She tasted like wildness. Like prophecy and ruin. Her mouth claimed him, her nails marked him, and Kaelen let her.
He had never surrendered to anyone.
But with her—
He wasn't a prince.
He was a man.
She rode him like she was claiming her throne. And when she collapsed against his chest, breathing like a storm, he knew something irreversible had begun.
At dawn, she was gone.
The soldiers shouted. The camp was in chaos.
Kaelen stood shirtless, marked with her blood, her magic, and his own weakness.
His general approached. "She escaped. The blood witch."
Kaelen said nothing.
He touched the mark she left on his chest.
"She didn't escape," he whispered. "She was released."