Chapter 23: The Mark

Alaric's POV

She came to my door after midnight, with her coat over her arm and her boots in her hand.

I had been sitting in the dark for two hours, not reading.

The crown had gone back into its case, and the hall was empty, and every bell in the city had finally stopped.

"Crispin can wait until morning," Astrid said. "I read his note. Tonight isn't his."

"Whose is it?"

"Yours." She put her boots down. "If you still want it."

I stood up slowly.

I had wanted her for three years.

In one month I had been the man who lied to her, the man who held a gate for her, and the man who stood behind her while she took back her name.

I did not know which of them she was walking toward.

"Astrid," I said. "The mark."

"Yes."

"You told me it wasn't about the mark. I need to hear what it's about now."

"It's about me," she said. "I'm not afraid of it anymore."

She crossed the room and took my face in her hands.

Her palms were rough from the reins, and her fingers shook.

"I've had thirteen years of people deciding what I was," she said. "Tonight I'm deciding."

"I want your mark on me, and I want mine on you."

"Not the pull. I want to look at you when I do it."

I kissed her, and it was not like any other kiss.

It was slow, and she let me make it slow.

I undid her laces one at a time, and she let me do that too, her eyes open on mine.

When her tunic fell, I held her by the waist and looked at her.

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