Asra put her hands palms-down on the edge of the stone behind her and hoisted herself up to sit on the ledge. Water dripped off her breasts, down the curves of her waist and hips and into a puddle beneath her. Her eyes met his, and Ciaran froze.

Was this real? He’d pictured this moment very differently in his mind. He’d pictured it as the culmination of a lengthy and—frankly—tedious courtship, mandated by the expectations of someone of his status.

But Asra would never have stood for such frivolity. This moment definitely fit her pragmatism.

He stood and walked to her, the weight of the water causing him to stumble and nearly fall on top of her. He cursed himself for managing to find the least dignified way to get to her, but his insecurities vanished the instant their eyes locked. Tears gathered in the corners of her yellow eyes, and one slid down her cheek. He tasted it on her lips as they kissed.

He was drawn into her like iron to a magnet. They’d touched each other before, but none of those moments ever compared to this—the difference between a few sips of ale or half a handle of whiskey.

Asra put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him into her. Her kiss was fervent, desperate, and Ciaran felt every ounce of her need in it. She could pretend not to have emotions as much as she wanted, but Ciaran had seen and felt her vulnerabilities. Deep down, she was just as lost and terrified as he was.

She traced her fingers up his arms, over his shoulders, then down his chest and stomach to his hips, then—

Ciaran’s heart lurched. He caught her hands by the wrists and broke away from her kiss. Asra’s eyes flickered open, and she stared up at him with a furrowed brow.

Ciaran cleared his throat. “You, ah … never did tell me if we’re able to … you know. Procreate. I have no interest in producing heirs.”

Asra took a second to catch her breath, then said, “Oh. You … don’t have to worry about that from me. I’ve been—what do you humans call it? Spayed.”

Ciaran leaned back. “You—what? Gods, where did you find someone willing to do that?”

Asra shrugged. “Medical student. Not too long after I left home. He caught me eavesdropping outside the window of the university, and I wasn’t as good at hiding what I am back then. He figured it out pretty quick, so I figured I’d take advantage of the situation. It’s still a very experimental surgery, even on animals. It’s almost unheard of on people. Wasn’t sure if I’d ever get another chance.” She took a deep breath. “Can we move on now?”

Ciaran blinked, then said, “Yes, of course. Though perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable?”

Asra nodded, and Ciaran pulled himself out of the spring, concentrating on each movement so as not to make a fool of himself again. He turned and bowed to her, one hand behind his back and the other extended to help her up, like a gentleman helping a lady out of a carriage. Asra scoffed at him, but she nevertheless took his hand and allowed his help up. He led her to the cabin, careful not to slip on the slick stone.

When he opened the door, his eyes landed on the dusty linens on the bed.

“Ah,” he said. “Give me a moment to shake those out.”

He pulled the comforter off the bed, shook it as best he could, remembering the motions his housekeeper Susan made when she did the same thing. But the blankets always seemed to snap so satisfyingly when she did it. They only flopped hopelessly under Ciaran’s hands. He clutched the comforter to his chest, brushing the dust out with rapid, anxious strokes.

He’d never been embarrassed by his lack of domestic skills before, but here, in front of Asra—

He felt Asra’s hand on his arm, and he turned to her.

“Relax,” she said. “I’ve seen you in far worse situations.”

“I know,” Ciaran said with a nervous laugh. “It’s just … I wanted this moment to be perfect. That’s how I’ve always envisioned when we would … ”

His mind caught up with his mouth too late. Had he revealed too much? Had that been too intense?

She said nothing. Her face was as impassive as ever as her eyes searched his own, her breathing quick and ragged.

But her hand remained on his shoulder. Ciaran decided to push forward.

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“I’ve thought about this moment often,” he said. “For quite some time.”

Perhaps for longer than he should have. He tried to pinpoint the exact moment he’d fallen for her. The morning she’d healed Bane after he reappeared was the obvious choice, but he also thought of the way she’d healed his wounds that morning in the swamp, of the light in her eyes as she’d described her home to Nolan when they were small children.

As much as she’d terrified him, he’d always been drawn to her.

