Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 438. I Don't Get to be Spoiled Often
Half an hour passed. Maybe more. Time had slipped its leash and gone quiet, curling into the corners of the parlor like a lazy cat.
They still sat there—entwined, silent, the couch creaking faintly beneath their combined weight. Clothes weren't quite off anymore, but they weren't exactly on either. Angel's shirt hung from one shoulder, unbuttoned and wrinkled beyond saving. Rose's bodice was laced just enough to be technically decent, but anyone walking in would know exactly what had happened here.
The scent of firewood, skin, and soft sin lingered in the air.
Rose lay tucked into his chest, her hair splayed against his collarbone, one leg lazily draped over his thigh. Neither of them had spoken for a while, but the kind of silence that sat between them wasn't heavy. It was indulgent. Warm.
Still, reality waited beyond the walls.
Rose shifted slightly, brushing her lips near his jaw. Her voice was soft—still breathy from before, but gentler now. "Chancellor Allan should be waiting for you by now."
Angel didn't even blink. "I know."
He didn't move either.
Rose smiled, barely, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his sternum. "And I still have work."
"I know that too," he said.
Still… he didn't move.
"You're being a little spoiled right now," she murmured.
"I don't get to be spoiled often," he muttered into her hair. "Let me have five more minutes."
"Five minutes, you said that ten minutes ago."
"I'm adjusting for royal inflation."
She giggled. Actually giggled, like they weren't both supposed to be neck-deep in council briefings, military projections, and negotiation drafts. "You're impossible."
"I'm possessed," he corrected, finally looking down at her. "By you."
Rose rolled her eyes. "Nice try."
She sat up slowly, untangling herself from his arms with something between reluctance and ceremony. He watched her as she moved—watched the slow grace in how she gathered her hair, the tired stretch of her limbs, the slight flush still warming her throat. Her dress was clinging to her in all the wrong places, like even the fabric didn't want to let her go.
He sighed.
"Fine," Angel said at last, exhaling long and low. "We can continue this later."
Rose gave him that look. The one that meant she knew exactly what he was thinking and still wouldn't stop him. "Tonight," she promised. "If you're not too buried in scrolls and prophecies."
He leaned forward, hand curling around her wrist, then tugged her gently back into his lap for one last kiss. This one was softer. Slower. The kind of kiss that tasted like later.
"I'll be waiting," he murmured.
She hummed against his mouth. "Try not to scare Allan. He's still flinching from the last meeting."
"He asked me to show mercy to criminals," Angel said flatly. "Mid-trial."
"I know," she smiled. "You growled at him."
"I didn't growl."
"You kind of did."
He kissed her one last time—just a whisper against her lips—and finally let her go. The room suddenly felt colder without her against him.
They both stood slowly. He picked up his discarded shirt, giving it a look of disdain, and began to redress. She adjusted her bodice, straightened her skirts, then reached up to smooth his hair back into some approximation of order.
"You look slightly less debauched," she said with a smirk.
"And you," he said, eyeing the flushed curve of her neck, "look like a queen who just redefined what parlor rooms are for."
They shared one more quiet laugh.
Then—silence again. But not the heavy kind. The kind that meant this wasn't over. That it was merely paused. Deferred. Folded into the space between their responsibilities and crowns.
He buttoned the last of his coat, reached for his gloves.
She gathered her papers with a sigh and tucked her hair behind one ear.
At the door, their hands brushed again.
"I meant what I said earlier," Angel told her quietly.
Rose turned. "Which part?"
His eyes met hers, unflinching.
"You make the curse feel lighter."
She stared at him. Just for a second. Then smiled. "And you make the burden feel worth it."
They didn't need more words than that.
But they needed to leave the room eventually.
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