The dark was absolute, a velvet weight pressing against her eyes, and the first thing she knew was the fire. Not the slow burn of the soulmark's usual awareness—this was a searing brand, a hot iron laid flat against her collarbone, and it dragged her up from the depths of sleep with a gasp that caught in her throat. Her body was already moving before her mind caught up, her hand sliding down the thin fabric of her shift, past her stomach, her fingers trembling as they found the damp heat between her thighs. The dream was still tangled in her limbs—his hands, his mouth, the rough sound of his voice saying her name—and she was so achingly empty, so desperate for something she couldn't name, that when her hand drifted across the mattress, seeking, searching, she didn't stop when her fingers found the solid heat of his thigh.

He was warm. So warm, a furnace beneath the sheets, and the contact sent a shock through her that was almost painful. She heard herself make a sound—a low, broken thing, half whimper, half plea—and then she was moving, slipping beneath the covers, her mouth pressing against the skin of his thigh. She tasted salt and heat and something that was purely him, and she licked, bit, pressed her lips against the taut muscle until she felt him twitch beneath her touch. Her soulmark blazed, a live coal against her chest, and the only thought in her head was more, I need more, I need—

"Please," she breathed against his skin, her voice a raw, desperate thing she barely recognized. "I need—I can't—"

His hand closed around her wrist, iron-strong, and the grip was the only thing that stopped her from pressing her mouth higher, from finding the place where his body was already hard and straining against the fabric of his smallclothes. His voice came from above her, rough with sleep and something else, something careful that made her want to weep.

"Sera." His thumb pressed against the pulse point in her wrist, and she felt him shift beneath the sheets, felt the coiled tension in his body as he held himself still. "Are you sure? You're not awake."

She rose higher, her lips brushing the edge of his groin, and the taste of him through the thin cotton made her mouth water. Her hand, the one he wasn't holding, found the waistband of his smallclothes, tugging, desperate. The soulmark was a brand, a fire that had consumed all thought, all pride, all the careful walls she'd built around herself. She looked up through the darkness, finding the faint gleam of his amber eyes watching her, and her voice came out as a raw, desperate beg.

"I'm sure. I want you." Her fingers worked at the laces, clumsy and urgent. "I can't hold back anymore. I've been burning since the moment I saw you, and I can't—I won't—" She stopped, her throat tight, and the word came out broken, honest, stripped of all pretense. "Please."

He went still. The kind of still that was absolute, that was more dangerous than any movement, and she felt his hand tighten around her wrist before he released her. She heard him exhale, a long, slow breath that seemed to drain the tension from the room, and then his hand moved, finding her chin in the darkness, tilting her face up toward him.

His thumb traced the line of her jaw, slow, deliberate, a predator's patience that made her skin prickle with awareness. The darkness seemed to pulse around them, thick with the scent of sandalwood and the heat of his body, and she felt the weight of his gaze even though she could barely see him. His voice came low, rough, the sound of it scraping against her nerves like flint on steel.

"You've been burning," he said. Not a question. A statement of fact, as if he'd known all along, as if he'd felt it too, the same fire that had been devouring her from the inside out since the moment he'd walked into her father's court. "Since the moment you saw me."

She should have denied it. Should have found some scrap of pride, some remnant of the princess who had stood before him at the altar with steel in her spine. But the soulmark was a live coal against her collarbone, and the truth was a pressure in her chest that demanded release.

"Yes." The word came out ragged, almost a sob. "It won't stop. It won't—" She reached up, her fingers finding his hand where it cupped her chin, and she pressed his palm flat against her chest, against the burning brand. The contact sent a shock through her, a jolt of raw heat that made her gasp. "Make it stop. Please. Only you can."

His hand was still against her sternum, his palm rough with calluses, and she could feel the steady thrum of his pulse through his skin. He didn't move, didn't press, just held her there, suspended in the dark, and the silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut.

"You don't know what you're asking." His voice was rougher now, strained, and she heard the crack in it, the same desperate hunger that was eating her alive. "If I touch this mark, Sera, I won't be able to stop. I'll take everything you're offering, and I won't be gentle about it."

"I don't want gentle." The words were out before she could stop them, raw and honest, and she felt his hand tighten against her chest. "I've been gentle my whole life. I've been the princess, the bargaining chip, the good daughter who did what she was told. I don't want to be any of that with you. I want to burn."

Something shifted in the darkness. She felt it in the way his breathing changed, in the coiled tension that ran through his body like a bowstring drawn taut. His hand moved, sliding from her chest to the thin strap of her shift, and his thumb traced the edge of the fabric where it met her shoulder.

"Say it again." The command was low, almost a growl. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to touch me." Her voice shook, but she didn't look away from the faint gleam of his eyes. "I want your hands on my skin. I want to feel you everywhere, all at once. I want—" She stopped, her throat closing, and the next words came out as a whisper, broken and desperate. "I want you to make the mark stop burning. I want you to be the only fire I feel."

He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a growl, and his hand moved from her shoulder to the neckline of her shift. She felt his fingers curl around the fabric, felt the tension in his grip, and her breath caught in her chest as she realized what he was about to do.

"You asked for it," he said, his voice barely audible. "You asked, and I'm going to give it to you. But when I'm done, Princess, you'll know exactly what you've invited."

