She reached him.
And without a word, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and pressed her cheek against his back.
He stiffened slightly — instinct. Warrior.
But then… he exhaled. A low breath, deep and aching, and something in his posture folded.
He didn't need to see her.
He knew.
The scent of her — soft florals and jasmine and the warm wildness of sun-washed skin — filled his lungs. Her body, smaller against his, trembling slightly from the weight of something unsaid, grounded him like nothing else ever could.
"Riah…" he said softly.
Her name fell from his lips like a prayer.
She held him tighter.
"I'm sorry it took me this long," she whispered, her voice barely audible against the hush of night.
He turned slowly, careful not to break the moment.
And when he faced her — her wide eyes shining, her breath caught, her heart visibly thrumming in her throat — Neriah didn't wait.
The words were ready. Finally.
"I was scared," she said. "I won't lie. I was… scared of what I saw. Of what I didn't understand. Of what it meant to be Queen in a place like this."
Damon didn't move. His eyes searched hers, gentle and patient, drinking in every word.
"But," she breathed, stepping closer, "I'm not scared anymore."
A pause. Her voice trembled, but it didn't break.
"Because I love you."
Those three words pierced through him like lightning — sharp, clean, and holy.
For a breath, the world stilled. The night outside faded. The wind stopped its song. The stars themselves seemed to hold their breath.
He blinked because his heart forgot how to beat.
He had imagined this moment in silence, sculpted it in the quiet corners of his mind — in the late hours when sleep eluded him and her absence felt like a blade pressed against his chest. But no imagining could ever compare to the raw, trembling truth of it. Her voice — soft but certain — holding nothing back.
If the whole of the Bannerlands rose in fire right now, he would not move.
He would leave the throne. He would give up every sword, every crown, every breath — just to hear it again.
And he did. She said it again. Louder. Truer.
"I love you, Damon."
Her lips quirked in a shy, broken smile — and then crumpled again as the emotion surged too fast to contain.
"I love you," she repeated, almost breathless. "I don't know how or when, but I do. And it's stupid and reckless and completely wild because I barely understand this place and you terrify me sometimes, but I love all of you and I don't want to pretend that I don't anymore."
He stared at her like a man caught between dream and fire.
And then he cupped her face.
His hands — large, scarred, trembling with restraint — cradled her like she was glass wrapped in flame.
He kissed her.
Not in haste.
Not like a man claiming.
But like a man remembering — the taste of her, the way his soul had always been waiting for her even before he knew her name.
It started slow.
Slow and reverent — the kind of kiss that asked permission and gave worship all at once. His hands cradled her face with the gentleness of a vow, his thumb brushing the corner of her lips like he wanted to memorize it. Her breath hitched — not out of surprise, but because her heart forgot how to breathe around him.
Then the kiss deepened.
All reverence gave way to urgency. The kind of urgency that trembles beneath restraint, that rides the edge of desperation. His arms slid down and wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her into him, anchoring her as if she might disappear if he didn't. Neriah held onto him like her life depended on it — her hands in his hair, her body pressed so close to his there was no space left. None at all.
If she tried to get closer, she would have had to climb into his chest and live there.
And still it wouldn't have been enough.
His mouth moved over hers like a man starved — not just of love, but of touch, of safety, of peace. He kissed her like she was oxygen and he had been drowning all his life. And Neriah, oh Neriah, she gave it all back — gasping softly, letting every fear fall from her fingers as she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her whole.
When they finally parted — just slightly, barely — their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in twin rhythms.
Damon didn't speak immediately.
Because how could he?
What words could measure this?
This was no mere kiss.
This was everything.
"I've been dying to do that," he said, his voice rough with wonder.
Neriah gave a breathless laugh, eyes still closed, still lost.
"I would've come to you," Damon said, his voice low, almost disbelieving, as if this was still a dream he hadn't dared to hope for. "You didn't need to come all the way here."
She shook her head, her forehead still resting against his, not pulling away. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything she'd been holding inside.
"I wanted to," she said. "I wanted to come to you."
Those words broke something in him — something silent, something long-hidden. Damon closed his eyes like the force of her closeness, her honesty, was too much to bear.
His hand slid behind her neck, warm and steady. "I want you," he murmured, each syllable like a vow. "All of you."
Her breath hitched. There was no fear in her eyes now. Only him. Only them.
"I want you too," she whispered, voice shaking with truth.
And that undid him.
That was all he needed. All he'd ever wanted — those words, in her voice, spoken in the space between their hearts.
He kissed her again, with no restraint this time — no hesitation, no patience. Just the burning truth of what he felt for her, poured into every motion of his mouth, every press of his hands, every breath shared. Her fingers gripped his tunic, pulling him closer, as if she could mold herself into him and stay there forever.
