiming, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her upright against him. She could taste herself on his tongue, the metallic tang of his sweat mingling with the remnants of their shared pleasure. When he broke away, his breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide despite the sunlight streaming through the windows. “I know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her swollen lower lip. “And I’d do it again.”
Liseria rolled her eyes, tugging at the hem of his shirt—his shirt, the one that drowned her frame, the sleeves slipping past her wrists, the fabric brushing the tops of her thighs with every shift of her legs. It was absurd how much she loved wearing it, how the scent of him clung to the linen long after she should have returned it. Arterius tracked the movement, his gaze darkening as she unconsciously adjusted the neckline, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbone. “You look ridiculous,” he said, but his voice was thick, his fingers tightening on her waist.
She grinned, twisting the fabric between her fingers, the softness of it contrasting with the rough calluses of his hands still tracing idle patterns over her hips. “You’re just jealous it looks better on me.” His laugh was sharp, startled, and he dragged her closer, his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “I love it,” she murmured, tilting her head to give him better access. “It’s warm, thick, and keeps me warm.” She paused, nipping at his jaw when his hands slid beneath the hem. “And it’s mine now.”
“Oh really?” he said as he lifted her effortlessly off the bed into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The sudden movement made her gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders for balance as he carried her toward the balcony doors. Morning sunlight spilled over them, warming the stone beneath her bare feet when he set her down just inside the threshold. The city sprawled below, alive with movement—merchants setting up stalls, children darting through the streets, the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer ringing through the crisp air.
A firm knock on their chamber door shattered the moment. Arterius stiffened, his hands tightening around her waist as his head snapped toward the sound. Liseria felt the shift in him instantly—the way his muscles coiled, the playful warmth in his eyes hardening into something sharper.
“Commander?” A gruff voice called through the thick oak, accompanied by another impatient rap. “Urgent word from the western scouts.”
Arterius exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing one last kiss to her temple before releasing her. He grabbed his discarded nightwear pants from the floor, yanking them on with practiced efficiency while Liseria tugged the shirt’s hem lower, her bare feet whispering against the stone as she retreated toward the bed. The door groaned open just enough to reveal Captain Jet’s face—and the way his gaze flicked past Arterius, catching briefly on Liseria’s disheveled state before snapping back to attention. Arterius stepped forward, blocking the view with his broad shoulders, but not before she saw the knowing smirk twisting Jet’s scarred lip. “Report,” Arterius barked, his tone leaving no room for commentary.
Jet straightened, the humor draining from his expression as he handed over a rolled parchment. “Scouts spotted movement in the Blackspine passes, Commander. Three separate patrols confirm it—signs of encampments, fresh tracks. Too many to be merchants or herders.” His fingers tapped restlessly against his sword hilt. “They’re trying to stay hidden.”
Arterius unrolled the missive with a flick of his wrist, his jaw tightening as he scanned the cramped script. Liseria edged closer, the shirt’s hem brushing her thighs, and caught the acrid scent of fear-sweat clinging to the parchment. The report was brief, brutal: arrows fletched with crow feathers found near the Silver River’s bend.
“Ready the men,” Arterius said, his voice low as a landslide. Jet hesitated, his gaze darting to Liseria’s bare legs before snapping away. Arterius stepped forward, crushing the parchment in his fist. “Now.”
The door slammed shut. Liseria pressed a hand to her sternum—her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. Arterius turned slowly, his face carved from granite. “Crow feathers,” he said, as if the words might poison the air between them.
She knew what it meant. Knew the way his fingers twitched toward his sword hilt, the way his shoulders squared—subtle tells of a man bracing for war. Liseria crossed to the carved chest at the foot of the bed, her knees sinking into the fur rug as she flipped the latch. The armor gleamed like oiled obsidian in the morning light, each articulated plate whispering as she lifted it. She’d only worn it twice before—once for the King’s inspection, once to break it in on the training grounds. The buckles still stiffened under her fingers.
Arterius watched her dress, his silence heavier than the mail she layered beneath the cuirass. The breastplate molded to her ribs like a second skin, the pauldrons flaring just enough to shield her collarbones without restricting her sword arm. She’d argued for the lighter design—no gorget, no full helm—and won only because the royal smith had seen her fight. “You move like water,” he’d grumbled, hammering out the curves. “Armor like stone would drown you.”
The courtyard boiled with activity when they emerged, the clatter of steel and shouted orders bouncing off the high walls. Jet had already formed up the men—two hundred hardened veterans arranged in tight ranks, their breath fogging in the dawn chill. Liseria caught the way their gazes snagged on her, the subtle shift in posture as they registered the Commander’s woman clad for war. Arterius didn’t acknowledge it, striding past them toward the stables where his black stallion pawed at the dirt. “We’ll take the west ridge,” he said over his shoulder, tossing her the reins of a chestnut mare with white stockings.
