The morning sun filtered through the heavy charcoal velvet curtains of the Royal Bedchamber, casting a warm, golden haze over the wreckage of the night before.
Kaia woke to the sensation of absolute, unshakeable safety.
She was pinned to the mattress by Aeron's heavy, muscular arm, his face buried in the crook of her neck. The scent of wintergreen, dark tobacco, and the lingering, musky evidence of their victory filled the air. On the nightstand, resting innocuously next to a crystal water pitcher, was the Valdamar stiletto she had worn strapped to her thigh.
She traced the silver pommel of the blade with her eyes, a slow, triumphant smile curving her lips.
They had done it. The South had surrendered. Valerius was neutered. And she was lying in the Crown Prince's bed, not as a secret, but as his undeniable Queen.
