His mouth was quick to cover hers, silencing any protest, tongue tangling with hers.
“I’m going nowhere, Wife.”
He shifted her until her back met the sheets, and he settled between her thighs. His hands were deft, purposeful, wedging a pillow beneath her right hip, lifting her, supporting the old injury without a word. Her throat tightened. He always knew.
Guiding himself back to her slick entrance, he pushed in, this time facing her. The fullness was different—deeper, more exposing. She could see his face, feel the tremor in his arms as he braced himself above her. And he could see hers. All of it. The birthmark, the tears, the wanting she’d stopped trying to hide.
He covered her completely, his chest a hot, solid wall above her, blotting out the world. In the shelter of his larger body, her own seemed to dissolve, leaving only the profound sensation of being safe, claimed, and utterly cherished. His mouth was at her neck, his breath ragged against her damp skin. His rhythm never faltered. A relentless, driving pace bordering on desperation.
Then his teeth found the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Not gentle —deliberate, building pressure until it pierced the skin. A bright, stunning flash of pain.
She cried out, body tensing beneath his.
But in the next heartbeat, the pain gave way to clarity—as if his teeth had sliced through every doubt and barrier she had ever built. What flooded in was an absolute knowing: this was a vow, a seal. She felt the totality of him—his protectiveness, his pride, his love—offered not in words, but in sensation.
He was binding himself to her, and she to him.
As his teeth released her, the sensation dimmed, leaving behind a throbbing, warm ache. But the knowing remained, settling into her bones like a fundamental truth. He was a part of her now, in a way that would forever be felt.
He didn’t need to say the word. She felt it resonate in the new space between them.
Mine.
Her entire being answered back.
Yours.
CHAPTER 74
JINGYI
The first sensation upon waking was the weight of his arm across her waist—a warm, possessive anchor in the dim light of dawn. JingYi opened her eyes to the familiar painted ceiling of Magnolia Palace. For a moment, the peace was absolute. Then memory returned, with the steady, solid presence of the man wrapped around her.
Alexander. His breath was a soft rhythm against her hair. The small ache on her shoulder where his teeth had marked her was a visceral reminder.
She shifted, and his arm flexed. A low, sleep-rough sound rumbled in his chest. He was instantly awake—a soldier’s habit she was coming to know.
“You’re up,” he murmured into her hair.
Her lips curved as she patted his arm. “So are you.”
Silence stretched, filled only by their syncing breaths. She should rise. The palace would soon stir. But in this cocoon of early light, she couldn’t bring herself to let go.
He pressed his forehead to the crown of her head. “Stay a while,” he whispered. She heard the tremor in his plea—still afraid, still half-convinced she would vanish if he blinked.
She turned in his arms. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb grazing her birthmark with a tenderness that made her chest ache. The mark he had once failed to see, now touched as if it were holy.
“I thought . . . I might never know this,” she breathed. “Not like this.”
His brow lowered to hers. “And I thought I would never be given the chance.”
His lips brushed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—kisses like vows, sealing promises neither crown nor court could take.
“What if I had refused you?” she asked softly. “What if I’d gone a different way?”
His breath stilled. She felt his body go taut before he propped himself on an elbow. His eyes, blue as a summer sky, met hers.
“I would have returned to Parandor,” he admitted. “My people still need me. I cannot forsake them.” His voice roughened. “But I would not have stopped. I would have written to you. Letters. Pleas. I would have crossed the sea to stand before you, hoping to change your mind, even if it took years.”