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    Summary

    “I waited for hours. It’s a dumb choice to keep a prince waiting…” He grabbed Duncan firmly, now face to face, without the armor the warmth passed through the light fabric. Blue eyes met purple ones in the darkness, a desire as strong as the fire swaying in the hearth. “And you know how I hate waiting.”

    “I already apologized,” Duncan finally said, his voice low but laden with something Aerion already knew well.

    As if a spark had fallen into wildfire, heat filled the chamber. In one pull, Duncan tangled himself with Aerion, fingers curling into his silver strands and lips pressed together, moving with a shared hunger.

     

    (Or, Aerion stays up late waiting for one of his daily visits.)

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