“He stole something that wasn’t his to take, and now, the last thing he’ll see before he dies is my wife returning herself to the male of whom she truly belongs to. So kiss me, Bloom, lovely and soft just like you enjoy.”

Horrified and without breath in my lungs, I choked. “I can’t…”

The hammer rose. Another nail stood poised. This time above Scythe’s hand.

“There was a time when you’d barely let my lips leave yours.” Rorn turned my head back to him and whispered to my cheek, “You break my heart more as each day passes. Fix it, Astrantia. Help me fix us and fucking kiss me.”

The chains rattled. “Don’t you dare,” Scythe seethed. “I’d rather he take my other eye than—” His words fell into a low groan.

Sickened, I turned away from Rorn’s advancing mouth.

Scythe was smiling. My wolf was smiling as the guard frowned and backed away. “Piece of cake in comparison, wildflower.”

But he couldn’t continue like this. Eventually, his hands would be destroyed. Perhaps past the point of being healed.

And then he would die.

I closed my eyes, trying to think of a way out of this madness when I could scarcely think at all.

Opening them, I looked up at Rorn. “Promise me you won’t kill him.” My chest heaved, and Rorn’s eyes dropped to my breasts, which were almost exposed courtesy of my robe opening. “Promise me, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Rorn opened my knees and stepped between them, scenting what had happened mere hours ago in the paint parlor before dawn. His nostrils and eyes flared, his grip on my thighs turned bruising. But I clasped his face and brought it close to mine.

Scythe growled, “Aster.”

Rorn’s ire slipped but still remained. I trapped his gaze with mine. My thumbs brushed over his sharp cheeks, my smile real when I recalled caressing them with my lips after the first time we’d made love.

I’d thought him a dream.

One I never would have believed would become nothing more than a nightmare.

His breath hitched. His eyes closed as I pressed my lips to each corner of his. It was all I could do not to flinch when the table rocked violently with Scythe’s fury.

Rorn groaned and clutched me tight at my thigh and the back of my head as I encountered the soft ruin of his mouth with mine, and I kissed him in earnest.

Then he cried out when my knee encountered his hard groin.

Guilt ensnared me, softening my angered words. “Stop acting like an infant who’s had his toy stolen.” Rorn stumbled back and fell, his legs cinched and agony reddening his face, and I hurried to free Scythe.

He’d already freed himself.

The guard tore his eyes from his king, realizing too late.