The royal bedchamber was cloaked in gold and shadow, perfumed with jasmine, myrrh, and the lingering traces of rose petals crushed beneath the heels of ceremonial slippers. Outside,the last echoes of laughter faded into the night, and with them, the final trappings of the day's grandeur. The kingdom had celebrated, the court had bowed, and the crown had been claimed.
Now, there was silence.
Xandria stood at the edge Maltherion's room, her back to the massive bed carved from obsidian wood and laced in silk. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her bridal sleeves, white silk clinging to her skin like breath.
Every part of her felt too warm - her cheeks, her lips, her chest - as if the fire lived beneath her skin. But it wasn't fear. Not entirely. It was the weight of knowing.
That this moment had always been fated. That tonight, she would stand before the man who had taken her name and replaced it with his, her hand - and give him something deeper.
Maltherion stepped in quietly, the door shut behind him with a hush of finality.
He said nothing at first, watching her in the soft golden light. The fire in the hearth cast him in shades of bronze and darkness. He looked less like a king and more like something carved from midnight and desire.
His cloak has been shed, his crown removed. All that remained was him - broad shouldered, dark-red eyes and quietly devastating.
"I wasn't sure you would wait for me," she said, her words breathy. Not from nerves. From anticipation.
His eyes softened, "I would wait a thousand nights for you."
The words did something to her. Her chest rose with a shallow inhale, and she finally turned to face him. Her gown whispered as she moved. He crossed the space between them slowly, deliberately - as the air was thick with meaning, and every step was a vow.
"Do you feel it?" He asked, voice low, husky.
" The Gias?" She nodded, unable to speak at first.
It pulsed like a hum in her chest. A soft ache that intensified in his presence. But it wasn't magic. It was the look in his eyes. The restraint trembling beneath his calm. The way his hands twitched at his sides as if he was holding himself back - not because he didn't want her, but because he wanted her to choose him.
"I've felt it since the day you bumped into me at the festival." He whispered. " Like gravity changed."
She reached for him, her fingers brushing his chest - solid, warm and real beneath the soft linen of his tunic. His breathe hitched at her touch, his composure faltering.
"You could have forced me," she murmured. "The Gias..... binds."
"I didn't want to bind you," he said, covering her hands with his. " I wanted you to come to me. Willingly"
Her heart fluttered. And then, gently, she rose to her toes, pressing her lips to his. It was a kiss that begged for a secret - soft and uncertain - but deepened with a quiet hunger neither of them had voiced. His arms slid around her, pulling her into the firm line of his body. She gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like a promise.
The Gias bloomed between them. A silent storm of heat and longing and fate. Her hands wandered to the fastenings of his tunic, trembling as she undid each button, exposing the planes of his chest, the heat of his skin. He watched her with reverence, as if she were made of starlight and he was afraid she'd vanish.
When her gown slipped from her shoulders, pooling in a quiet sigh at her feet, he exhaled shakily.
"You're beautiful," he said, voice nearly undone.
She reached up, cradling his jaw, drawing him down to her once more. This time, the kiss was deeper - slower. A dance of lips and breath and shared need. He lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest, and carried her to the bed as if she were sacred.
The sheet were cool against her skin, but his hands were fire. They traced the curves of her slowly, reverently, igniting her with every caress. His mouth found her throat, her collarbone, the space behind her ear, and each kiss was unraveling. She arched into him, fingers clutching at his back, her name whispered from his lips like a prayer.
Their bodies moved together liked they had always known each other. Like the Gias had not only woven magic but memory into their souls.
"Are you sure?" He asked, pausing above her, his forehead resting against hers.
She opened her eyes. "Yes"
It was more than consent. It was surrender. Not to him. Not to duty. But to the truth inside her - that she wanted him. All of him. Not because the magic said so. But because her heart did.
Their lovemaking was not rushed. It was a language of sighs and touches, of bodies rediscovering each other with every motion.
He was gentle at first, reverent in his rhythm, but as her hands gripped his shoulders and her legs wrapped around him, the pace deepened. His name fell from her lips like a chant, and he responded with kisses that marked her, worshipped her.
Their connection cracked like lightning. As if the Gias had been waiting for this - to be fulfilled not just in magic, but in union. Flesh and soul. Fire and breath.
When the storm broke, it wasn't loud. It was trembling. Shuddering. A silent quake that rippled through them both, leaving them breathless, wrapped in each other beneath the canopy of silk and stars.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, forehead pressed to her temple, their breaths falling into the same rhythm.
"I've never felt anything like that," she whispered, fingers tangled in his hair.
"It was always meant to be this," he murmured. "Not power. Not politics. Just us."
She smiled, sleepy and warm. " Then I'm glad the stars chose you."
He kissed her again, softly. As the fire crackled low and the night deepened, they stayed wrapped in each other's arms. Two hearts finally beating as one.
And in the silence that followed, the Gias purred with satisfaction.