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The morning light cut through the window in a blade of pale gold, and Sera woke to the ache between her thighs—a deep, satisfied soreness that made her breath catch before memory flooded back. The sheets beside her were cold, the impression of his body already fading from the linen, and the soulmark on her collarbone pulsed with a low, thrumming heat that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

She found him at the window.

Kaelen stood with his back to her, shirtless, the broad planes of his shoulders catching the light, the scar that split his brow visible even in profile. His hands were braced against the stone sill, and in the glass she saw his reflection—those molten amber eyes fixed on her, dark and hungry, watching her the way a man watches a fire he's already decided to burn in.

"You're awake," he said, his voice rough with sleep or something else. "Good. We have a treaty to honor, and a kingdom to face."

She sat up slowly, letting the sheet pool at her waist, making no move to cover herself. The mark on her collarbone blazed under his gaze, and she felt the heat of it spread down her sternum, between her breasts, settling low in her belly like a coal that refused to die.

"And what do you want me to face first—the kingdom, or you?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, there and gone. He turned from the window, and she watched the way the light moved over the scars on his chest, the map of old battles carved into his skin. He crossed to the bed, stopping at the edge, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"The kingdom won't wait," he said. "But I've waited this long. I can wait until tonight."

"How generous of you." She tilted her head, letting sarcasm drip from the words like honey from a spoon. "A warlord with patience. I should have my minstrels compose a ballad."

His eyes narrowed, but the hunger in them didn't fade—it sharpened. "Careful, wife. I remember every word you say. I'll make you repeat them tonight. On your knees."

The heat in her belly flared, and she hated how her body responded to the threat—the clench between her thighs, the way her nipples tightened against the sheet. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with all the steel she could muster.

"I'm shaking," she deadpanned. "Terrified. Whatever will I do."

He laughed—a low, rough sound that seemed to surprise even him. He shook his head, and for a moment the warlord's mask cracked, showing her something raw underneath. Something that looked almost like wonder.

"You're nothing like I expected," he said. "When I took you, I thought I'd be getting a princess who'd weep and pray and beg for mercy."

"And instead you got one who begs for other things."

The air between them thickened. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin, and she saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. When he spoke, his voice had dropped, gone low and rough as gravel.

"Careful," he said again, but this time it wasn't a threat. It was a plea wearing armor.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, rising to stand before him, the sheet falling away to pool at her feet. She was naked, and she didn't care. The soulmark blazed on her collarbone, and she saw his eyes drop to it, saw the way his breath caught at the sight.

"You said we have a kingdom to face," she said, stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body. "But you haven't answered my question. Which do you want first? The kingdom, or me?"

His hand came up, rough and callused, and his fingers brushed the soulmark—featherlight, almost reverent. The touch sent a shock of heat through her, and she heard herself gasp, the sound swallowed by the morning light.

"You," he said, his voice barely a rumble. "Always you. But the kingdom needs us both, and the ogres in the northern mountains won't wait for my cock to go soft."

She blinked, and then a laugh escaped her—sharp and surprised, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Did you just make a joke about your cock and ogres in the same sentence?"

"I'm a warlord, not a poet." But there was a glint in his eye, a dark humor that made her want to laugh again. "Get dressed. We have a council to face, and I need them to see you as my equal, not my conquest."

She arched an eyebrow. "And if I refuse?"

His hand moved from her collarbone to cup her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. The touch was possessive, commanding, but there was something else there too—something soft that made her chest ache.

"Then I'll carry you down to the great hall myself," he said. "And every man in the north will know exactly how well you spent your wedding night."

She should have pulled away. She should have spat something sharp and cutting. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, the soulmark pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

"Fine," she said, stepping back, breaking the contact. "But I choose the gown. And if your generals look at me like I'm a bargaining chip, I'll remind them exactly what I cost."

He watched her walk to the wardrobe, his eyes tracking every movement, and she felt his gaze like a physical touch on her skin. When she reached for the latch, his voice stopped her.

"You cost me everything," he said quietly. "My peace of mind. My focus. My ability to look at a map without seeing your face."

She turned, one hand on the wardrobe door, and met his eyes. The raw honesty in them made her breath catch.

"Good," she said, and let the ghost of a smile touch her lips. "Then we're even. Because you've cost me my pride, my composure, and the ability to look at my own reflection without remembering how you made me scream your name."

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Then Kaelen shook his head, a low laugh escaping him, and she saw something in his eyes that looked dangerously close to affection.

"Get dressed, Princess," he said, turning back to the window. "We have a kingdom to save, and I have a feeling you're going to be a very loud voice in my war council."

She watched him for a moment longer, the morning light tracing the scars on his back, the strength in his shoulders. And she felt the soulmark pulse against her collarbone, warm and insistent, a reminder that whatever came next, she wasn't facing it alone.