Kastali Dun

Talon passed from one moment into the next as if in a fever dream. Perhaps he was dreaming. His queen in her gown, looking up at him with such love and adoration, filling his arms as they danced—it couldn't be real. Perhaps he was stuck in a cruel reality where everything he wanted was merely a figment of his imagination. Where any minute, he would wake to find his world empty. Lifeless. Cold.

Hadn't that been his reality before she'd come? A drab world where his days bled together, each as cruel and monotonous as the last? She'd broken that vicious cycle, sweeping in, bringing color and warmth. An explosive energy that transformed him. Even his mood swings had dwindled. Gone was his unpredictable temper, and in its place, a measure of control he'd never known.

No, a measure of peace.

"I could dance with you all night," Claire breathed, her face close to his, eyes gazing deep into the depths of his soul. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her pulse jumping in her neck.

"Oh?" His chuckle was drowned out by music and merriment surrounding them. "But then I'd never get to unwrap you from that pretty gown. Believe me, I'm already salivating over the taste of you."

"Is that what I am? A present?"

"A gift," he clarified. "One I intend to enjoy thoroughly, over and over." Her lips parted. He was enjoying this. He spun her in a circle, pulling her back to him, pulling her tight, then leaning in. Brushing his lips over the shell of her ear, he said, "I can't wait to hear all the little sounds you'll make for me, my queen."

He felt her gasp against him, pulling back with a wicked grin. He swept her around again, in a quick motion that left her wide-eyed. The music slowed and came to a stop. Everyone clapped, some dispensing to find refreshments, others reforming for the next dance.

Reyr appeared beside them, extending his hand. Talon turned and growled. "She's mine tonight."

Reyr barked a laugh, and Claire watched the two of them with sparkling eyes. "You won't even allow me a single dance, Your Grace?"

"No one touches her but me," he warned. Reyr's lips twitched with amusement. "Go tell her line of admirers to find other partners."

"Talon," Claire scolded. Another song was beginning. "It's only a dan—" Her words died in a squeal as he swept her back into his arms, all but dragging her into the next dance, a faster turn that didn't leave room for talking. She giggled.

"Everyone is going to talk about how stingy you are," she pointed out. His stomach fluttered. He loved when she spoke into his mind. He couldn't wait to share hers. He half wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out. Or better yet, a darker part of him—the place his beast lived—was ready to strip her down here and now, bend her over the nearest table.

His skin turned molten. "Gods above, woman. I'm on a short fuse."

"Then why are we still dancing?!" she demanded, stopping abruptly in the middle of the dance floor. He was forced to stop with her. Couples scattered around them. A mischievous gleam lit her eyes.

"Why indeed?" he said aloud, eyeing her, bracing himself for whatever trouble she was about to cause.

She spun towards the front of the hall and held up her hands, signaling to the minstrels. Their playing immediately ceased. Silence swept through the room like a wave, starting on the dance floor and moving out towards the perimeter, where tables sat occupied, laden with food and drink. She threw him a bold glare before addressing their audience. "It has come to my attention," she announced, "that my mate is rather impatient to get on with...things."

Rambunctious whoops broke the silence.

He swore under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his scared face, over the familiar lines. The crowd looked at her—only her. It was a beautiful thing, to bask in her shadow. After centuries of unwanted attention, she was taking it from him. And gods above, but it was a relief. There were days he almost forgot what he looked like, days she made him forget, days he hated himself less.

"What do you think?" she cried. "Is it time to seal our bond? Should I put our king out of his misery?"

Her words were met with pounding feet and bawdy cries. He didn't see a single face in the giant hall—only hers—because he couldn't look anywhere but her. She smiled, eyes darting over her rapt audience. She was enjoying this—enjoying the attention. Gods, she was a natural.

He took a step towards her, as if pulled by an invisible force. Then another, and another, until his boots brushed the edges of her skirts. "You vexing woman," he growled under his breath, loud enough for only her.

She spun to face him, face bright and open, satisfied. "There you have it, Talon, our subjects have spoken."

He reached for her. There was a brief flash of delighted surprise as he scooped her up, an arm going under her knees as the other surrounded her shoulders. Like lifting a giant, black cloud; her gown puffed around them, making her almost impossible to carry. But he'd be damed if he let that stop him.

"Very well," he called to the crowd, lifting his chin, daring them to argue otherwise. "I have a queen to bed."

