Page 225 of Kingdom of Ash

Was almost selfish enough, greedy enough for her, that he nearly said yes. Yes, he would take her as his queen. So he might never have to say farewell to this, so that this magnificent, fierce witch might remain by his side for all his days.

Manon reached for him, fingers digging into his shoulders, and Dorian rose over her, finding her mouth in a plundering kiss.

A shift of her hips, and he was buried, the heated silk of her enough to make him forget that they had a camp around them, or kingdoms to protect.

He did not bother with phantom touches. He wanted her all for himself, skin to skin.

Every thrust into her, Manon answered with a rolling, demanding movement of her own.Stay. The word echoed in each breath.

Dorian took one of her legs and hefted it higher, angling him closer. He groaned at the perfection of it, and Manon swallowed the sound with a kiss of her own, a hand clamping on his backside to propel him harder, faster.

Dorian gave Manon what she wanted. Gave himself what he wanted. Over and over and over.

As if this might last forever.

Manon’s breathing was as ragged as Dorian’s when they pulled apart at last.

She could barely move her limbs, barely get down enough air as she gazed at the tent ceiling. Dorian, as spent as she, didn’t bother to try to speak.

What was left to be said anyway?

She’d laid out what she wanted. Had spoken as much of the truth as she dared voice.

In its wake, a sated sort of clarity shone. Such as she had not felt in a long, long time.

His sapphire eyes lingered on her face, and Manon turned toward him. Slowly removed her crown of stars and set it aside.

Then she drew up the blankets around them both.

He didn’t so much as flinch as she scooted closer, into the solid muscle of his body.

No, Dorian only draped an arm over her, and pulled her tightly against him.

Manon was still listening to his breathing when she fell asleep, warm in his arms.

She awoke at dawn to a cold bed.

Manon took one look at the empty place where the king had been, at the lack of supplies and that ancient sword, and knew.

Dorian had gone to Morath. And had taken the two Wyrdkeys with him.

CHAPTER 63

Aedion and Kyllian kept their panicking troops in line as they marched, all the way to the banks of the Florine.

There was no use running northward. Not when the bone drums began pounding. And grew louder with every passing minute that Aedion ordered their legion into formation.

Stalking for the front lines, his armor so heavy it could have been made of stone, the lack of the ancient sword at his side like some phantom limb, Aedion said to Ren, “I need you to do me a favor.”

Ren, buckling on his quiver, didn’t bother to look up. “Don’t tell me to run.”

“Never.” Close—they were so close to Theralis. How fitting it would have been to at last die on the field where Terrasen had fallen a decade ago. To have his blood soak into the earth where so many of the court he’d loved had died, for his bones to join theirs, unmarked on the plain.

“I need you to call for aid.”

Ren looked up then. His scarred face was leaner than it had beenweeks ago. When was the last time any of them had a proper meal? Or a full night’s rest? Where Lysandra was, what form she wore, Aedion didn’t know. He had not sought her out last night, and she had stayed away from him entirely.

“I’m no one now,” Aedion said, the lines of soldiers parting for them. Bane and Fae, Silent Assassin and Wendlynian and Wastes-hailing soldier alike. “But you are Lord of Allsbrook. Send out messengers. Send out Nox Owen. Call for aid. Dispatch them to every direction, to anyone they might find. Tell Nox and the others to beg if they have to, but tell them to say that Terrasen calls for aid.”

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