The forces formed behind them without fanfare—no speeches, no banners—just the grim efficiency of soldiers who’d fought together too long to need either. They moved like a single organism, the column snaking through the city gates with terrifying speed. Liseria marveled at how quickly the cobbled streets gave way to rolling farmland, then to the dense bracken of the Blackspine foothills. Arterius rode slightly ahead, his silhouette cutting through the morning mist like a blade. She knew his tells—the way his left hand flexed against his thigh meant he was calculating routes, counting paces between ambush points.
The enemy revealed themselves in a ragged line across the ridgeline, their mismatched armor catching the sunlight in dull flashes. They were too many—far more than Jet’s scouts had estimated—but Liseria saw the weakness immediately. No shield wall cohesion, no archer support. Just desperate men clutching spears like farmers clutching hoes, their formation buckling before the first charge even hit. Arterius didn’t hesitate. His sword cleared its scabbard with a sound like tearing silk, the command rippling down the line in wordless understanding. The horses surged forward as one.
Dust rose in choking clouds as the Elyrian cavalry smashed into the disorganized ranks. Liseria felt rather than heard the impact—the sickening crunch of bone beneath hoof, the wet rip of steel through flesh. Her mare twisted beneath her, avoiding a wild spear thrust as she hacked downward, her blade biting deep into a bearded man’s shoulder. He screamed, but the sound cut off abruptly when Arterius’ stallion trampled him into the dirt. The enemy’s center collapsed like rotten timber, their flanks scattering into the thickets. Within minutes, the survivors were sprinting downhill, their weapons abandoned in the bracken.
Liseria wheeled her horse, scanning the ridge for stragglers. Blood pounded in her ears, her fingers sticky where they gripped the reins. The sudden silence felt unnatural—no war cries, no clashing steel—just the rasp of her own breathing and the distant cries of wounded men. She spat to clear the iron taste from her mouth and caught Arterius’ gaze across the battlefield. His sword dripped crimson onto the trampled grass, but his expression wasn’t triumphant. It was calculating.
Immediately he turned to Jet. “I need a count.” His voice carried like a whetstone dragged across steel. Not a request—a demand.
The captain wiped his brow with a torn sleeve, leaving a smeared streak of dirt and blood. “Seventy-three bodies,” he said without hesitation. “Twice that fled into the woods. Light casualties on our side—eight wounded, none dead.”
Arterius’ jaw twitched. “Good,” he muttered.
They returned just as fast as they left. The horses’ flanks were slick with sweat, their nostrils flaring as they clattered back through the castle gates. Arterius dismounted first, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a sharp crack that sent a stable boy scrambling backward. Liseria followed, her thighs burning from the ride, her armor suddenly heavy as lead. The scent of blood clung to them both—iron and salt, sharp enough to make her stomach twist.
“Good work, men,” Arterius said, his voice carrying across the courtyard without rising. “You made me proud.” The words were simple, but she saw the way the soldiers straightened at them, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Jet wiped his sword clean on a cloth, his grin flashing white against the grime on his face. “Even the greenhorns held the line,” he said, jerking his chin toward a cluster of younger soldiers who were trying—and failing—to hide their shaking hands. Arterius clapped one on the shoulder as he passed, and the boy nearly buckled under the weight of it.
Liseria peeled off her gauntlets, flexing her stiff fingers. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving her muscles aching and her mind strangely empty. She caught a glimpse of herself in a rainwater barrel—streaks of dirt across her cheek, her hair half-fallen from its braid. Arterius stepped up beside her, his reflection looming in the murky water. His hand settled at the small of her back, fingers pressing briefly into the spot that always ached after a fight.
“Bath?” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
The stone corridors were cooler than the courtyard, their footsteps echoing as they climbed the spiral stairs to the royal baths. Steam curled from the arched doorway, carrying the scent of lavender and bergamot. Liseria let Arterius unbuckle her pauldrons, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the calluses. The first touch of hot water made her hiss—scalding at first, then perfect as she sank deeper, the tension leaching from her shoulders.
Arterius followed, his body displacing water in a slow wave that lapped against her collarbones. His sigh was raw, unguarded, his head tipping back against the marble edge as the heat worked its way into battered muscles. She watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his lashes stuck together in damp clumps. His toes brushed her calf underwater, a silent acknowledgment that he knew she was staring.