Raucous cheers met his declaration, more bawdy innuendos, some of which he recognized from his own Shields. Claire giggled in his arms, throwing her own around his neck, before she said against his ear, sending shivers down his spine, "Take me to bed, my fierce Drengr king. I'm ready to forget my own name."

Liquid dragonfire exploded in his center. All the heat slid down and pooled in one place. Her gown hid the front of his pants from view. He spared a final glance for his Shields, standing together, faces glowing with satisfaction—satisfaction for their king and queen—before he swept from the hall.

Claire nuzzled her face against his neck, then laid kisses along his skin, kisses that drove him wild with need. "I feel like a treasure you've discovered in the wilds. Now you're taking me back to your secret trove, to do debauched, naughty things to me. You are, aren't you? Going to do naughty things to me?" He growled, growing harder by the moment. Civilized thoughts morphed into beastly incoherence. Something deep inside him, an instinct as old as an age, opened its maw, breathing flame, bathing him in it.

"Vexing woman," he muttered again, completely lost in her.

He could barely put one foot in front of the other, so close to taking his queen right here in the corridor. She deserved better—at least for their first time. He couldn't promise anything for their future, couldn't promise to suppress his urges, regardless of their whereabouts. But for now, he carried her to their tower.

It was empty, the guards and staff long gone. He wouldn't stand for eavesdroppers tonight. He wanted every bit of her to himself—wouldn't share the sounds she made with anyone else.

Greedy. He was so godsdamned greedy.

He exhaled his relief when they were safely tucked within his tower, when he set her on her feet and stepped back to look upon her. As it had that first moment, the sight of her nearly knocked him off his feet. A heavy silence descended, amplifying the severity of the moment. All their teasing and joking faded away, peeled back like fruit rinds to reveal the delicacy within. He paced around her, looking at her, muscles straining beneath his clothing.

His control was close, so close to snapping, but he wouldn't give in. Not yet. He would take his time, savor her.

"Talon," she whispered. A question.

"I'm going to peel you out of that dress," he managed, keeping his voice low, circling her like a caged beast with dripping fangs. "I'm going to peel you out of it, then lick every measure of your skin, until you're covered in my scent. I'm going to taste you, devour you, claim you, and I will not hold back." A warning. She needed to know what would happen. A shiver raced through her, a subtle tremble, until her hands balled into fists. "Tell me now, one final time, Claire. Is this what you want? Am I what you want?"

Gods, please don't let her change her mind, he couldn't help but beg. Once he—they—did this, there was no going back. Every day of his existence had brought him to this, right here.

He stopped in front of her, in time to see her chin rise. "I have never wanted anything so badly in all my life." Those words made his knees weak. He braced his legs, tightening his muscles to keep from falling at her feet. But...hadn't he already fallen at her feet, in more ways than one?

He looked down at her gown, at the fire-breathing dragon that was his symbol. Everything she wore was a message of who she was and what she was to him. Did she realize how bold those unspoken words were? The declaration she made?

Suddenly, he needed to know—was desperate to know—what she thought of it.

"Tell me of your gown," he managed, voice rough, as he reached forward and trailed his fingers over the dragon's head, over the beaded scales.

She regarded him a moment, then said, "The cape symbolizes what I am, my bloodline, both Spriten and Drengr. The abundance of markings down the back symbolizes my power, the magic I have conquered. The scales—your scales—encasing my neck, are to protect my throat, as you will always protect me when I have need of it."

His chest expanded. He didn't miss her wording. When I have need of it. Because she had proven time and again that she could take care of herself. She didn't need a cage. She needed his support, needed him when she needed him, and didn't need him when she could manage on her own.

He wanted to see her spread her wings and fly. He would never keep them pinned. Never hamper the glow with which she was meant to shine.

"The gown symbolizes you," she continued, "your fire, your flame, transforming me into your queen. Dragonfire hot enough to melt away everything I was before, so that I may rise from the ashes more powerful than ever. The color black, obviously, because it is tradition to match your scales." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, thoughtful.

"And the dragon scale cuffs on your wrists?" He'd never seen such a thing worn. But he knew they weren't meaningless pieces of jewelry.

She lifted her hands, rotating them, eyes tracing the wide cuffs encasing her delicate bones. Then she looked up at him. "I do not belong to myself anymore, but to you, to my people—our people. These symbolize my submission—" Her throat bobbed. "My submission to you, Talon."

Pride, hot and fierce, blew through him.