Damon's hands slid to her waist, firm and sure, and in one seamless motion, he lifted her—her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, her arms clinging to his shoulders. The kiss didn't break, not even for breath. It deepened, softened, became something that ached and burned all at once.
Neriah gasped softly, surprised by her own boldness, by how tightly she held on to him—as if letting go would shatter something delicate between them. But Damon held her like she was something priceless, something he'd spent lifetimes searching for.
He moved toward their bed with deliberate steps, never pulling his mouth from hers. The world narrowed—just the feel of her in his arms, her hands tangled in his hair, the small sounds she made against his lips drove him to the edge. When he reached the edge of the bed, he paused, their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the quiet.
Then, slowly, reverently, he eased her down onto the bed. His fingers moved to the ties of her nightgown, but he didn't rush. His hands were steady, his gaze unwavering. He watched her as the fabric loosened, sliding gently off her shoulders. Damon adored the sight of her—soft curves, smooth skin, vulnerability and strength woven into one breathtaking form.
Neriah's cheeks flushed, but she didn't turn away. She let him see her. All of her.
Damon leaned in, brushing his lips over her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat—like he was memorizing her with his mouth. "You're beautiful," he whispered, as though the words had been buried inside him for far too long.
She touched his face, fingers trembling, her voice barely above a breath. "So are you."
And then there were no more words—just kisses trailing over bare skin, hands tracing devotion into every inch they touched. It was not hurried. It was not wild. It was the gentle kind of storm—the kind that lingered, the kind that left everything changed.
**********************
The chamber was bathed in low firelight, flickering shadows dancing on stone walls while silence wrapped around them like silk.
She slept in his arms—soft, peaceful, utterly still—nestled against him like she had always belonged there. Damon couldn't stop looking at her. Couldn't stop touching her. His hand moved slowly, reverently, stroking his thumb along the curve of her cheek, as if committing her to memory in the most delicate way.
Gods.
He bent his head and kissed her temple. Then her nose. Then the edge of her brow. Light touches, barely there, careful not to wake her. He just needed to love her—quietly, fully—in every breath he took.
His heart ached in the most glorious way.
She was here. With him. After everything—after fear, after hesitation, after days of silence and distance—she had chosen him. She had come to him.
And now... she was his.
All of her.
The memory of their joining lingered in his bones—in his breath, in his soul. The way she had touched him, looked at him, trusted him. The way she had held on to him like he was something sacred. He had never known anything so intimate, so devastatingly pure. And it had undone him.
Damon closed his eyes, tightening his arms around her. He could still feel the way she trembled for him, how her voice broke when she whispered that she loved him. The soft gasps. The way her fingers had clutched at his back. The way her mouth had tasted like surrender.
But then he remembered the moment he entered her, the slight wince of pain in her eyes—quick, fleeting, but unforgettable. His chest tightened.
He had hurt her. Even if just for a moment.
He hadn't meant to. He had tried to be gentle, to hold back every rough instinct inside him. But it had been her first time, and no amount of tenderness could erase that first sharp edge.
Still... she had smiled after.
She had clung to him.
She was smiling now, in her sleep—just barely. The corner of her mouth lifted in that sweet, innocent way that made him want to fall all over again.
Damon leaned down and pressed another kiss to her hair, breathing her in. She smelled like warm skin and something sweet—like her, always like her.
He slid his hand down her bare back, over the curve of her waist, holding her closer still. Her body fit perfectly against his, soft and warm and impossibly right.
Perfect. She was perfect.
And she was his.
And he would never stop loving her.
Not in this life. Not in any other.
He couldn't look away. The low firelight cast a golden sheen on her sleeping face, soft and serene. She looked like something carved out of a dream—too delicate to be real, too fierce to be forgotten.
He hadn't expected this.
He had been ready to commit, yes—ready to honor the terms of the alliance, to make her his queen, to play his role. But not this.
Not to fall so hopelessly, so helplessly in love.
Yet here he was, watching her sleep with awe and reverence. Neriah had bewitched him. She had seeped into the hollow corners of his soul and settled there. No other woman had ever made him feel like this—not with her voice, not with her body, not with her softness.
She was his heart now. His whole world.
He bent his head again and brushed the tip of his nose against hers, then kissed her forehead, cheeks, her jaw—tiny devotions whispered through touch.
And then she stirred.
A small, quiet movement. Her lashes fluttered before her eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to the soft light. When she saw him, she smiled.
A smile that shattered him in the most beautiful way.
Damon smiled back, forehead resting against hers, his hand still gently cradling her face. And then he kissed her again—soft but sure, whole and complete, like a vow made not with words, but lips.
