DAPHNE.
The Alpha King of the Northern Sector was wrecking havoc between my thighs, and honestly? I was about to lose my mind.
His cock dragged against my clit in this slow, torturous rhythm that had my legs shaking. He wasn't even inside me yet. Just grinding against me, slick and thick and way too good, watching my face like he was studying for some kind of test.
"Daphne." His voice came out all rough and ragged. "Look at me."
I dragged my eyes open. Big mistake.
Looking at Rovian Kaizer while he was seconds away from thrusting into me was dangerous.
This was the wolf who'd carved out the Northern territory with his bare hands. Who'd taken fractured, warring packs and unified them under his rule through sheer brutality.
Who could kill a man with a word and not lose sleep over it.
And three months ago, he'd asked me to marry him.
Me. Daphne Roe. A healer's daughter who spent most of her time up to her elbows in blood and bandages, brewing tinctures in my mother's cottage.
I still couldn't make sense of it.
We'd met during the war. The Eastern wolves tried to take Northern territory, and my pack joined forces with his because, well, you didn't say no to the Alpha King. Not if you wanted to keep breathing.
And two weeks into the war, he'd stumbled into my mother's healing tent with his ribs split open, blood everywhere, looking half-dead but somehow still standing.
I'd come to realize he was a stubborn bastard since then.
"Sit down before you fall down," I'd told him, already grabbing my needle and thread. And frustrated with all the work I'd done that day, I'd told him to shut up and let me get to work.
He'd actually listened. And then he'd smiled.
Not the cold, calculating smile I'd heard about, but a real one. The kind that made him look humane.
And while I worked on stitching him back together, trying to ignore how aware I was of his eyes on me, he'd said something to me.
I still remebered it.
"You know, I've conquered twelve territories. Faced down armies. Killed more wolves than I can count." His voice had come out in a quiet, thoughtful rasp, "But I've never seen anything as beautiful as you concentrating on keeping me alive."
I'd nearly stabbed him with the needle.
"That's the blood loss talking," I'd muttered, focusing on my work.
"No," he'd said, completely serious. "That's me realizing I'm in trouble."
I'd thought he was joking.
Flirting, maybe, because he was bored and I was there.
Men said things they didn't mean all the time, especially powerful men who were used to getting reactions.
But after the war ended, he showed up at my family's cottage.
Rovian had asked my father for permission to court me.
And my father had nearly passed out.
Then Rovian turned to me, looked me dead in the eye and told me, "I don't want to court you, actually. Courting takes time, and I've already decided. So let me be clear, Daphne Roe. I want you as my wife. My Luna. My queen. And before you think this is about politics or alliances or anything strategic—it's not. It's because I haven't been able to get you out of my head since you told me to shut up while saving my life."
That was it. No pretty words or grand gestures. Just him laying it out like he was negotiating a treaty.
I should've said no.
I should've understood that girls like me didn't marry kings. That this was insane. That I'd be swallowed whole by his world.
But I'd looked at him standing in our cramped little cottage, this powerful, terrifying male who could've had anyone, and I'd said yes.
The wedding had happened fast.
One month later, I was standing in the Northern Kingdom, in a dress that cost more than my family would see in a lifetime, and Rovian was putting a crown on my head that felt like it might break my neck.
And then I saw a side of him that absolutely floored me.
He was sweet.
Kind. Caring. Not at all like i'd expected him to be given all the stories that followed him.
He was still intense, still commanding, still the kind of wolf who could freeze a room with one look. But with me? He brought me breakfast. Asked about my healing work. Held my hand like I might disappear if he let go.
He was patient.
He complimented me too much.
And he never pushed me for sex.
It threw me completely off balance.
This male everyone feared, who'd built his reputation on being ruthless and unforgiving, touched me like I was something precious. Like I mattered more than territory or power or anything else.
And damn it, I fell for him.
Which was how I ended up here, three months later, finally ready to consummate this marriage.
Our wedding night had been tame. He'd kissed me and held me and said he'd wait as long as I needed. Tonight, I'd crawled into his lap after dinner and kissed him until he'd carried me to bed.
Now his cock was pressed right against my entrance, hot and hard and demanding, and my body was caught between panic and desperate need.
"You scared?" he asked, still doing that thing with his hips that was driving me crazy.
"No." I sounded breathless. "I trust you."
Something fierce and possessive flashed across his face.
"Good. Because I'm going to take care of you."
He pushed inside.
Slowly. So slowly I thought I might die from it. The stretch burned—he was big, too big, and my body fought the intrusion. But he didn't stop. Just kept pressing forward, inch by impossible inch, his hand gentle on my face.
"Breathe," he said, and he sounded as wrecked as I felt. "Just breathe, baby."
I tried. It didn't help much. He felt like he was splitting me in half.
But under the burn was something else. Something that made me tilt my hips up, taking him deeper despite the pain.
"Fuck, Daphne." He groaned when he was finally all the way in, his forehead pressed to mine. "You feel perfect."
We stayed like that for a moment—both of us breathing hard, adjusting. The pain started to fade, replaced by this overwhelming fullness that made me clench around him without meaning to.
He swore. "Don't do that. I'm trying to last here."
I did it again anyway.
His restraint snapped.
He pulled back and thrust in deep, and I cried out from the shock of pleasure that ripped through me. He set a wonderful pace after that, all that careful control gone, and I met him thrust for thrust, my nails digging into his shoulders.
His hand found my clit, rubbing in tight circles that made me see white.
"That's it," he growled. "Come for me."
I did. Shattered completely, crying out his name as the orgasm tore through me.
He followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a rough sound against my throat.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, both of us sweaty and breathing hard. He kissed my temple, my cheek, my lips.
"You're going to love it here," he said softly. "I promise. I'll worship you every day. You're my bride. My wife. My Luna." His thumb brushed my jaw. "And I'll cherish you forever."
I believed him.
At the time, I had no idea that King Rovian Kaizer was a really good liar.