I slipped inside, closing the door with a click so faint it was barely a heartbeat. The room was cold, the windows open to the night air.
Jarek was sprawled across the massive four-poster bed, the sheets tangled around his waist. The moonlight hit the scars on his back—the map of his exile, the marks of a man who had fought for every inch of ground he owned.
He looked peaceful. It was the only time the hardness left his jaw, the only time the "Rogue King" vanished to reveal the boy I had loved in the lands of Duskwind.
He had such a kind heart, a heart that had gotten him into trouble that even his parents couldn't navigate. He was a man of honor in a world of thieves.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my weight barely making a dent. My breath hitched. I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. I was so proud of him. He had taken nothing and turned it into a kingdom. He was brilliant, ruthless, and entirely mine—if only he would realize it.