"Claire..." he breathed, sinking to his knees before her. He had never kneeled for anyone, never planned to, but here he was doing exactly that. For this woman, and this woman alone. "It is I who submit to you, my queen. I never wish for you to feel anything less than my equal. In all matters of ruling, in all matters of matehood, you are mine, to stand beside me, and I am yours. You do not submit to me." Her eyes widened slightly, darting between his. Had she truly believe she would be inferior to him? That she would sit in his shadow, bend to him when he required it? That he would allow her to?

"I will never force your submission." A small smile tugged at his lips. "Except in the bedroom, in which case, I expect you fully at my mercy."

She sucked in a breath, then reached out and removed his crown. There was fire in her eyes, as she tossed it away. He listened to it thud on the rug. She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up. Then her hand became a fist, clenching his locks, sending a small measure of pain shooting over his scalp—delicious pain that made him shiver with draconic delight. She moved his head, to angle his face upwards, so that she could look upon him.

He'd never felt so vulnerable, on his knees, his facial scars on full display to a woman who looked like a goddess. A woman who had the power to lift him up or break him. Perhaps both. She could shatter him into a thousand pieces and he'd let her.

Hot coals stoked between them. He'd never been in such a position, submissive. Had never given a female power over him. His conquests—though they had been centuries ago—had always been on his terms. There was something so freeing, putting himself at her mercy.

Her fingers relaxed, then fell away. "Rise, my king." Her mouth smugly twitched. "For if we are equals, then the only time I want you on your knees is when you're between my legs."

He blinked, momentarily stunned, then stood and leaned in close. "I will gladly worship on my knees whenever my queen desires."

The green of her irises were swallowed up by her pupils, blowing wide. His throat bobbed, thickening until it was almost impossible to swallow. He lifted a hand, hesitant at first, to unclasp the collar about her neck. His fingers trembled as he undid the fastening and watched the cape fall away. Her neck was bared to him, her shoulders exposed. He exhaled, his breath rough. She watched him, those green eyes all but making him squirm with nerves and a desperate need to bury himself inside her, to crawl into her skin and make a home within the temple of her body. He was ready to rip out his own heart, to hand it over, to bury it in her chest beside her own.

She held perfectly still as his fingers traced down the front of her shoulder, to her heaving chest. "So soft," he murmured, eyes darting between his fingers and her face.

"That's not the only place I'm soft."

He groaned, because he knew. So he leaned in and tasted the divot at the base of her neck, then flattened his tongue and licked up the column of her throat. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, followed by a flush that crept over her skin, following the trail he made. He hadn't been lying, when he'd said he wanted to lick every measure of her.

She lifted her chin, better exposing herself. If only she knew how unhinging that gesture was. Letting his teeth elongate, only his teeth, keeping the rest of his dragon suppressed, he opened his mouth and snatched her throat in his jaws. Gentle, so, so gentle. For an enemy, all he need do was bite down, and he'd rip their entire throat out. The points of his sharpened teeth pressed into her delicate skin. A soft moan fell from her lips. He pressed harder, but not hard enough to break the skin, only hard enough to show her who he'd be in their bed—what he would be.

Her knees buckled. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, keeping her up. Gods, she was so perfect against him. Even in her gown, she fit his every curve, soft against his hard body.

His teeth shrank and he pulled his mouth away, to find her panting and flushed.

He helped her find her feet, then walked around behind her and began slowly, achingly slowly, unfastening each button along her back. More and more of her skin revealed itself. Beautiful swirls of Spriten luminescence. "I want to trace every one of these with my tongue," he murmured, then leaned in and followed the pattern of a particularly beautiful marking. She shivered beneath the touch of his mouth.

After the last button, her gown rustled to the ground in a heap. She stood in the center of it, entirely naked. He'd seen her body before but he would never get enough. The sight of her smooth skin, now lined with markings, was a beautiful work of art.

He walked around her, held out a hand, eyes dipping to her bared breasts, then lower. His pants grew unbearably tight, painfully so. When his gaze lifted, a knowing gleam lit her eyes. She slipped her hand into his, so much smaller, and stepped forward over the heap of fabric. He couldn't wait another moment to feel her against him, to taste her. When he kissed her, he lifted her, pressing their bodies together, only to growl at the barrier between them, at the fabric of his clothing that separated them.

"I get to undress you now," she murmured against his lips, pulling away from his mouth as he set her down. "Hold still."