When they parted, Neriah gave a small, breathless giggle—and then, in the most endearing way, she ducked beneath the fur blanket to hide her face.
Damon laughed—deep and low—and the sound made her peek back up at him. She loved that sound. Gods, she loved him.
"Come here," he murmured, already pulling her close again, even though there was barely an inch between them. She went willingly, curling into him as if his body was a home she had been searching for her entire life.
He stroked her hair, fingers drifting lazily through the strands.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, voice low and rich.
She smiled again, eyes half-lidded. "Happy," she said simply.
He loved that. Loved it so much it filled his entire chest.
But then he pulled back slightly, looking at her with gentler concern. "No, I mean... your body." His thumb traced small circles along her side. "Are you in pain?"
Her cheeks flushed again, sweet and pink, but she nodded a little and answered truthfully. "A little sore," she admitted, softly. "But… not in a bad way. I feel… full. And warm. And good. It's strange. But good."
"Gods," Damon whispered, voice dark with affection, "you undo me, Riah."
She grinned, bolder now. "I think I like… love-making." She blinked, wrinkling her nose cutely. "I'm not sure if it's the act itself or the fact that it was with you."
His grin grew. "It's both," he said smugly, and she nudged him playfully.
Their laughter melted into another quiet moment. Damon tucked her head beneath his chin, his hand lazily stroking up and down her spine.
She sighed in contentment. "Your body," she whispered. "It feels like… safety. You're so strong. I don't think anything could ever hurt me with you around."
He exhaled, his arms tightening just a little.
"I will never let anyone hurt you," he murmured into her hair. "Not now. Not ever."
She ran her hand along his chest, fingers brushing the hard ridges of muscle, memorizing the way his skin felt beneath her touch. Then she slowed—her fingertips finding the thin, pale lines that crisscrossed his torso like a battlefield map. She traced one scar that curved along his ribs, then another that cut across his shoulder.
"So many," she whispered.
Damon didn't tense, didn't pull away. He simply watched her, his eyes unreadable in the low light.
"It was nothing," he said quietly. "They're old."
"But they still hurt," Neriah said, her voice soft. Not because they caused him pain now, but because they told a story. One she hadn't been there for. One she couldn't erase.
He shook his head gently. "I don't think about them."
She looked up at him. "I do."
His hand came up to cup her cheek, callused thumb brushing just beneath her eye. "Then don't."
Neriah wanted to say more—to tell him that his pain mattered to her, that every mark on his body was sacred to her in ways he might never understand. But he kissed her before she could speak, a quiet press of lips that silenced her grief and replaced it with something warmer.
"Riah," he murmured against her mouth.
A soft sound escaped her throat. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. "I love when you call me that," she admitted. "I don't even know why. I just… it makes me feel like I'm yours."
"You are mine," he said, voice low and full of meaning. "All of you. Every freckle. Every breath."
Her heart stuttered. "And you're mine."
"I love you," Damon said, without hesitation.
The words rolled through her, solid and sure, anchoring her in place.
"I love you too," she whispered. "So much I don't know what to do with it."
He smiled at that. A rare, unguarded smile. His thumb brushed her lips, tracing the curve of her mouth. "You're doing just fine."
They fell into silence for a moment, bodies warm against each other beneath the furs, hands exploring softly, gently—like they were still learning the language of each other's skin.
"I wasn't expecting you to be so… bold," he said eventually, teasing warmth in his tone.
Neriah laughed, cheeks coloring. "Neither was I."
"When you kissed me," he continued, voice growing huskier, "when you said my name like that—I nearly lost my mind."
She smiled coyly, tracing a circle over his chest. "And when you—" she stopped, flushed, "—when you touched me like that... there, I thought I was going to faint."
Damon chuckled. "That's what undid you?"
She groaned and buried her face in his shoulder. "Don't make me say it."
"No, no. Say it," he said, clearly enjoying her fluster. "What else?"
She lifted her head just enough to look at him. "Fine," she said dramatically. "When you looked at me like I was your whole world. When your hands held me like I was something precious…"
He quieted, eyes softening. "You are precious."
Neriah hesitated, then murmured, "And when you kissed my... breasts like that, just before… gods, Damon."
He grinned widely. "So that's your weakness."
"Shut up." She blushed, obviously shy.
"I'll remember it."
She playfully pushed him, and he caught her wrist, pulling her close again.
Her hand found his again, fingers lacing together.
He kissed her again—deeper this time, slower.
Their bodies pressed together as if instinctively drawn, yet the fire between them had quieted into something calmer. No longer desperate. Just… certain.
"I'm never letting you go," he murmured against her skin.
"You're not allowed to." she whispered softy.
He gave a low laugh and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her like she was the last safe thing in the world.
Outside, the moon hung high over Arkenfall.