Jaeros would probably cry while cooking up some ridiculously extravagant meal while Dedryn verbally assaulted her for information about her years on Aleron. Information he, himself, was eager to know as well.

And when they finally disappeared for the night, he’d take her back to his room and cover her in his scent. His body, his clothes, his bed. He’d fucking smother her in it.

Veralie’s head whipped toward him, so fast he was surprised she didn’t break her neck. He bit his tongue, fighting the sudden urge to laugh.

“Problem?”

She threw her arms out, motioning around them. “Do you plan on doing anything helpful, or am I going to do it all while you stand there daydreaming?”

He tipped his head, trailing his eyes up her body. “If you’d prefer I do the things I’m daydreaming about, all you have to do is ask, little star.”

Her nostrils flared, and she spun away, mumbling something about ridiculous males as she stomped to the other side of the deck. His pulse picked up as he watched her, delighting in how responsive she was to his own arousal.

She may be apprehensive about their bond and the depth of their connection, but she couldn’t fight it any more than he could. They were in tune—two pieces of a whole. And after the sleepless night he had planned for them in Naris, they’d be interwoven forever.

He hummed to himself, watching her lithe body flex and stretch as she worked. How long would he be able to hide her away, to touch and taste at his leisure, before someone inevitably came looking for her?

King Vesstan would obviously want time to get to know the daughter he mourned, but how much? And what would the king say about their mating bond? No queen before Veralie had ever been mated, including her parents. Royal pairings had always been based on their political and offspring potential.

Jaren would gladly see her womb swell with their child if she desired, but he had nothing to offer her through his name. Mating bonds were respected above all others, but given how thoroughly he’d failed at protecting her all those years ago, he wasn’t sure how King Vesstan was going to see it.

The unknown of it all caused a dark stir in Jaren’s chest. No matter what his standing was, what her name was, she was his. King Vesstan could spend all the time with her he wanted, but king or not, if he so much as tried to separate them, they were going to have a big fucking problem.

He'd never actually met him face to face, even with all the times he’d traveled to Aleron under Vesstan’s orders, but he’d overheard enough conversations between his fathers over the years to know the king had a thing for control.

Considering what happened to his wife and daughter during the rebellion, Jaren didn’t blame him, but he still couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do when he realized his daughter didn’t respond well to that sort of thing.