Asra was silent for a moment longer, her breathing short and shallow. Ciaran opened his mouth to recant his admission, to blame his boldness on a little too much whiskey that night, only to remember with dread that he no longer had that excuse. There was no running from this.

“I’ve thought about it, too,” Asra said at last.

Ciaran nearly laughed in relief. “Oh. Good. I-I mean, that’s more than good. That’s wonderful. But not—” He laughed nervously. “Sorry, I suppose I ramble when I haven’t been drinking as well.”

The corner of Asra’s mouth twitched in a smile, and Ciaran reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead, then tucked it behind her ear. Her skin was just as soft as he’d always imagined. He stared at her for a moment, taking every inch of her in, then Asra’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” she said suspiciously.

He shook his head, and slid his hand from her cheek to her arm. “Nothing. You’re just so damn beautiful.”

Asra lifted her brows. “You’re just now noticing that?”

“Of course not. I noticed it the first second I saw you. I just knew you’d eat me if I told you.”

She cocked a half-smile. “You know me well, prince.”

He felt like he barely knew her at all. He wanted to know everything about her, and he wanted a lifetime to spend discovering every detail. The chances that either of them had a lifetime to spend doing anything at all seemed harrowingly slim.

He thought of the other people he’d taken to bed. Vincent, of course. That courtship had been a disaster from the start.

Ophelia. They’d had fun together, but with her betrothal, they both understood there was a time limit to their relationship. They cared for each other, but they’d never been in love.

There had been a few others, but no one he had ever expected to stay past a single night.

Despite his reputation, Ciaran realized he was woefully inexperienced with romance. Should he tell her now how he felt? Just … blurt it out? He wasn’t used to being so lost in a social situation.

“Asra, I … I want to—”

She rolled her eyes and groaned as she reached up and pulled his face into hers, smothering the rest of his words with her kiss. He ran his hands down from her waist to her hips and brought them to his. He was grateful that, for the first time in years, he didn’t have to worry about alcohol interfering with his ability to perform. He’d never left any of his previous partners unsatisfied, but something about not being able to perform with Asra was especially terrifying.

Asra gripped his shoulders and pushed him backward to the bed. When his calves found resistance on the edge, he sat, and Asra pushed him down onto the bed. Her breasts brushed his chest as she crawled on top of him, and he reached up to pull her face down to his. As they kissed, his hands roved up her arms to her shoulders, then back down to cup her breasts.

Her skin was so warm, like fire flowed through her veins. He moved one hand over her heart and felt it beating, strong and fast. The thought that it might never beat again after tomorrow brought panic to his chest.

He moved his hands to embrace her face and pulled her gently away from him. She stared at him, panting, her eyelids heavy and her brow drawn together. He had to tell her how he felt now, before it was too late.

“Asra, I … I need to talk to you about something.”

She groaned. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of his head. He reflexively fought against her hold, but found she was immovable. It sent a thrill through him that was not unwelcome.

“Do you ever stop talking?” she said.

Ciaran couldn’t help but laugh as she released his wrists. Perhaps now wasn’t the right time. Perhaps a sense of unfinished business would give him the drive necessary to survive their ordeal tomorrow, regardless of the odds.

He would tell her afterward. He would make sure of it.

Ciaran didn’t have time to ponder it anymore as Asra positioned herself over him. He grabbed her hips to guide her, and as she sank down to ease him into her, she moved their hands up to the bed beside Ciaran’s head to intertwine their fingers.

Asra’s hips moved quickly and efficiently. As usual, she didn’t seem interested in wasting time. But Ciaran savored every moment like the last meal of an inmate on death row. If this was truly the last night he would ever see, there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here with her.

She reached down between her thighs to pleasure herself, and not long after she moaned her release. Ciaran wasn’t far behind her, and afterwards they stayed there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, sweat glistening on their skin in the low lamplight, silent aside from their labored breathing. He watched her, searching her face for any emotion, praying that she would say something, tell him what she was feeling.

He reached to touch her cheek, but she rolled off of him and stepped silently toward the shower. The water turned on, and he sighed and pushed himself from the bed. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected pillow talk from Asra.

He grabbed his bathrobe and a bar of soap from the pile next to the shower, avoiding looking at Asra as much as he could, then headed out of the cabin to the springs.