(Trigger warning: This Chapter contains explicit content and is suitable for mature readers.)

Elara’s POV

I answered the communication stone before the vibrations faded.

"Ela." Kaelen’s voice poured through, low and warm. "Where are you?"

"Just leaving the upper corridor." I turned away from Sylvia and walked toward the enchanted lift. "Why?"

"Come downstairs. I’m at the main entrance."

I glanced back. Sylvia stood in the doorway of what used to be my office, her posture immaculate, her smile a perfect porcelain mask.

"Have a lovely evening, Elara," she called after me. Sweet as poisoned honey.

I didn’t respond. I stepped into the enchanted lift and let the platform carry me down. My reflection caught in the polished brass doors—wrinkled cardigan, tired eyes, hair escaping its ponytail. I tried to smooth the worst of it. Gave up.

The doors opened to the ground floor. Evening air swept through the vaulted entrance hall, carrying the scent of rain-washed stone and something else. Something warm and sharp. Cologne. His cologne.

Kaelen was waiting near the palace entrance, driving his royal carriage. The palace lamps threw gold across his jaw. He wore dark trousers that hugged his thighs and a fitted gray wool sweater that pulled across his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry. No court tunic. No imperial insignia. Just him.

He looked unfairly, devastatingly handsome.

His gold eyes tracked me as I descended the steps. They moved slowly—face, throat, body, legs—then back up again. When they reached my eyes, his mouth curved.

"Beautiful," he said.

I laughed. A real, exhausted laugh. "I have dust on my clothes and I’ve been sitting in a closet. I look like a complete mess."

"Beautiful," he repeated, catching my hand and pulling me closer. His thumb swept across my knuckles. "I only say that to dates I’m planning to take to bed, so take it as a compliment." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Heat flooded my cheeks. "That’s your strategy? Flattery and honesty?"

"Is it working?"

It was absolutely working.

He opened the carriage door and handed me up. The interior smelled like leather and cedar. Velvet cushions. A fur blanket folded across the seat. I settled in, and he climbed up beside me—not across from me, beside me—his thigh pressed against mine from hip to knee.

The carriage lurched forward. Cobblestones rumbled beneath us.

His hand found my leg. Palm flat against my thigh, just above the knee. Not moving. Just resting there with quiet, possessive weight. Every nerve in my body shivered with sparks.

"Where are we going?" I managed.

"Somewhere that isn’t the palace."

We rode through narrow streets, past lantern-lit squares and shuttered market stalls. His thumb traced idle circles on my thigh through the fabric. I stared out the window and tried to remember how breathing worked.

The carriage stopped in front of a restaurant I’d never seen. Small. Tucked between stone buildings. Enchanted star-lights drifted beneath the low ceiling inside, casting everything in soft gold. Candles flickered on the table. Jasmine hung from stone terraces, filling the air with sweetness.

There was only one table set. Ours.

"You booked the whole place," I said.

"I wanted you to myself."

An attendant appeared with expensive red wine. Kaelen poured for me before the attendant could, his fingers brushing mine when he handed over the glass.

We ordered. Exquisite handmade pasta with truffle cream and seared steak with roasted root vegetables. The food arrived in courses, each one more exquisite than the last. But I barely tasted any of it because Kaelen was watching me with that look—heavy-lidded, intent, like I was the only solid thing in the room.

"Tell me about your day," he said, cutting into his steak.

I twirled pasta around my fork. "Uneventful."

"Liar." He didn’t look up. "You were in that building for hours and you came out looking like you wanted to set something on fire. Tell me."

I took a long sip of wine.

"Sylvia locked me in the storage closet behind the one-way enchanted glass," I said. "For about an hour. Then she pretended it was an accident."

His fork stopped mid-cut.

He looked up. A dangerous look flashed across his face. The candlelight caught his eyes and turned them molten. Subtle, but I knew it. That was his dangerous look. The emperor look. The one that made generals lower their eyes.

"She locked you in a closet."

"Behind one-way enchanted glass. I could see everything in the office. I couldn’t get out."

Silence. His jaw worked.

"She did that to my mate," he said. Not a question.

"Kaelen—"

"If Sylvia makes my mate uncomfortable, I’ll dismiss her tomorrow." His voice was quiet. Calm. Terrifyingly calm. "I don’t care how competent she is. I don’t care what treaties she’s managing. You are my mate. No one treats you like that and keeps their position."

My throat tightened. Not from sadness. From something hotter. Fiercer. The absolute certainty in his voice. No hesitation. No weighing of consequences. Just you are my mate like it was the only fact that mattered.

"You’d fire your best administrator for me?"

"Ela." He set down his knife. Reached across the table and took my hand. His palm was warm and rough. "I’d burn down the entire administrative wing for you. Sylvia Vance is a replaceable official. You are not."

The heavy, fiercely possessive heat in Kaelen’s gaze overwhelmed me, prompting my next words.

"Take me home immediately," I demanded.

His eyes darkened. "We haven’t had dessert."

"I don’t want dessert."

Something ignited behind that gold gaze. He lifted his hand. The attendant materialized. Kaelen didn’t look at him.

"We’re done."

In the carriage, he didn’t bother with polite restraint. His hand returned to my thigh. Higher this time. His mouth found the curve of my ear.

"Brenna is watching the children overnight?" His breath was hot against my skin.

"Yes."

A low sound rumbled in his chest. Almost a growl.

We barely made it through the front door.

The house was dark. Quiet. Empty except for us. Kaelen pressed me against our front door in the dark, kissing me ravenously. His hands gripped my waist, slid up my ribs, tangled in my hair. I gasped against his lips and he swallowed the sound.

"Upstairs," I breathed.

He didn’t let me walk. He lifted me—one arm under my knees, the other behind my back—and carried me upstairs like I weighed nothing. His mouth never left my throat. My fingers twisted in his dark hair.

Moonlight poured through the bedroom windows, silver and pale, pooling across the bed like spilled water.

In the moonlit bedroom, we undressed each other with reverence. His fingers found the buttons of my cardigan, peeling it off my shoulders. I pulled his sweater over his head, running my palms across his chest—the hard ridges of muscle, the warmth of his skin. No rushing. No fumbling. Just hands and mouths and breath and skin.

Even without the supernatural bond to feel the presence of his wolf, when Kaelen buried his face between my thighs, the raw, skin-to-skin connection remained profoundly deep and intimate.

"Happy anniversary," he murmured.

"Happy anniversary."