She heard the now familiar swoop of Thronos’s wings. When she was with him and they were able to close out the world, life could be sublime. When she wasn’t with him . . . not so much. Unable to hide her customary jolt of excitement, she leapt up from the desk. “You’re home—”

He seized her hand. Without a word, he headed straight for their bedroom to fall face-first atop the bed—his big body was like a tree gone timber.

“Your day was that good, huh?” She climbed onto the bed, rucking up her skirt. “Scooch your wings.” When he parted them, she straddled the small of his back.

He turned his face to the side. “I had more fun with the pest.” Clearly, he was not in the mood to go dine with others right now.

Oh, darn. They’d have to miss eating in the grim dining hall? Not a problem. She’d been stockpiling fruit, surprisingly tasty breads, and divine cheeses—for just such an occasion.

When she began to knead his muscles, he gave a deep groan. “You’re a gods-send, lamb.”

“I know,” she said though she’d just gotten ink prints all over the back of his shirt. Oops. “Um, how did the calibration go?”

“The alarm does work. Unfortunately, the only place to trigger it is in the Hall. Every island needs this ability to sound the alarm.”

“It’ll come.” She pressed her thumbs round and round into his fatigued muscles.

“Tell me your day was better than mine.”

“Mine was okay.” Lanthe found it funny to be having this “How was your day, dear?” conversation with him. As if they were a long-wed couple.

But the two of them had started to fall into rhythms. Each night after dinner, they assailed each other—even if he’d managed to drop in a few times over the day. During those stolen daytime trysts, he’d take her hard against the wall or atop her desk, with his hand over her mouth to mute her desperate moans. He’d sink his fangs into his forearm to stifle his own bellows.

Every time he brought her release, he grew more sexually confident. More cocky.

Which was hot as hell.

If he came before her, he’d drop down and use his mouth to bring her over the edge. The first time he’d done this, she’d cried, “Oh! Ohhh . . .” and felt obligated to say something before he tasted his own seed.

He’d answered, “It’s unavoidable. Throughout every day and night, I will fill your sheath and kiss it at every opportunity. Besides, it’s me mingled with you—never deny me that.”

Wicked, pervy Vrekener.

Once the worst of their need had been slaked, they would read correspondence together. He always wanted her opinion on things. More than once he’d told her, “When you said you wanted to co-rule, I took that very seriously. Tell me what you think. . . .”

Now he asked her, “Did you pick up your new clothes?”

“I did!” Her second day here, she’d realized that she needed lots of new garments, and that they should be fabulous since she was a queen and all. Even if her subjects were lame.

After giving designs for metal garments to the smithy, she’d crashed a group’s sewing circle with instructions for strapless dresses. Lanthe figured she would split the hemline difference with Thronos—mini instead of micromini.

“How did the females treat you this time?” he asked. “Did they, um, throw ’tude?”

There’d been no pushback from the sewing circle—by now everyone knew their sorceress queen could bespell them—but Lanthe had gotten some attitude.

After she’d faced down the females of Omort’s court and vanquished a sorceress like Hettiah, those Vrekeners had been a cakewalk. “No, I shut that down.” Remembering one of Sabine’s favorite sayings—if one shows me fear, he shows me respect—Lanthe had returned the ’tude and then some.

In other words, her clothes had been rush-ready! The dresses were plain white, but when she wore them with the necklace . . .

Not too shabby.

Of course, her current dress was white—and ink. “Anything new about Aristo?” Every day, more Vrekeners found the courage to divulge horror stories about the previous king and his three trusted knights. Those four had been a scourge on the Lore, hiding behind a cloak of righteousness.

“It’s everything you warned me of.”

As king of a people who believed in chastity until marriage, total sobriety, and forthrightness in all instances, Aristo had kept several love nests, drunk like a fish, and lied about his behavior.

She’d thought she would feel vindicated when Thronos comprehended these things. Instead she hurt for him. He was ashamed of his blood relative, feeling responsible.

“Things can only get better, right?” he asked.

“Speaking of which, I got a response from Bettina today.” The queen of the Deathly Ones had reported progress with her Vrekener phobia, but she’d still been less than enthusiastic to meet with one.

That hadn’t stopped Bettina from inquiring about the dragon gold. “She requested a detailed description of the medallion with a weight estimation and a photo if possible. So we’ve got her on the hook. Go, peace!”

Though his eyes remained closed, his lips curled. Yet then he tensed up again. “I regret that you have to give up your treasure.”

At least she’d still have her silisk gold keys.

“As soon as things settle down here,” he continued, “I’ll replace the medallion with something even greater.”