I’m only aware that Henry is still there because of the way he murmurs soft praise between cursing and groaning.

It goes on even longer than the first one, until I’m certain my body and mind will both break. Until I’m practically sobbing with pleasure. Finally, the waves slow and I’m relieved to draw in a deep breath.

But then, Henry bites the soft place where my neck meets my shoulder. The pain sends another wave of pleasure rolling over me, wet heat rushing between my thighs. He grips my hips with bruising strength and shoves his cock as deep as he can get as he spills inside me. We both groan in unison.

He holds himself deep inside me, his hips jerking as the aftershocks hit him.

Henry presses his hand over mine on the golden sigil.

I must look shocked because he smirks and nods at the headboard. “I told you I would get it out of you.”

Sure enough, when I look up, the sigil is glowing golden. It gets brighter and brighter, until I have to squint. There’s a loud metallic crack and a piece of the metal falls away.

The glow fades and the room goes deathly quiet.

Stunned murmurs break out in the crowd, and then they applaud. I’m startled by the reminder of their presence, but the horror is more distant in the drugging afterglow of pleasure.

Henry releases his hold on me and presses up to kneel. He withdraws, and I feel him leaking out of me. His gaze is riveted between my legs, and I let my thighs fall open so he can look his fill.

I tell myself it’s to get the upper hand back, but the truth is I’m so mindless and exhausted right now, I’d let him have anything he wants.

“Get out.” Henry’s voice is like a blade drawn across a whetstone.

The crowd instantly moves toward the chamber door.

He doesn’t look away from my pussy until the door closes behind the last person. The music in the ballroom gets louder, and finally, Henry breaks out of his daze.

I lift the broken piece of sigil from where it landed on the pillow above my head.

“Was this supposed to happen? Did it work?”

Henry scrubs a hand over his face. “I’d say we’re in the clear. No one has ever given so much pleasure they broke the sigil, Harlow.”

I glower up at the self-satisfied look on his face. He can feel victorious this round, especially if it means he’ll let his guard down. I’ll let him look at tonight as a triumph, instead of a reminder that this sigil is the first of many things I’ll break to get what I want.

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27HARLOW

There is nothing more insulting than Henry sleeping heavily beside me. How dare he be so certain he’ll wake up—so blissfully unaware that I’ve spent every moment since waking watching the sunlight creep across the planes of his peaceful face, imagining creative ways to kill him.

Infection is out, along with a whole list of other causes of death. Perhaps I’m thinking too small. Surely he’s never been decapitated. That feels like it would stick.

I’ll give him something to lose sleep over. In fact, I’ll consider it a massive personal failure if he ever feels a moment of peace again.

It’s strange waking up next to someone. I’ve never slept with a lover. People forget themselves in sleep. When one half-awake brush of the lips is enough to have another body on your hands, it’s not worth the risk. The only person I’ve ever slept beside is Aidia, and that was only when I was half-unconscious from pain.

There’s an unearned intimacy in watching Henry sleep. I didn’t take him for a man who slept in, but I guess we wore each other out.

Personally, I slept soundly until he threw an arm across my waist and pinned me to the bed. Then, I was wide awake and aware of every place our bodies touched. Frustrating that years of shoving down the craving for physical affection has left me as comforted as I am repulsed.

I shift my arm under the pillow, wondering if Henry has ever been smothered to death and if I’d be able to hold him down long enough to test that method.

By the time Henry wakes, I’ve been staring at him for at least an hour, watching how the dawn light passes over the planes of his face, turning harsh shadows into something soft and almost innocent.

He stirs, and I grin, waiting for him to realize he’s snuggling me.

“Good morning, beloved husband.”

He jerks away, finally releasing me. He rubs his eyes and gives me a look that suggests he knows I was lying beside him, thinking about new ways to try to kill him since first light. “Beloved?”

I wave a hand. “Beloathed is more appropriate, but less socially acceptable given the need to inspire the masses with our great love story.”

He clears his throat. “You did well last night. I know you’re enjoying giving me a hard time about it, but you were very respectful and—receptive.”

That is the last thing I want to talk about. I scoot away from him and sit up. “Yes, well. We had an agreement. I keep my word, just like I’m sure you’ll keep yours.” I pull a few pins from my sleep-tangled hair. “Now that you’ve freed me from your oppressive snuggling, I’d like to go for a run.”

Henry scoffs. “You can’t go for a run.”

“You know as well as I do that endurance is survival out here. I’ve been sitting on my ass long enough. I need to rebuild whatever I’ve lost being cooped up in my room.”

“In prayer?” he says sarcastically.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “When one spends so much time on her knees, it’s important to take an occasional break in other positions.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “You have a filthy mouth.”

“Positively toxic, I know.” I wink.

“You can’t run here, Harlow.”

I glare at him. “I need you to explain this to me. What is it with running?”

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, to start, if someone in the fort sees you running, they will think I can’t protect you.”

“That’s ridiculous. This fort is surrounded by vampire-infested forests. People here must do something to build endurance.”

“They do.” He shifts to sit up, his back braced against the headboard. The sheet slips down to his waist, giving me a bright sunlit view of his scarred chest. He rubs a hand over his jaw, and I can practically feel the scratch of his stubble against my thighs.

I look away instinctively. After last night, everything I know about him feels too intimate. As much as I know that offering me those secrets in the well was a calculated manipulation, I still feel oddly indebted to him. I wish I could surrender the secret because now I’m filled with this morbid curiosity about what it was like to die.

I’ve never been very spiritual. A childhood rife with violence and a Divine-cursed magical kiss that’s made to kill people will do that to a girl. But there’s a driving instinct, a macabre interest that’s always plagued me not to just see what exists outside Lunameade’s tall walls, but also what exists outside of this plane.

Normally I can curb that desire to believe in more. But something about this whole experience—about the way that life over the past few months felt so stifling in the city—has made me want to know that there’s more to hope for than just survival.

“If they build endurance here, it has to be by running the perimeter. It’s not as if you could go for a swim,” I say.

Henry’s aura swells, throwing off flares. He’s irritated. Good.

“Yes, they run, but it’s different.”

It’s a chore to keep myself from snapping at him. I’m not exactly homesick, but I feel restless—like I escaped my old cell only to end up trapped in a smaller cage. After days in pain, followed by that marriage ritual, I just want fresh air and time alone to clear my head.

As I shift down the bed so I can face him head-on, the sheet slides away.

His gaze is a slow caress down the black silk nightdress I slipped on before collapsing into bed when we got back to our room after the ceremony. It’s not about modesty. Until last night, I’d never actually slept in a bed with a lover and it felt too vulnerable to be naked.