He huffed, but complied.

She reached for his belt first. It had been ceremonial. He'd forgone his bandolier and daggers for today's occasion. She let the leather and sheathed Sverak drop to the floor. His breathing grew heavier, made all the worse by the sight of her body. She dropped to her knees and fussed with his boots. He managed to keep his balance as he lifted each foot, allowing her to slip off one, then the other.

The sight of her there, on her knees...

"I have made a grave error," he rasped. She came to her feet.

"Oh?" She arched a perfect blonde eyebrow, mischief dancing in her gaze. She reached for his tunic, loosening the ties down the sides, then taking the hem. His arms lifted and she slipped the silken brocade fabric over his head.

"I should have addressed my attire first, before undressing you."

She pouted, reaching for the ties of his pants, then hesitating. "Poor beast. Now you must wait while I parade around naked. It must be absolute torture." She began untying his pants, so slowly, he was forced to suppress a groan. "Don't you like the sight of me?" she added. As she said it, she pressed her biceps inward against her breasts, making them perk up while keeping her fingers in motion. He all but lost it.

"Gods above." He couldn't stop staring. He nearly bent forward and took a dusty rose nipple between his lips. Already, his mouth was salivating.

She pulled his pants open and he could have wept with relief as he sprang free. He lifted his hands, to hasten the process, to remove the damned pants. She froze, then tsked. "Ah, ah, ah, my king. It is only fair that I do this for you. Now, hold still."

His warning growl was enough to scare away even the bravest. She merely paid him a mock scolding glare. "You really think that will work on me?"

"Careful, my queen."

"Or what?" She slid his pants down, and he felt the brush of fabric over his skin, making every nerve ending in his body come alive. She crouched so that he could step free, then stood.

"Or this." He lunged, scooping her up by her full hips, forcing her legs to circle his waist. The feel of her wrapped around him, their hips nestled together, cemented itself in his memory forever. He was across the room, her back pressed against the wall, before she could suck in a full breath. He took her delicate wrists and pinned her arms above her head. Her back arched into him, nipples rubbing against his chest.

Devine—it felt so godsdamed devine, the friction of her skin against his.

He groaned. Looking at the sight of her, the way she responded to him. He couldn't help but lean back, keeping her hips firmly pressed with his, to see where their bodies met, to see the length of him pressed between them.

Her breathy laugh tightened every muscle in his body. "Am I your prisoner, Talon?"

He expelled a ragged breath. "You are mine—is what you are. At my mercy, to do with as I please."

She jerked her hips, the friction sending shivers shooting down his legs. The movement was a taunt to end all taunts, effectively silencing their words. The heat of her core against him snapped his lingering vestiges of control. His carefully laid plans fractured. They scattered, leaving behind single minded need. There would be no more gentle caresses.

He claimed her mouth, sliding his tongue between the seam of her lips, probing her with the same rhythm now taken up by his hips, by the relentless rocking he needed to create such delicious friction between them. She met his movements, squirming against him. He found her jaw, laying kisses along it until he reached her ear. He traced the lobe of it with his tongue, listened to the little mewing sounds she made as he ground against her.

"Talon, please," she whispered as he nipped the tip of her earlobe. Her plea was a drug, one he was desperate for. He felt her words all the way to his center. The way his name rolled off her tongue made his abdomen tighten.

He dropped her wrists and gripped her hips, wrapping his fingers beneath her. "If I were a gentlemen, I would lay you across the bed, bury my face between your thighs. I'd take my time, finishing you on my tongue first before—"

"But you're not a gentlemen!" she cried, impatience riding her voice. "You're a beast. Start acting like one. Don't make me wait a moment longer."

He snarled, unhinged.

She reached between them. He gave her the space, holding tight to her hips. Her fingers wrapped around him, and gods, the feel of her warm hand on him drove him into a frenzy. Scales began rippling along his skin, desperate to break free, the thing within him writhing like a caged beast. A cry escaped his lips, betraying his delight. He forced his dragon into submission.

She guided the hardness of him against her, placing him at her entrance, then she wrapped her hands around his neck. His body acted on instinct. Locking his gaze with hers, he offered up a silent question. She gave a brief, desperate nod, her eyes glassed over with lust. It was all he could give, that single, brief question, before he was sinking into her, sinking into oblivion. His hips rolled, the movements gentle at first, working himself in, little by little, until he was entirely sheathed. Then he froze—they froze, staring at one another.