The shift tore away from her shoulder with a sound of ripping silk, and the cool air hit her skin a moment before his mouth found the brand. The first touch of his lips against the burning mark was like a lightning strike, a shock of pure sensation that arced through her entire body. She cried out, her back arching off the mattress, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the fire in her collarbone transformed into something else entirely—a sharp, sweet ache that radiated outward from the point of his mouth, flooding her veins with liquid heat.

"Kaelen—" His name was a gasp on her lips, broken and desperate, and she felt him smile against her skin, a dark, possessive thing that made her shiver.

"That's it," he murmured, his breath hot against the mark. "Say my name. Say it like you mean it."

His tongue traced the edge of the brand, slow and deliberate, and she felt the sensation all the way down to her toes. The fire was still there, but it had changed—it was no longer a consuming, desperate burn. It was a hunger, a craving that had found its source and was drinking deep. She felt his teeth graze her skin, felt the sharp edge of pleasure-pain that made her gasp, and her hips rolled against his involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking more.

"Please," she breathed, the word barely audible. "Please, Kaelen, I need—"

"I know what you need." His hand slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, and she felt his fingers find the hem of her shift. "I've known since the moment I saw you in that court, with your chin lifted and your eyes blazing. You've been burning for me, Princess. And I've been burning for you."

His palm pressed flat against her stomach, and the heat of his touch seared through the thin fabric. The mark on her collarbone was still blazing, but it was no longer a torment—it was a promise, a vow written in fire that bound them together in a way no treaty ever could. She felt his lips move against her skin, felt the words he spoke into the brand like a brand of their own.

"Mine," he said. "You're mine now. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

His hand moved before she could breathe, catching both her wrists in one iron grip and pressing them into the mattress above her head. The shift of his weight pinned her hips, the heat of his body a wall of furnace warmth that stole the air from her lungs. She heard the growl before she felt it, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into her bones.

"You asked for this." His voice was gravel and smoke, and she felt the words against her skin. "You begged for it. So you're going to lie there and take it, and you're going to remember every single second."

She should have felt fear. Should have felt some remnant of the princess who had stood in her father's court with steel in her spine. But all she felt was the blazing brand on her collarbone and the desperate, aching emptiness between her thighs that only he could fill.

"Yes." The word came out as a whimper, and she hated how broken it sounded, how utterly surrendered. "Yes, Kaelen."

His mouth found her stomach, hot and open against the soft skin below her navel, and she felt the scrape of his stubble against her flesh. He dragged his tongue down, slow and deliberate, tracing a path of fire that made her hips buck against his grip. She felt him smile against her skin, a dark, possessive thing that made her shiver.

"So impatient." His breath was hot against her hip bone, and she felt his teeth graze the jut of it, a sharp edge of pleasure-pain that made her gasp. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you, Princess? Waiting to feel my mouth on you."

"Yes." The word was barely a breath. "Gods, yes."

His tongue traced the crease of her thigh, and she felt the wet heat of it through the thin cotton of her shift, which had ridden up to her waist. She was soaked, she realized, the fabric clinging to her slick flesh, and she felt a flush of shame that was quickly consumed by the fire of want.

"I can smell you." His voice was rough, almost reverent. "So wet for me. So ready." He dragged his tongue up the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, stopping just short of where she needed him most. "Tell me what you want."

"Your mouth." Her voice cracked. "Please, Kaelen, I need your mouth on me. I need—"

He didn't let her finish. His hands hooked under her knees, spreading her wide, and then his mouth was on her, hot and hungry, his tongue dragging through her slick folds from her entrance to her clit in one long, devastating stroke. She cried out, her back arching off the mattress, her wrists straining against his grip as the sensation slammed through her like a lightning strike.

"Kaelen—" His name was a sob on her lips, and she felt him growl against her, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure through her entire body. He did it again, slower this time, his tongue circling her clit with a lazy, deliberate pressure that made her see stars.

He feasted on her like a man starving, like she was the only thing that could ever satisfy the hunger that had been gnawing at him since the moment he'd seen her. His tongue lapped at her, sucked her clit between his lips, drew the sensitive bud into his mouth and worried it with his teeth until she was writhing beneath him, her hips grinding against his face, desperate for more.

"That's it," he murmured against her, his voice muffled by her flesh. "Take what you need. Let me hear you."

She couldn't hold back the sounds that spilled from her lips—broken moans, desperate pleas, his name repeated like a prayer. The fire in her collarbone had spread, consuming her entire body, and she felt herself climbing, the pleasure building in her core like a coiled spring about to snap.

"I'm close," she gasped, her fingers digging into the sheets, her wrists straining against his iron grip. "Kaelen, I'm—"

He pulled back. Just as she was about to break, he pulled back, and the sudden absence of his mouth was a physical ache that made her whimper in frustration. She looked down at him through the haze of her arousal, her chest heaving, and saw him watching her, his amber eyes dark with hunger, his lips slick with her.

"Not yet." His voice was a low growl, and she felt the command in it. "You don't come until I say you can."

"Please—" The word was a broken sob, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "Please, Kaelen, I need—"

"You need to wait." He lowered his mouth back to her, but this time his tongue was featherlight, teasing, tracing patterns that made her ache with a need so fierce it was almost painful. "You're going to feel every second of this, Princess. You're going to remember exactly what it feels like to burn for me."