Chapter 36: The Duke's Claim
The heavy outer door thudded shut, severing the thin, vibrating thread of her brother’s outrage. Silence rushed in to fill the space, thick and humming.
Clara stood in the cooling water, arms wrapped around herself. The tremors were back, but they were different now. Not from fear. From the violent, shocked aftermath of her own audacity. She could still feel the phantom press of lips, the scrape of teeth, the hard grip of hands. The steam felt like a conspirator, clinging to her skin, holding the scent of them—leather, frost, citrus.
Footsteps returned from the outer chamber.
Slow. Deliberate.
Kellen appeared in the doorway. He had not bothered to reopen the door. He simply stood there, a statue framed by carved stone, his eyes scanning the room. They moved over Freir, who was leaning against the tiled wall, wiping a drip of water from his chin with a contemplative expression. They moved over Jared, who stood like a bulwark between the baths and the world, his posture only now beginning to unbend from its defensive coil.
Finally, his gaze landed on her.
He said nothing. His expression was unreadable, the usual ice present, but beneath it ran a current of something hotter, something evaluated and decided.
Freir pushed off the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well. That was informative. His Imperial Highness’s knock is significantly less impressive when it’s met with… other compelling sounds.” He glanced at Clara, his eyes glinting. “You’re full of surprises, Princess.”
Jared let out a long, controlled breath, running a hand through his hair. “He’ll regroup. He won’t let that stand.”
“No,” Kellen said, his first word. It was flat. Final. His attention never left Clara. “He won’t.”
He took a step into the room. Then another. The distance between them felt charged, like the air before a lightning strike. Clara’s heart, which had begun to slow, kicked back into a gallop. This was different from the strategic performance. This was a conclusion.
He stopped at the edge of the tub. Looked down at her. Water lapped at her waist, beaded on her shoulders. She felt utterly exposed, but for the first time, it didn’t make her want to shrink. It made her lift her chin.
“You used the weapon they gave you,” Kellen stated. “The only one they never thought you’d understand how to wield. Yourself.”
“It worked,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“It did.” He didn’t smile. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered. “It also created a new problem.”
He reached down. Not for her hand. He cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her wet hair. The move was possessive, unquestionable. He didn’t pull her. He simply leaned down, bridging the space.
His kiss wasn’t like the one he’d given her before the performance. That had been a tool, a calculated part of the ruse. This was a claiming. It was deep, searing, and utterly devoid of artifice. It was a man tasting a victory he hadn’t planned for, and deciding he wanted more. His other hand found her hip beneath the water, his grip firm, anchoring her to the spot.
Clara melted into it. A soft sound escaped her, muffled against his mouth. All the sharp edges inside her seemed to soften, to flow. When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm on her lips. His icy eyes were dark, the pupils wide.
“Mine first,” he growled, the words low, for her alone.
The meaning hung in the steam. An order. A promise. A restructuring of the careful, political alliance into something perilously personal.
He released her and straightened up, turning to face the other two. His demeanor shifted back into command. “We have until the formal reception tonight. Perhaps four hours. The Emperor will use it to plan his countermove. The Crown Prince will be drunk and looking for a target.”
Jared watched Kellen, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He wasn’t angry. He was assessing, reconciling the Duke’s actions with the man he was coming to know. After a moment, he gave a single, curt nod. Acceptance.
Freir’s smirk had deepened into something genuine. “Jealousy is such an ugly color on a tyrant. It makes them reckless.” He eyed the bath. “We’re all going to catch a chill standing about in wet clothes, you know.”
“Then don’t stand,” Clara heard herself say.
The words were out, bold and quiet. Three pairs of eyes snapped to her. The heat from Kellen’s kiss was still singing in her veins, mixing with the lingering thrill of defiance. She was tired of being the passive piece on the board. If this was her battlefield now, she would set the terms.
She looked at Jared. “You’re still in full armor.” At Freir. “You have a new scratch on your hand you haven’t explained.” Finally, at Kellen. “And you just sent the second most powerful man in the empire away with his tail between his legs. We’re all… vibrating. Aren’t we?”
A slow smile spread across Freir’s face. “She has a point. We’re a collection of live wires in a room full of water. Not the safest combination.”
Jared let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a rare, rough sound. He reached for the buckle of his breastplate. The click of the release was loud in the quiet room. “The armor is a pain,” he admitted, his voice softer now. He set the polished steel plate carefully on a dry bench, followed by a vambrace. Each piece shed was a layer of duty, a step closer to the man beneath.
