Page 102 of The Crowned Queen

Loren closed the door softly. “Too young,” he agreed.

Araya didn’t need to ask which room was next. Loren stood in front of the closed door for a moment, hesitating. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed it open.

Loren’s childhood bedroom was fit for a prince. A wide bed dominated the space, carved posts rising toward the vaulted ceiling. The matching wardrobe hung half-open, revealing a glimpse of fine clothing still hung in neat rows. Beside it, a sword rested in a wooden stand, untouched except for the dust that dulled the silver filigree adorning the leather scabbard.

“I left this here the Bloomtide before the Arcanum overthrew us.” Loren lifted the sword from its stand and drew the blade a few inches from the scabbard, the steel gleaming bright and sharp in the soft glow of the aetherlamps. “If I’d known what was going to happen, I probably would have brought it back with me,” he said bitterly, sheathing the blade and setting it back down.

Araya took another step into the room, the space between them suddenly achingly vast. She had seen him wild and half-starved, chained like a beast underneath the Aetherium. She had seen him furious and terrifying, his shadows lashing out at everything around him. She had seen his strength when he stood up in front of his Small Council, had felt the gentle warmth of his love for her.

But she had never seen him look so young. So lost.

“There’s no way you could have known,” she whispered.

“I used to imagine this.” Loren turned to face her, his expression so raw and open that every word was like a knife through her heart. “Bringing my mate home someday. Letting my parents meet her. Showing her the palace.” He smiled sadly. “I never imagined it quite like this, though.”

“Loren…” Araya crossed the room then, pulling him into her arms. He came willingly, collapsing into her like a puppet with its strings cut.

“My mother would have loved you,” he said, the words muffled in her hair. “She would have insisted on showing you everything herself. The gardens, the library, the Eldergreen. And my father...” Loren trailed off, pulling back just far enough to look down at her. “He’d have asked you a hundred questions,” he admitted. “But he would have adored you as much as she did.”

Araya lay her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady beating of his heart. Loren’s grip on her waist tightened, the shadows winding around them both.

“We should have gotten a hundred years to learn from them before we had to make a single decision,” he continued, his voice soft. “You deserve so much better than the hand fate dealt us.”

Araya stroked his hair, just holding him. Loren’s shadows cocooned them both in comforting darkness, their cool, shapeless forms brushing around her ankles.

“It does sound like a wonderful life.”

She pulled back, brushing her fingertips along the sharp ridge of his cheekbone. Loren leaned into the touch, a spark racing from her fingertips all the way to her heart.

“I would have loved to live it with you,” she continued. “But I fell in love with you as you are, Lorendrael. And I am tired of hearing you say that you don’t deserve me.”

Loren’s eyes snapped open, but before he could pull away Araya caught the front of his shirt, dragging him down to her level.

“Neither one of us is perfect,” she continued. “And if we die here, I will not have it be with you thinking I ever thought any less of you because of everything we’ve been through.”

“If we die?” Loren demanded. “Or if you die?”

Araya flushed. “Just if,” she hissed. “If something happens…” She shook her head, swallowing back the fear that threatened to steal her voice. “I love that you showed me all of this. And I want to hear more about your family, the life you had here. But I don’t think either one of us should spend tonight wallowing in what could have been.”

Loren stared down at her, his green gaze hot against her skin. “And how do you think we should spend it, then?”

“I think—” Araya drew on her power, channeling a thread of aether into sweeping the thick layer of dust from the bedding. “That you should show me exactly how a crown prince worships his mate.”

Loren’s throat bobbed, his eyes darkening. “But I’m not a prince,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been. “I’m a king.”

Araya frowned. “Well then I guess⁠—”

Her words cut off in a shriek as Loren swung her into the air. She hit the mattress hard, sending a few lingering motes of dust into the air. She twisted, instinctively trying to scramble away, but Loren already had her by the leg. He dragged her across the mattress, nimble fingers working at the laces of her boot.

“You are my queen.” Her first boot hit the floor with a thud. “I love and respect you.” He leaned over her, his breath hot against her skin as he tugged at her other boot. “If you do not like anything I do here⁠—”

“I’ll tell you, and you will stop.” Araya kicked her leg, sending her second boot flying across the room. “I love you.” She arched her back, desperate to feel him against her. “Now shut up and kiss me, Lorendrael.”

His mouth crashed into hers, the scrape of his teeth across her lower lip turning the kiss to copper and sending a flash of heat straight to her core. Araya knotted her fingers in his hair, laughing against his mouth when he fumbled with her belt.

He broke the kiss with a low growl, shoving her back onto the mattress when she tried to follow him. He stared down at her like he wanted to devour her, his green eyes burning and his shoulders rising and falling with every heavy breath.

“Get it off,” he ordered.