Page 94 of The Artist and the Dragon

The dark curls at the apex of her thighs shimmered, and he could already feel her moisture soaking through the thin material of his pants. It was enough to nearly drive him mad. But as his palms settled on her hips once more, he saw that her features had drooped into a frown.

“Do you think…” she started. “Is it wrong to do this when we should be tracking down the dragons?”

He groaned. “I say we’d be fools not to savor what we’ve found while we can. Besides, do you think your sister would prefer you’d crept out at dawn, dress or no, or would she tell you to stay a bit longer?”

“She’d tell me to stay,” she said at once.

Smart woman. Malik smoothed his hands up her sides then back down to the tops of her thighs, needing to touch her, to move, before he went crazy. “And do you want to stay? At least for a bit?”

“Of course!” She rocked her hips. “I want you. I need—”

He bucked into her, earning a sharp gasp. “I know what you need. Stay with me, Bronwyn. At least a little longer.”

She leaned down, her breasts pressing against his chest and her tangled hair curtaining his face. “Okay.”

He grabbed her hips and ground his up into her, eliciting a little whimper. “Unless you’d rather spend these moments hunting shadows?” he teased with a smirk.

Goddess help him, she rocked back against him with equal need and fervor. “I want every moment with you.”

“Then they’re yours.”

He’d give her all of them. Every one.

But perhaps he’d savor this one more than all the others. Because he knew what he had to do, what came next, and once he did what must be done? Well, he’d be lucky for any moments with her after that.

Chapter 39

Bronwyn

Itwaspureluckthat Jackoby was one of the first people Bronwyn saw when she arrived at the castle via hired coach. Since her dress had been rendered useless, she was hidden from neck to toe beneath a large and unseasonably thick cloak. It was the best she could find at Malik’s apartment; she wasn’t about to show up in just her underthings.

Thankfully, the butler didn’t judge, didn’t ask questions other than to inquire after her well-being, and he helped her avoid as much notice as possible as she slipped to her quarters within the castle.

The head housekeeper, Gwen, whom Jackoby had wisely sent to collect her soiled things in lieu of a random maid, had said nothing, either—though she had looked at Bronwyn like she’d lost her mind or left part of herself somewhere instead of just her clothes.

But the truth was, Bronwyn hadn’t felt quite so herself in a long time. For years, she’d feared that letting someone in would inevitably hurt her. They would crack the foundations that she so carefully held together, and the tower of herself would fall.

That wasn’t the case with Malik, though.

He wasn’t some weakness that would destroy her. He gave her strength. His words, his touch, his devotion—they patched up holes that even she herself had missed. And once they were filled? She was left basking in the glow of something new, wonderful, and perfectly made. A stronger and more beautiful tower of herself than she’d ever imagined possible.

She needed all that strength when, hours later, she stood before the open gate to Charlotte’s family manor.

Officers of the constable buzzed around the front yard, dressed in their formal crimson attire complete with the stiff little hats she had always found ridiculous.

One man stepped to block her path as she advanced on the gate. “Sorry, miss. No entry.”

This, she’d anticipated. “I’m Miss Bronwyn Kinsley, sister to the queen.” She held out a scroll bearing the official royal seal.

The man’s eyes widened, and he looked to another nearby, as if seeking help.

“My sister and the king are on their wedding moon, as I’m sure you well know, but surely, you recognize the seal? There’s a note from the king’s butler and chief aid within if you need further confirmation.”

A second man hurried over as the first stuttered, “This is an active investigation…”

“And let me guess, Miss Davies isn’t speaking to you regarding her brother?” Bronwyn arched a brow and attempted to remain calm despite the anxiety twisting her into knots. “I was in attendance at the opera last night and am well aware of what transpired.”

Much more so than these men, she’d guess, since they didn’t even seem to know of her involvement in Mr. Davies’s end. Either that, or they chose not to let it show. Though, given the first man seemed to show everything on his face, that was unlikely.

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