Freir was already pulling his damp shirt over his head, wincing slightly as the fabric brushed the angry red mark on his hand. “One of his ‘guards’ got frisky with a signet ring when I blocked the doorway. It’s nothing.”
Kellen watched it all, his own expression inscrutable. Then, with efficient movements, he finished loosening his shirt and pulled it off. His torso was lean, corded with muscle, and marked with a few pale, old scars—the map of a life that demanded more than diplomacy. He didn’t join her in the water. He sat on the broad rim of the tub, his back to her, presenting a landscape of taut shoulders and spine.
An invitation. A concession.
Clara didn’t hesitate. She moved through the water until she was behind him. Tentatively, she placed her hands on his shoulders. The muscle there was knotted rock. She began to knead, her thumbs pressing into the rigid cords along his spine.
He let out a breath, a slow, controlled release of tension. His head bowed forward, just a fraction.
Jared, down to his trousers, stepped into the tub at the other end. He was so large he displaced a small wave that sloshed toward Clara. He sank into the heat with a groan that was pure, undiluted relief. “Gods. That’s better than a month’s pay.”
Freir dipped a hand in, tested the temperature, and then slid in gracefully, settling opposite Jared. He stretched his arms along the rim, closing his eyes. “So. The reception. We’re to be a united front, I assume? All smiles and marital bliss while they try to poison the wine?”
“They’ll try to separate us,” Jared said, his eyes closed, steam wreathing his face. “Specifically, they’ll try to get to her. A summons from the Emperor. A ‘fatherly chat’.”
“They can try,” Kellen said, his voice a low rumble under Clara’s hands. She felt the vibration through her fingertips. “We don’t accept separate invitations. We are a bloc. We move as one.”
“And if the Emperor himself commands it?” Freir asked, opening one eye.
“Then,” Kellen said, turning his head slightly, catching Clara’s gaze over his shoulder, “we have a princess who has recently proven herself exceptionally adept at turning a command into a spectacle. We adapt.”
Clara’s hands stilled on his shoulders. The responsibility in his words was immense, but it wasn’t a burden he was placing on her alone. It was a strategy. They were a team. The realization was a warmth deeper than the bathwater.
For a long while, there was only the sound of water lapping, of settling bodies, of breathing. The frantic energy of the last hour began to truly ebb, replaced by a fragile, collective calm. It was the eye of the storm.
Jared looked across the steam at Clara. “You should get out before you wrinkle into oblivion. We’ve got to get you into something lethal for tonight.”
Freir chuckled. “Yes. Something that says ‘I destroyed my brother’s composure today and all I got was this lovely gown.’”
A real, genuine laugh bubbled out of Clara. It felt strange and wonderful in her throat.
She moved to climb out. Kellen stood first, turning and offering her his hand. It was a simple, practical gesture. She took it, letting him help her step onto the cool tiles. He didn’t let go immediately. He reached for a large, linen towel with his other hand and wrapped it around her, his hands rubbing warmth into her arms through the cloth. The action was so unexpectedly, domestically tender that her breath hitched.
He met her eyes, and for a fleeting second, the ice was entirely gone. What was left was fierce, possessive, and terrifyingly real.
“A bloc,” he repeated quietly, for her alone.
Then he released her, the mask settling back into place. “Jared. With me. We need to check the security detail for the reception hall. Freir.”
Freir was already rising from the water, dripping and unconcerned. “I know, I know. Guard the prize. It’s my favorite duty.” He shot Clara a wink that was only half-mocking.
As Kellen and Jared moved toward the door, pulling on shirts and the mantle of their public roles, Clara stood wrapped in the towel, watching them.
The game had changed. The lines had blurred. The cage door was not just open; it had been ripped from its hinges. And standing there in the steam, with the echoes of a prince’s fury still fading from the stones, she knew the most dangerous part was just beginning.
They were a bloc. And the empire had never seen anything like them.
The soft thud of the outer door closing never came. The men halted, their hands on the latches, their postures already shifting toward duty. Clara’s voice, quiet but unyielding, cut through the steam.
“Wait.”
Kellen turned, his brow a faint line of impatience or inquiry. Jared paused, one vambrace still in hand. Freir leaned against the doorframe, his head tilting.
Clara stopped them all from leaving just yet. She tightened the towel around herself, the linen rough against her oversensitive skin. “You said we have four hours… right?”
Jared nodded once, his eyes wary. “At most. Then the pageantry begins.”
