Chapter 232

Emeriel was led to the grand king's study, where her presence was formally announced. "Come in," came the deep voice from inside.

Emeriel entered, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she braced herself before turning, her eyes settling on him. A shiver of awareness spread through her, like frost on a windowpane. Her traitorous body reacted instantly, sending a clear message: Hey look, it's our sexy-as-hell beloved. Needless to say, her nerves were in disarray.

Her legs wanted to move toward him. Her hand itched to touch his neatly styled black hair, then trail over the white strands. Her lips longed to brush against his, under the guise of an accident. Her tongue wished to explore his mouth. And her behind shamelessly wanted to sit on those strong thighs again. Yes, she was pathetically smitten. Even "bad bad" didn't begin to describe how intensely she felt for this man.

"You summoned me, Your Grace," she said, her voice surprisingly strong, considering every other part of her quaked.

"I did," he replied, offering a tired smile. "How do you fare, prettiest beloved?"

No one had yet answered her unspoken question: What alternate universe did I fall into? Not that Emeriel planned to stop asking until she received a reasonable answer.

"Marvelous, Your Majesty," she said coolly. "To what do I owe this summons?"

"I hear you're quite skilled with numbers," he gestured towards a high stack of scrolls on his desk. "I was hoping you could assist me. There's so much to catch up on after such a long break... heavens, I could use the help."

He was asking her for help? Wanted to work with her? Emeriel absolutely hated the way her heart somersaulted. Nor did she appreciate how her eyes noted every trace of exhaustion on his striking face, every line of fatigue.

"But surely there are others who could assist you?" Her heroic neutrality amazed her. "I don't think you need me for this."

Sadness flashed in his eyes—not the new kind he offered whenever she refused him, but the old kind, rarely seen since her return, but his constant companion two years ago.

"My late bondmate used to help when the workload became too much," he admitted quietly. "Or my first son." A small smile touched his lips. "You could never get my youngest to sit still for this sort of work."

It took considerable effort to keep her legs rooted to the spot. They desperately wanted to close the distance between them. Her instincts, like her traitorous body, were her greatest enemy.

"Alvin would sit with a quill for one minute," his gaze turned distant, "and the next, he'd be in his chambers, napping." King Daemonikai's eyes refocused. "So, Princess Emeriel," he said gently, "do you think you could help me get some of this work done?"

He was letting her in. First, he spoke of his loss—the same loss he'd once called too painful to discuss. Now, he invited her to share his burden, to work alongside him.

Emeriel's racing heart soared. The need to soothe him clawed at her, leaving angry marks all over her skin. With a deep breath, she surrendered. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, eating up the space between them, pulling her to him.

She found herself standing behind his desk, and he swiveled to face her. Emeriel spread her arms, whispering, "May I?"

"Please."

Stepping between his legs, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling his head against her bosom. "It would be my pleasure to help, Your Grace," she murmured, stroking his hair with the gentlest touch.

The pain in Grand King Daemonikai's chest softened as Emeriel held him close. His cheek rested against her, her hand moving in a calming rhythm over his head.

Never did he imagine a day would come when he would willingly revisit those memories. The pain of remembering was too great; ever since recovering from his feral state, Daemonikai had spent years suppressing those memories.

But if he wanted Emeriel to give them a chance, he needed to do the same…no matter how much it hurt. The guilt no longer held sway over his heart, but every now and then, the grief returned. Now, though, instead of drowning in despair, he allowed the emotions to flow through him, acknowledging their presence without letting them consume him.

Perhaps one day, I will go to the hills and roar to the sky. Perhaps one day, I will be able to speak of them without feeling like I'm burning from the inside out. But for now, he was content to be held, comforted, right here, in her arms.

Her presence alone made everything almost bearable. Her scent, her touch, the sound of her steady breath—all of it eased the ache in his soul.

"You have the most beautiful hair, Your Grace," she murmured, threading her fingers gently through his locks.

He inhaled deeply, hungrily filling his lungs with her scent—lemongrass after rain. A low groan escaped him, its ambrosia seeping into his senses.

"You smell incredible," he purred. "I have missed this." Her fingers continued to caress his face, drifting down to trace along his neck. Featherlight, yet sparks flew through him.

Mine. She's mine.

Daemonikai's arms tightened possessively around her waist, pulling her closer.