Cherion's head was swimming, but for once, it had absolutely nothing to do with royal politics, court conspiracies, or poisoners hiding in the palace.
In theory, leaning against a freezing stone pillar should have cooled Cherion down. In reality, Zarius was radiating heat like a freshly stoked furnace, rendering the marble utterly useless. Cherion's fingers were tangled tight in the fabric of Zarius's heavy collar, dragging him down, but Zarius didn't need much persuading. The moment Cherion's mouth met his again, any lingering restraint Zarius had been clinging to completely shattered.
It wasn't a noble, textbook kiss. It was messy, heavy, and entirely shameless, filled with a sharp, needy edge that sucked every last drop of air right out of Cherion's lungs.