For the span of a single breath, every thought in his mind wiped clean. He wasn't a king. He wasn't a Drengr. He certainly wasn't a scarred, broken creature. He was only this, flesh and blood, desire and yearning, hunger and need.

And she was the only thing that would save him.

His thoughts returned, and with them, the desperate need to move. He rocked his hips, claiming her, letting the sounds from her lips guide him. Her chest heaved against him, hips bucking, matching him stroke for stroke.

"You are so very precious to me," he breathed, all but trembling inside her. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"Talon," she begged, desperation edging her voice. "More. I need...more!"

He groaned, abandoning the tethers between them, setting a relentless pace, until their voices and breaths mingled. Until he wasn't sure where he ended and she began. Her body tightened around him, the blunt ends of her nails digging into his shoulders. His own fingers pressed into her soft hips, as if he could hold on to her very soul within the grasp of his hands.

Everything in him tightened, coiled and ready to spring. He caught her mouth again, teeth and tongues clashing. He wasn't gentle.

Light, beautiful light, filled his vision. Her markings glowed until she shone like a star. She brightened as his body slipped into that place on the brink—at the edge of pleasure and pain. "You're perfect," she breathed. "Exactly as you are, Talon. You're perfect."

Shivers raced over his skin.

He hadn't realized how badly he needed to hear those words. Release blasted through him, and then through her as she clenched herself around him. Her light exploded, blinding him as he uttered her name, crying out as if she were the only divinity he would ever need.

His mind expanded, swelling. A sudden barrage of heightened emotions slammed against his thoughts, almost sweeping him off his feet. He tightened his hold on her and slowed his movements, claiming every last bit of pleasure, riding it out, giving exactly what she needed. They came down together, breaths staggered, eyes locked, thoughts flowing freely between them.

The sight of her, undone before him would haunt him for the rest of his days. Her eyes widened. She sucked in a breath that made him twitch inside her. He groaned, still overly sensitive to her every touch. "You...we...it worked!" Her elated words mingled with her thoughts—thoughts that now belonged to him.

"Of course it worked, mih cralla."

"My heart," she translated. A soft, tender smile spread across his lips, all but breaking his chest wide open. "We can converse in Ednuar now."

"We can."

"Good. That's...good." He heard her relief—felt it, too. "We are one now, mih cralla," she said, turning the endearment back around on him. "Never again will you walk this world alone. I will walk it beside you, and cherish every moment for the rest of our lives."

Her declaration made his throat ache. He swallowed. This woman was his undoing.

He shifted, sliding free of her, but only so long as it took him to carry her to their bed. "You will never be rid of me now, mih barihon. Rihal." Never.

Her only answer was a squeal as he surged over her, ravaging her with his mouth and teeth, until she was squirming beneath him with need. They sank into each other over and over, just as he'd promised. Until every need was known and realized and every moment was joined with both mind and body. Forevermore. 

⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐

Happy Friday Bookdragons!

Gahhhh I can hardly put into words my abject terror before writing this chapter. I was scared for the previous chapter but utterly terrified for this one. It's been sitting like a giant mountain in my path to completion. I wasn't sure I'd be able to climb it, but...here we are.

Admittedly, I had to send this chapter to Books4_ever just to get a second opinion, which I don't normally do, but I was soooo nervous. I had so many unanswered questions swimming in my mind, like, was it too much, or not enough? Was it appropriate for YA audiences? Did it convey a sense of depth and change between Claire and Talon? Was it a special enough moment to live up to expectations?? All of these questions and more, I struggled with.

I had to comb many YA sex scenes in traditionally published novels to make sure that I wasn't being too descriptive, and in the end, used Sarah J Maas's Throne of Glass sex scene (between Rowan and Aelin) as a guiding factor in how "appropriate" I was required to be for something of a YA audience. After all, her series is one of the best selling fantasy series in all of YA and beyond.

I am certain that for some, it will still be "too much" and for others "not enough" but alas, I cannot please everyone so I went with my gut. You all know I'm a hopeless romantic, and while I write this series for my readers, I first and foremost write it for myself. I try to be unapologetic in my writing because I'm the one who has spent hundreds of hours working on it.

Okay, moving on! I warned you last week to enjoy the calm before the storm while it lasts. Next week's chapter is from Captain Bennett's POV. Take a deep breath and brace yourselves. We're now entering the final sequence of the story.

See you next week!

-Mel