Dexmon told himself he was only going to check on her.
Just a glance. Just to make sure she was still breathing evenly, that the faint glow beneath her skin had finally settled.
But the moment he saw her lying there, something in his chest gave way.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Then, without realizing he had moved, his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face.
The instant their skin touched, a quiet spark rippled through him, sharp and unmistakable.
She looked uncomfortable, a faint crease of pain etched between her brows.
His hand found the zipper at the back of her training suit. He hesitated, fingers resting there as heat radiated through the fabric into his palm. He glanced back at her face.
She was burning up.
He moved carefully, peeling the heavy fabric away until she was down to her undergarments and bandages. His breath hitched despite himself.
She was beautiful.
He pulled a thick blanket up around her, tucking it securely in place.
The urge to hold her pressed hard against his ribs. An instinctive pull he had no business indulging.
His wolf spoke in his mind, interrupting his train of thought.
Aegon:If you lie with her, she will heal faster.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath.
He had already stripped her down to her undergarments. At this point, pretending restraint felt dishonest.
He slid beneath the blanket and drew her back against his chest. She fit there with unsettling perfection. Like she had been shaped for that space.
For him.
He breathed in her scent again. Pine, moonfire, and something wild beneath it that made his chest ache. It was overwhelming.
He still could not fathom how beautiful she was.
Any attraction he tried to summon for Princess Viremont felt laughable by comparison.
He told himself he would proceed anyway. Even with a fated mate. Out of duty. Out of honor. He had given his word months ago.
But it had never felt right.
Not then.
And certainly not now.
He pressed a quiet kiss to the back of her head.
There was no avoiding it anymore. He would have to end things with the princess. Keeping that promise would be nothing but self-inflicted torture.
Serena needed to be claimed. Interest in her was already growing, and he would not leave her unprotected.
But he wanted her to choose him. Without destiny pressing a thumb to the scale. Without bonds or prophecy whispering in her ear.
A choice made with clear eyes.
Sleep claimed him before he realized it.
He woke before dawn.
Serena had not stirred.
It took effort to pull himself away, every step toward the door an act of restraint. As he left the room, he made a quiet decision.
As soon as she was healed, she would be moved into his quarters.
For her safety.
That was the story he was sticking to.