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Chapter 25
As dusk settled over the Shadow Court, Seraphine walked barefoot across the cool cobblestones, her gossamer dress fluttering in the evening breeze,
faintly tracing the contours of her slender, graceful figure.
Alistair was in his study, grinding ink, the fragrance of ink mixing with the subtle scent of sandalwood that filled the room. He suddenly felt a sweet, intoxicating presence draw near.
Seraphine straddled his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingertips absentmindedly toying with the tips of his fallen hair.
“Alistair,” she began, her voice purposefully lingering as her warm breath brushed against his ear, “which do you hope our child will resemble more
you or me?”
Alistair’s hand, holding the brush, trembled slightly. The ink spread on the rice paper, blurring into a dark pool.
His throat tightened, and with difficulty, he said, “Fina, stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing.”
Seraphine tilted her head, her crimson lips nearly brushing his.
“Look at those twin flowers in the courtyard, blooming so beautifully,” she continued, her hand trailing down his tunic and lightly tracing circles over his chest. “We should have our own…‘
“I
Before she could finish, Alistair gripped her wrist, his breathing growing heavier.
“I told you, it is too dangerous.‘
“But I’m not afraid.”
Seraphine slipped free from his
her
fingers nimbly undoing the fastenings on his tunic.
“I want a child.” Her lips pressed against the golden patterns on his collarbone, bearing the unique warmth of her healer’s bloodline. “Look, the marks are fading, we will be safe.”
A low, hoarse sigh escaped Alistair’s throat, and he could no longer resist her persistence.
He took control, pushing her against the writing desk. The was knocked over, spilling ink across her white dress, leaving dark stains that spread
like a shadow.
He bit her earlobe, his voice rough with desire, “If we conceive,” he murmured against her throat, “no more recklessness.”
“Then let me be reckless now.”
Seraphine wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, her tongue skillfully coaxing hi
lips apart.
of silk.
carpet
Their breaths mingled, growing hotter, clothes scattered across the ficor, forming a disordered The moonlight crept slowly up the windowpane, spilling through the half–open shutters, casting its glow upon their entwined forms.
A night of passion passed, and the first light of dawn arrived before they even noticed.
She shook her head, resting against his shoulder. “I feel like this is all a dream.”
The bloodshed and violence of the past seemed distant now.
Now, she had a husband, a home.
Alistair kissed the top of her head. “It’s not a dream.”
The years stretched ahead, sweet and serene.