With grace she waded over to him, the water parting around her waist like silk. His eyelids lifted halfway as she approached, dark with something that wasn’t exhaustion. Liseria reached for the soap, working it between her palms until the lather spilled over her wrists. She started with his shoulders, kneading the tightness from his trapezius with firm circles of her thumbs. His exhale was rough, his head lolling forward to give her better access. She traced the ridges of his spine, the old scars beneath her fingertips, the way his skin pebbled when her nails grazed a particular spot beneath his shoulder blade.
The soap slid lower, her hands following the taper of his waist. Arterius caught her wrist when she reached his hips, his grip tightening as her thumb brushed the sensitive dip of his pelvis. “Careful,” he murmured, though his voice was more invitation than warning. She laughed softly, twisting free to drag slick palms down his thighs. The water distorted the shape of him beneath the surface, but she knew the exact moment his cock twitched against her wrist—knew it by the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers flexed against the marble rim.
She ducked underwater without warning, her lips finding him in the hazy blue warmth. Arterius cursed, his knees jerking apart as her tongue traced the length of him. His hand tangled in her hair, not guiding—just holding, as if he needed the anchor. The bathwater muffled sound, but she felt the vibrations of his groan through his skin when she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. He tasted of salt and soap, of something uniquely Arterius that made her throat tighten.
When she resurfaced for air, droplets clung to her lashes, the steam curling around them both. Arterius dragged her up by the arms, his mouth crashing into hers before she could gasp properly. The kiss was messy, desperate—she could taste herself on his tongue, the bitterness of battle still clinging to them both beneath the lavender soap. His hands slid down her back, fingers splaying over her hips as he lifted her effortlessly onto his thighs. Water sloshed over the rim, hitting the tiles with a sharp slap.
With the ease of water, he slipped into her with effortlessness, her body welcoming him with a familiar heat that made her groan against his mouth. There was no resistance, only the slick glide of skin on skin, the water swirling around them as she settled fully onto him. Arterius exhaled sharply through his nose, his forehead pressing against hers as he adjusted to the sensation. His grip on her hips tightened, thumbs digging into the soft flesh there as he held her still for a moment—just feeling her around him, hot and tight and perfect.
Then she began to move. Her hips rolled with deliberate slowness at first, the water lapping at their joined bodies with each shallow thrust. Arterius’ grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fought to keep still—letting her set the pace, letting her take what she wanted. Liseria braced her palms against his shoulders, her nails biting crescent moons into his skin as she tilted her pelvis, adjusting the angle until his cock dragged against that sweet, shuddering spot inside her.
“Gods—” The word tore from her throat, ragged and breathless, as pleasure sparked up her spine. Arterius’ hips jerked involuntarily beneath her, his control fraying at the edges. She could feel the way his muscles trembled, the way his breath hitched when she clenched around him—deliberately, teasingly—before easing back into that torturous rhythm. His groan was low, guttural, his forehead dropping to her collarbone as his hands slid lower, gripping her ass to pull her harder against him. The water sloshed violently around them, droplets scattering across the tiles like scattered gems.
Liseria braced her palms against his chest, her nails scraping through the damp hair there as she rocked faster, deeper, the water swirling in chaotic eddies between them. Arterius cursed against her skin, his lips finding the pulse point at her throat—biting, sucking, marking—as if he could brand her with pleasure alone. She gasped when his teeth grazed her earlobe, the sensation sharp and electric, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly. His fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise, his thrusts growing uneven as he fought to hold on.
She pressed herself against him as she climaxed—her back arching violently, her thighs clamping around his waist as pleasure tore through her in blinding waves. The sound she made was raw, broken, her cry muffled against his shoulder as she trembled through it. Arterius groaned her name like a prayer, his hips stuttering as her inner muscles fluttered around him, milking him toward his own release. He came with a shuddering gasp, his fingers tightening almost painfully as he spilled into her, his forehead pressed to hers as they rode out the aftershocks together.
The water stilled around them, the ripples fading into silence. Arterius didn’t pull away—instead, his arms encircled her fully, drawing her impossibly closer until there was no space left between them at all. It wasn’t just the press of skin on skin; it was the way his breath hitched when she nuzzled into the hollow of his throat, the way his hands traced slow, reverent circles over her spine like he was memorizing every ridge and scar. This embrace held more than warmth—it held six months of shared battles and stolen mornings, of whispered fears and unspoken promises.
She traced the ridge of his collarbone with her finger, feeling the warmth and strength, something indefinably him. The scent of lavender clung to his skin now, mingling with the musk of their lovemaking, and she buried her face against his neck to breathe it in. His chuckle vibrated through her as his fingers carded through her tangled hair—a wordless acknowledgment of her silent claim. No need for declarations when the bathwater had long since cooled around them, when his hands still lingered on her hips like he couldn’t bear to let go.
