Page 42 of The War Queen's Daughter

“Here,” he says. “I thought so. ‘Fabled as a last gift of the dragon kind who made them, the kinspark kindles between those drakonkin whose souls were mated when the dragons still lived.’” He wrinkles his nose with a little laugh. “It’s just a legend, if a romantic one.”

“What does it mean?” I should be arguing that it’s impossible, that Zenthris made it up. Instead, I listen as Atlas explains further in his warm, kind voice.

“The legend says that the men we know as drakonkin were made, not just by dragons, but from them. The first of their kind were formed from the living souls of the last of dragonkind.” Heshrugs, turning his head so his lips touch my temple when he speaks again, his words spoken into my skin. “By magic, no less.”

I stare down at the spidery script that covers the parchment pages of his book, but I can’t read them. Not because I’m illiterate, not at all. But because tears swim in my eyes suddenly, one fat one landing on the page and spreading out the ink as it splashes.

He turns me to face him while I weep, though I’m shaking my head as he hugs me.

“What did I say?” He’s as confused as I am.

“Nothing,” I tell him, voice trembling. What is wrong with me? “It’s been a long night.”

“A long stretch of days,” he says, stroking my hair, then rubbing my back.

I sigh deeply and push away, wiping my face with the palms of both hands. “I haven’t cried since I was a child.” Tears were not allowed in Jhanette’s court.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Atlas says. “There’s something very satisfying about a good cry.”

I laugh and hug him around the neck, and this time his embrace in return is instant. “Silly,” I whisper.

“I thought I was an idiot,” he protests softly. “Why the downgrade?”

I snort, and he chuckles. It’s the most natural thing in the world to kiss him.

This time, he kisses me back without hesitation.

I’m led to be gentle, soft. There’s no need left, not like the craving for Zenthris. This kiss is just as heated, though, if in a different way, and before I understand the shift, Atlas lifts me into his lap.

We kiss for a long time, languid and exploratory. He tastes delicious. I sigh into his lungs, and he breathes the air I give him, hands as slow as his mouth.

When his lips travel to my neck, I close my eyes and melt, humming with pleasure that has no hurry to it, no desperation. This divinity carries me on a slow wave that I ride happily.

It’s Atlas who parts my legs and has me straddle him where he sits. And Atlas, who bends me back over his desk, guiding himself inside me after his exploring fingers find me wet and ready for him.

It’s his blue eyes above me, holding my gaze, lips parted, whispering my name that I wonder over as he again triggers that deep, aching longing. But his pace builds us both at the same rate and when I inhale, his fingers stroking softly over my clit at his moment of orgasm, I’m breathing his name, too.

Chapter 22

Atlas nuzzles my neck, lips soft over my pulse, before he kisses me with that slow, deep care he’s taken with this entire lovemaking.

I’m not used to being adored, the way he looks at me as he traces his fingers over me, between my breasts, across my jaw, as his other forearm cradles my head under him.

“Remalla,” he says.

“Atlas,” I laugh.

He chuckles and sighs before kissing my throat, pulling away with regret. I stretch, the book beneath my back suddenly uncomfortable.

I don’t need his help, but I accept it as he eases me upright, seating me in his lap again while I lay my head on his shoulder, arms draped around his neck.

“If I did ask you,” he says.

“Don’t.” I’m on the verge of tears again. Why is this happening to me?

“But if I have to choose, it’s you. Of course, it’s you.” Atlas sounds sad even as he hugs me gently.

“You’re right to resist.” I sit up, cupping his face in my hands. Maybe it’s foolish, maybe I’ll regret it. But I believe it, more than I ever have. “They’ll want me to control you.”

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