“Do we have some time to… spend alone together?” The words felt huge in her mouth, terrifying and essential. She looked at the floor, then forced her gaze up, meeting each of them in turn. The heat in the room was no longer from the bath. “I want… I want you to touch me more. Not as a strategy. Not to make a point to my brother.”
She swallowed, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. “I want you to touch me because I asked you to.”
The silence that followed was absolute. It was the silence of three predators recalculating, of plans being torn up and rewritten in a heartbeat.
Freir broke it. A slow, genuine smile erased the last of his mocking veneer. “Well. There’s a command I can follow with absolute pleasure.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked toward her. He didn’t rush. His steps were deliberate, a stalking pace. He stopped just before her, his gaze drinking her in. “Where would you like my hands, Princess?”
Kellen’s voice was a low crackle. “Freir.”
“No.” Clara’s own voice surprised her with its steadiness. She kept her eyes on Freir. “He asked me a question.” She reached out, her fingers trembling only slightly, and touched Freir’s chest. His skin was still damp, sleek over hard muscle. “Everywhere.”
A rough sound came from Jared’s direction. She heard the vambrace hit the floor with a heavier thud this time.
Freir’s hands came up to frame her face. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. “Then we’ll start here.” His kiss was deep, exploratory, his tongue sliding against hers with a lazy confidence that made her knees weak. He tasted of mint and danger. One hand slid into her damp hair, fisting gently, tilting her head back to give him better access. The other drifted down, over the towel, his palm skimming the side of her breast.
Clara moaned into his mouth, her hands flattening against his chest for balance.
She heard movement, the whisper of fabric, the click of a belt. Then Jared was there, a wall of heat at her back. His hands, so much larger, settled on her towel-clad hips, pulling her away from Freir’s mouth with a gentle firmness.
“My turn,” Jared murmured, his voice a vibration against her ear. He didn’t turn her around. He kept her facing Freir, his body pressing flush against her back. The hard length of his cock, freed from his trousers, nudged against the base of her spine through the towel. His big hands slid up her sides, over the linen, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. “You feel incredible.”
Freir watched, his eyes heavy-lidded, as Jared’s hands moved. He leaned in and sucked a wet, open-mouthed kiss onto Clara’s throat. “Let’s get this fucking towel off her,” he said against her skin, his words muffled.
“Yes,” Clara gasped, her head falling back against Jared’s shoulder.
Jared’s fingers found the knot she’d tucked at her chest. He pulled it loose. The towel slumped open. Cool air washed over her front, followed immediately by the scorching heat of Freir’s gaze. He devoured the sight of her bare breasts, her nipples pebbled tight from the chill and the attention.
“Christ,” Jared breathed behind her, his hands sliding around to cup her breasts fully. His palms were calloused, his touch reverent and rough at the same time. He squeezed, his thumbs rubbing slow, torturous circles over her nipples.
Clara cried out, arching into his hands. The twin sensations—Freir’s mouth on her neck, Jared’s hands on her tits—unraveled her. Need pooled hot and insistent between her legs.
The towel fell completely, puddling at her feet.
Kellen moved then. He had been silent, watching from near the door. Now he closed the distance, his expression no longer icy but fiercely intent. He didn’t reach for her. He looked at Jared. “Put her on the rim. Hold her steady.”
It wasn’t a request. Jared’s hands slid from her breasts to her waist, his grip sure. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, turning and setting her down on the broad, cool copper edge of the tub. The metal was a shock against her bare ass. Freir followed, stepping between her knees, his hands sliding up her thighs to push them wider.
“God, look at you,” Freir whispered, his eyes locked on the wet, flushed folds now exposed to him. He dragged a single finger through her slit, collecting the slickness there. He brought his finger to his mouth, sucked it clean, and groaned. “Perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
Jared stood behind her, his body supporting her back, his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down, kissing her temple. “Just feel it,” he murmured. “We’ve got you.”
Kellen knelt on the tiles in front of her. His motion was fluid, predatory. He put his hands on her inner thighs, beside Freir’s, and pushed them wider still. There was no gentleness in it, only a stark, open need. He looked up at her face, holding her gaze.
“This is what you wanted?” His voice was gravel.
“Yes,” Clara panted. “Please.”
“Then watch.” He lowered his head.
His mouth was hot and demanding on her cunt. He didn’t tease. He licked a broad, flat stripe from her opening to her clit, and Clara shrieked, her back bowing off Jared’s chest. Kellen did it again, and again, his tongue ruthless and skilled. He zeroed in on her clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.
