Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 437. Weaker
If there was music in sin, that was it.
Their limbs trembled slightly with the aftershock, breath tangled in rhythm, foreheads pressed together.
It felt like a crime.
And maybe it was.
Two royals, hidden in the parlor instead of their chambers. Half-naked on state furniture, tangled in each other like they didn't have war councils and agendas, ambassadors waiting and chancellors knocking on doors.
Schedules be damned.
It was selfish. Reckless. Undignified.
And it was everything he needed.
He didn't say anything at first.
His thumb brushed her jaw, slow. Almost reverent. Then down her throat. And then lower.
And then, voice low and still rough with want, he murmured.
"…It's strange."
Rose blinked, barely catching her breath. "What is?"
Angel's hand slid down her waist, thumb stroking the bare skin exposed between her corset and skirt.
"I never…" he paused, his brow furrowing, "I never felt like this before. Not for anyone."
He said it like it confused him.
Like this hunger—this softness—this fucking ache in his chest for her wasn't just unexpected… it was unthinkable.
Rose gave a soft breath of laughter. "You've never felt this way before?"
Angel shook his head.
"All my life…" he started, resting his forehead against hers, "I only thought about duty. About protecting this throne. About surviving it."
His fingers curled tighter around her waist, grounding himself.
"I didn't crave anything. Not warmth. Not women. Not softness. I didn't want affection, not even in my dreams. It was all… cold. Necessary. A crown made of knives."
Her breath hitched at the way his voice cracked at the edge.
"But with you…" he whispered.
He pulled her closer again, until her thigh was wrapped around his.
"…I forget what I'm supposed to be doing. I forget what I am."
Rose smiled, warm and wrecked all at once. "You're seducing me again."
"No," he said, leaning in, voice dark and soft against her lips. "I'm starving."
She groaned as he kissed her again—slow, deep, a promise wrapped in heat.
"I should be in my study," he muttered between kisses. "There are documents. Letters. War reports. Chancellor Allan wants updates on our border defenses—"
Her laugh was half breath, half moan. "And he wants a heir, too."
Angel pulled back just enough to look down at her.
"Exactly. I'm multitasking."
She laughed again, helpless this time, her hands sliding up his arms, feeling the ripple of muscle under skin.
"You're unbelievable," she breathed.
He kissed her throat, lips dragging lower. "Unbelievably productive."
She gasped. "Oh, you're proud of that one?"
"A little."
The couch creaked beneath them as he moved—lifting her slightly, adjusting her legs, pressing closer until the only thing separating them was fabric.
Rose's hands tangled in his hair as she looked at him, her voice quieter now. "You really never wanted this before?"
Angel paused. The teasing eased from his expression.
"No," he said softly. "I thought… needing someone made you weak. That love was a liability. Something people could use to control you."
She watched him, her heart twisting a little. "And now?"
He kissed her again, this time slower. With that rare reverence he only gave when no one else was watching.
"And now I know…" he whispered, "not having it made me weaker."
She didn't speak.
Because that wasn't a line.
That was the truth.
His body pressed against hers again, his warmth, his weight, his breath—everything real and grounded and raw.
And in that tiny stolen corner of the palace, far from duty and destiny, they let themselves forget the world outside.
They didn't rush.
They moved slowly. Intimately. Like they were learning each other for the first time all over again.
And when it ended—when her back arched and his voice broke softly against her skin—they didn't speak.
He simply held her.
Arms wrapped around her. Legs tangled. Breathing steadying together in silence.
Rose brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb stroking his cheek.
"You still look sharp," she teased. "But now you look mine, too."
Angel smiled. Not the cold one. Not the king's.
Just his.
"I've always been yours," he said. "I just didn't know how to say it."
And for a while longer, they stayed there. In a messy, royal heap of tangled limbs, discarded clothes, and warmth only they knew how to give each other.
They could face the war later.
Right now?
They had this.
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