Whispers of the Royal Blood | 18+

Chapter 4

Reliving from the past

Tristan's breath catches in his throat as her fingers intertwine with his. The small contact feels profound, seismic. He looks down at their hands, his heart beating so hard he is so sure she can hear it.

He turns his palm over, tangling their fingers together more tightly. This feels right, having her hand in his. Like they were always meant to be like this.

Laina's heart skips a beat as she can feel his pulse, strong and steady against hers. There is a second of silence, a moment where they both know what is about to happen. They are on the precipice of something, something they cannot come back from. And yet, neither one of them pulls away.

Instead, they lean close, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Tristan can smell her, the familiar scent of lavender and something sweet and spicy that is uniquely Laina. His mind is telling him to stop, to pull away before they do something they might regret.

But his body, his heart, is screaming at him to continue, to close the distance and taste those lips that have haunted his dreams for months now. He lifts his free hand, tracing the line of her jaw with his knuckles. Her skin is like silk, so soft and glossy.

In the months that follow, they begin to explore their attraction in secret. They steal moments together when no one is looking, finding isolated corners and unlit corridors to lose themselves in each other's arms. They are cautious, hiding their encounters from their friends and teachers, knowing that their relationship goes against the regulations they have been taught.

At first, it is just physically satisfying, a method to release the tension that builds between them during their training sessions. They do not talk about it and do not acknowledge the depth of their feelings. It is like a dance they have both known by heart, each step leading them closer together, but neither of them is willing to reveal how they really feel.

The library is quiet, only the distant sounds of footsteps from the hallways outside break the silence. Inside, Tristan and Laina are hidden among the stacks, their bodies pressed together in a narrow space between the shelves. They are both panting, the atmosphere between them heavy with desire.

Laina clings to him, her hands fisting in his blouse, anchoring herself to him. Their mouths find each other, and their kiss is needy and frantic. Tongue and teeth, a tangle of lips and breath. She pushes herself against him, desperate to get closer, to feel more of him. He responds in kind, his hands moving from her waist to her hips, pulling her even closer.

Their rhythm is clumsy, fueled by urgency and the knowledge that they could be discovered at any moment. They stumble and trip over each other, their bodies knocking against the bookshelves. The sound of paper and leather fluttering around them only adds to the heady ambiance, making each of them more impetuous, more feverish.

They do not speak, afraid to break the spell. Instead, they communicate in touch, in respiration. Laina's fingers dig into his shoulders, nails chewing into his skin. He answers by biting her neck, leaving a trail of marks that will bloom wine-coloured in the morning.

They are inelegant, and uncoordinated, both of them so consumed by their hunger that they can barely function. Their clothes are messy and rumpled, and Laina's hair is falling out of its braid. Tristan looks like he has been through a tropical storm, his eyes dark, his lips swollen.

But amid their recklessness, their desperation, there is also tenderness. A soft touch here, a gentle caress there. They are greedy, but they are not careless. They know the value of what they have and the precariousness of their situation.