“Fuck, Kellen,” Freir groaned, watching, his own hand stroking the hard line of his cock. He leaned over, capturing one of Clara’s nipples in his mouth, biting down just enough to walk the line between pleasure and pain.
Clara was dissolving. She was a raw nerve, a collection of desperate, climbing sensations. Jared held her through the tremors, his mouth on her neck, whispering filthy encouragements. “That’s it, let go. Take what you need. Come on his tongue.”
Kellen’s fingers joined his mouth. He slid two inside her, crooking them, finding a spot that made her see white. He fucked her with them, deep and hard, in time with the savage suction of his mouth.
The orgasm ripped through her without warning. It was a convulsive, screaming thing that tore her throat raw. She bucked against Kellen’s face, her heels digging into his back, her hands scrambling for purchase on the slick copper. He didn’t let up, drinking her in, extending the waves until she was sobbing.
As the last pulses faded, he pulled back, his chin glistening. He stood up, his own desire blatant in the tent of his trousers. He looked at Freir, then at the space between Clara’s legs. “Your turn. Get her ready for me.”
Freir didn’t need telling twice. He pushed Kellen’s hand away and replaced his fingers with his cock. The head was slick, a blunt pressure against her. He wasn’t asking. He was taking, and Clara, boneless and oversensitive, wanted nothing more.
“Yes, give it to me,” she slurred, her head lolling back.
Freir drove into her in one smooth, deep thrust. She was so wet, so open from her climax, that he slid to the hilt with a filthy, wet sound. He stilled, buried inside her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder with a guttural curse. “So fucking tight. Even now.”
He began to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Each thrust jolted her up the rim, but Jared was there, an immovable anchor, his hands firm on her hips. Freir fucked her with a focused, driving rhythm, his hips snapping, his breath hot and ragged against her neck.
“Look at her take it,” Jared growled, his own hips pressing against her back. “Look how well she takes his cock.”
Clara felt another climax coiling, tighter, hotter than the first. Kellen was watching, his eyes burning, as he freed his own erection. He stroked himself, his gaze fixed on where Freir was joined to her.
“Close,” Freir gritted out, his pace becoming erratic, brutal. “I’m gonna fill you up, darling.”
“Do it,” Clara begged, her nails digging into Jared’s thighs. The permission, the raw filth of it, pushed her over. She came again, a silent, shuddering release that clenched around Freir, milking him.
He shouted, his body locking as he pumped his release deep inside her, his thrusts turning shallow, possessive.
He slumped against her, spent, before carefully pulling out. The evidence of his climax dripped from her, down onto the copper rim.
Kellen was there before she could even catch her breath. He nudged Freir aside. His hands were on her thighs, his eyes holding hers. There was a question there, a final check.
Clara answered by reaching for him, her arms looping around his neck, pulling him down to her. Her kiss was messy, tasting of her own desire. “Now you,” she whispered against his lips.
He entered her in one fierce, claiming thrust. She was stretched, full, utterly used. He felt bigger, the slide a burn that tipped into blinding pleasure. He didn’t fuck her like Freir. He took her with a controlled, devastating depth, each stroke hitting the very core of her.
“You. Are. Mine.” He punctuated each word with a drive of his hips, his possession absolute, his gaze never leaving her face.
Jared’s hands were on her breasts again, rolling her nipples, his mouth on her shoulder. “Come for him, Clara. One more time. Let him feel it.”
Her body, shockingly, obeyed. The third climax was a deep, internal unraveling, a surrender that had her screaming Kellen’s name into the steam. He followed her over, his own release a hot flood, a grunt of absolute conquest torn from his chest.
He held himself there, buried inside her, for a long moment, his breathing ragged. Then he carefully withdrew.
Silence descended, broken only by their panting. The air was thick with sex and salt and sweat. Clara trembled, held upright only by Jared’s solid presence behind her. Freir handed her a clean corner of the discarded towel. Kellen righted his clothes, his face an impassive mask once more, though his eyes were still dark.
From the outer chamber, a single, clear bell tolled in the distance.
One hour until the reception.
Jared helped her stand, her legs unsteady. “The armory,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We go there next. You need to see it. You need to understand what we’re truly up against.”
Clara nodded, using the towel to clean herself, the mundane action surreal. The gilded cage was gone. In its place was this: the scent of them on her skin, the ache between her legs, the terrifying, exhilarating freedom of a shared secret, and the cold, gleaming truth of the armory waiting. The real battle was just beginning.