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Upon arriving at the Gnawed Noble in Denerim, his Warden called for a bath. Unfortunately, by the time the red-faced serving woman rolled the big tub into the modest rooms, Ren had already fallen face first into the pillows into death-like sleep.
“Sorry ‘bout the wait.” The woman slung a bucket of steaming water into the wooden tub just big enough for Ren to fit neatly within. “Satinalia’s got us up to our elbows in work.”
“All work and no play? How unfair for a creature such as yourself.” Zevran took no small delight in watching his words bring a wicked flush up on the maid’s cheeks.
She giggled, sloshing in a second bucket and tossing him a cheerful wink. “Maybe you’ll find me later, serah? I could use a Satinalia kiss.”
“For such a beautiful woman? You need three kisses. At least.”
“You!” the woman exclaimed joyfully. “Are all Antivans such flirts?”
Grinning, Zevran opened the door to the room as the woman retrieved her buckets. “That is a matter of state secrecy, I’m afraid.”
Her dark eyes sized him up from bare toes to his long hair and pointed ears. Then she smiled the kind of smile that usually instantly caused him to shamelessly cajole the giver into his bed.
His bed was occupied, however, and so was he.
The woman bustled past with a slow wink and an exaggerated shake of her hips, a blatant invitation if he’d ever saw one. And yet he closed the door firmly and turned back to the silent room.
Ren’s form in the large bed looked almost delicate, especially the way she curled in the center of it like a cat. Her frazzled blonde braids framed a face lost in the innocence of sleep, sword rough hands snagged on the quilt.
His heart twisted in his chest, his breath stuttered, and for a moment he was unmoored. Lost. Helpless in the face of the tiny force of nature in bed.
His body moved even as his mind whirled, settling beside his lover and gently rolling her to the side. She stirred faintly, offering a small noise of dismay. Zevran chuckled, running his own calloused fingers over her jaw, down the line of her neck.
“Your bath is here,” Zevran announced.
Ren simply groaned and twisted her face into the quilt. Zevran chuckled, dropping his fingers down her creamy pale skin to pluck at the laces of her tunic. “Shall I undress you then?”
“I’m exhausted,” Ren whined, tossing an arm over her face. “Let me sleep. The bath will wait.”
He did so love when she slipped into her old bossy habits.
“If I do that, then you’ll have a cold bath. You deserve to melt in the tub, mia cara. I will not have you in less than warm water.”
Her eyes fluttered open then narrowed in irritation, rosebud mouth twisting. “I deserve a nap.”
“Indeed!” Her shirt loosened enough for him to pull it up her ribs, his thumb tracing the soft curves of her skin. “You deserve to rest in the pillowy bosom of the greatest beauty of the age while I worship every inch of your skin, si? Someday, Principessa. Soon.”
The ire fled Ren’s expression, leaving behind something shriveled and exhausted. She’d been like this since they left Orzammar. One moment irritable, the next almost hopeless. Their last night in the kingdom she’d been exiled from, caught in Rica’s sweet embrace while Zevran did his best to please both women, lingered as a bittersweet memory.
For her, and in truth, him.
He had foolishly developed feelings for Farren Aeducan, his Principessa, his Warden, and had been prepared to do anything to see her happy by the time they returned to her former home.
If that meant seeing her to the arms of another and vanishing into the shadow, so be it. Instead, he found himself haunted by crackling emerald eyes and crimson hair.
“What if-” Ren started.
Zevran shushed her with a kiss against her lips. He murmured against the plush, warm give of them. “And what if she learns I have not taken proper care of you?”
Ren huffed a soft, broken laugh against his mouth. “I wouldn’t get on her bad side.”
No, Zevran would not do that for all the gold in the world. He tugged gently at Ren’s tunic. “Then allow me, Principessa.”
She held his gaze for the space of one heartbeat, blue eyes weighing him carefully before they closed. Her chin dipped in silent assent and she went almost limp under his hands.
It was easy work to pull the tunic over her head, easier for his nimble fingers to find the familiar laces of her stays and undo them. They fell apart and revealed the soft, warm skin beneath. A source of immense temptation, but easily extinguished by the way Ren collapsed into him while he undressed her.
He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before tugging her soft, worn breeches down lush thighs. His thumb found the scar the werewolves left, he remembered the blood, the smell of it in the air and Ren’s eyes closing…
Every day since had been a gift. One he intended to cherish.
He swung her into his arms and stood in one fluent movement from the bed before she could even sputter out an indignant noise of protest. Her arms scrambled to circle his neck, face pressing into his shoulder.
Steam rose from the tub in gentle curls above the smooth surface. He bent at the waist to slowly guide his precious burden into the warm water. She hissed at first, instinctually clinging to him before her iron grip on his skin relaxed at the heat easing all the knots inside her warrior’s body.
She sighed, content, sinking into the tub until the water hid her fine dwarven assets from his eyes. Her eyes fluttered closed again, mouth opening into a tiny ‘o’ of delight. Chuckling, Zevran pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Relax, mi amor.”
“If you insist,” she mumbled. “Have it your way.”
To have a hero, a princess, so at ease with his bloody hands tracing the line of her jaw was a novelty he never thought he’d experience. His fingers danced up her cheek to the thick braids and began to pluck at them skillfully until pale golden waves fell through his palms like sunlight.
It seemed a shame, truly, that she’d been kept below the ground all her life when she glowed like the stars.
He combed his fingers through Ren’s hair thoughtfully before picking up the abandoned pitcher and dunking it beneath the surface of the water. She inhaled and exhaled softly while he lifted it and gently tipped her chin up.
She shivered when the water hit her scalp and he shushed her, moving his thumb over her lips, soaking the long hair until it plastered against her skin. “Once more, Principessa.”
The pitcher descended beneath the surface in time to Ren’s soft, broken laugh. “Nobody’s done this for me since Orzammar.”
“And I’m sure nobody as handsome as I, si?”
Her laughter came easier, warmer, while the water sliced over her head. Zevran wrapped his fingers around the long rope of hair, sweeping it over her shoulder to press another kiss to her shoulder.
Her sapphire eyes opened, fixed on him where he knelt beside the tub. She swallowed, hard, before pressing her forehead to his. “What if we never see her again?”
“We will,” Zevran reassured. “We will end the blight, return to Orzammar in triumph, and then spirit our Rica away, yes?”
She shook her head, the smallest sign of distress. “You make it sound sodding easy.”
“For you? It will be.” Zevran ran his knuckles down her cheek, a silent promise. “In no more than a few months I will be worshipping you both as a belated Satinalia present and this will be a story we tell, nothing more.”
She smiled, bringing her own small hand up to cup his cheek. “What would I do without you?”
“Die horribly at the hands of either darkspawn or assassins,” Zevran chirped. “Now. Allow me.”
Before she released him, Ren surged forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”
Zevran had done nothing to be thanked for, but a part of him glowed with her soft gratitude anyway.
“For you, Principessa, I would storm the gates of the black city,” he murmured against her lips. “Never doubt it.”
She breathed her own answer against his lips. “I won’t.”