He pushes me back down against the mattress and kisses my collarbone. His fingers slip inside me, and I jerk again.

“You’re already wet,” his whispers in my ear.

I get the logistics of female anatomy, but not how it works when expert fingers strum it. Judging by the king’s smug tone, I can piece together what I’m missing. The way he touches me has me throwing my head back and closing my eyes.

My breath catches and picks up as his fingers rhythmically stroke me. Sensation is building up inside of me, and my eyes flutter closed to better experience this.

The king lets out a satisfied chuckle under his breath, then removes his fingers. I’m left bereft only for a moment before he rolls back onto me and positions himself. My eyes snap open and gaze into his. Oh God, it’s happening.

“This might hurt,” he says.

And it does, briefly. Then I feel him fully inside me.

Montes’s hands brush back the hair of my face, and he presses a kiss along my cheek as he withdraws.

The optimist in me wonders if this is it. Show’s over. Then Montes glides back into me, and I suck in a breath at the pleasant throb. The man who ruined my world, killed my parents and most of my people, is now my husband, and he’s making love to me. And I’m enjoying it. It’s so wrong it makes my skin crawl.

A stray tear streaks down my cheek. “I hate you,” I say to him.

“You won’t always feel that way,” he says, thrusting into me.

“I will. I swear it.”

“Give it up,” he growls, pushing into me harder. “The war is over.”

“Not for me. It won’t ever be over for me.”

Chapter 17

Serenity

I lie awake for a long time afterwards, staring at the ceiling. Next to me the king’s breathing is steady and even. He fell asleep a while ago. When I can’t take it anymore, I push his arm off of my waist. The king makes a noise in his sleep and rearranges himself.

I slip out of bed and grab the silk robe that someone had set out for me earlier. The smooth material makes me want to shrug the garment off. After wearing rough fatigues for most of my life, such soft fabric feels unnatural against my skin. Instead I cinch the robe around my waist and walk outside.

I grip the stone railing. Here, wherever here is, the night is pleasant. I can smell the seawater carried along the breeze.

Now that no one is watching, I bow my head and allow myself to weep. Weep for my life, for all those who’ve killed or died because of the war, and for the uncertain future of the world.

When I’ve cried myself out, I lie down on the cool floor of the balcony and stare at the stars. I make out the Pleiades, a constellation my mother taught me years ago. Make a wish upon the seven sisters, she’d whisper to me when we’d catch sight of them.

And I do so now. I wish I could be up there with you. I gaze at them until my eyes drift closed.

Sometime later I feel my body lifted off the ground and the warm press of skin against mine as I’m tucked back into my bed.

I’m pulled from sleep once more when I feel a light kiss on my lips, and the sensation of hands caressing my skin. I make an approving sound at the back of my throat and stretch like a contented cat.

Then my situation comes rushing back to me. My eyes snap open, and I stare into Montes’s deep brown ones. His hair hangs down around his face, and I can’t help but notice that the ruffled look suits him well.

The sky outside has a predawn glow. It’s not morning yet, which means …

“Again?” I widen my eyes. Of course we weren’t going to do this only once. I’d just hoped that it wouldn’t happen again so soon. I enjoyed it far too much the first time.

“I plan on acquainting myself with you many times.”

I feel his erection press against me, and my breath catches. Just like last night, his fingers touch the soft skin between my legs. His thumb dances circles around my sensitive flesh until I moan. I bite back the sound, but it’s too late.

Montes wears a knowing grin, and his finger moves faster. “Like that?” he whispers against my ear.

“This changes nothing,” I gasp out.

“I think it does.” I can feel myself getting slick against him, and the bastard’s fully aware of this as well. He removes his hand, and I feel the hard press of him against my opening.

I’m still sore from last night, so when he pushes himself inside me, air whistles through my teeth as I inhale. And just like last night, the soreness is soon replaced by the first stirrings of pleasure. The whole thing is wrong, wrong, wrong. Then again, I’m not the most morally righteous person; war hasn’t afforded me that luxury. So instead of retreating into my mind, I tentatively begin to touch the king.

First my hands glide over his shoulders and arms, stroking the bunched muscles beneath the skin. Above me the king stills, and I meet his gaze.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Discovering my . . . husband.” It’s hard for me to call him that—to think of him like that, but some wars are won by surrendering certain, doomed battles, and this is one of them.

He watches me, unmoving, and I squirm against him. “Why have you stopped?”

Something a whole lot like affection—or maybe victory—brightens his eyes. He leans in and kisses me, and the feeling of being joined in two places nearly throws me over the edge. Who knew that beneath my tough exterior was a sex-starved woman?

When the kiss ends, he begins moving again. “Does that feel better?” he whispers.