Chapter 90: In Her Hands

Brina bursts out of Lucien’s carriage the next morning wide-eyed, hair a wreck, and bolts straight through the waking village without any clear destination in mind, until she very nearly collides with Kamiko, who’s deep in conversation with a cluster of merchants over crates of stacked goods.

Kamiko catches sight of her, excuses herself in a hurry, murmuring something about a family emergency to the bewildered merchants, and scurries over, wincing at the state of her the moment she’s close enough to properly see it. Bloodshot eyes. Matted fur. A dried trail of drool still crusted along one cheek.

“Are you okay?” Kamiko asks, reaching out to steady her. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

Brina doesn’t answer that. “Where’s Lucien?”

Kamiko squints at her for a long beat, then a slow, knowing grin spreads across her face. “Ohhh.” She pouts theatrically. “Funny. I didn’t hear any howling last night.”

“Nothing happened,” Brina snaps, too fast.

“Oh.” Kamiko’s face falls, genuinely disappointed. “That’s a shame.”

Then Brina’s expression crumples, and she looks up at Kamiko with wide, quivering eyes. “I went to him last night. I can’t remember much of it, but he wouldn’t do anything with me.” Her voice cracks. “Is something wrong with me?”

Kamiko pulls her straight into a hug. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” Brina mumbles into her shoulder. “He’s pleasured dozens of women. Why not me?”

Kamiko smiles fondly, smoothing a hand down her back. “Trying to understand Lucien is like trying to count the stars. It’s impossible.” She pulls back, tucking a stray lock of Brina’s hair behind one ear. “But whatever—”

“BRINA! MORNING!”

Both women turn to find Lucien striding toward them, beaming, Serenith drifting lazily at his shoulder. He slows the moment he registers the two of them, brows knitting at the serious look still hanging between them.

“What’s wrong?”

Brina averts her gaze instantly.

“Nothing,” Kamiko says smoothly. “Girl talk.”

He shrugs it off and turns his full attention to Brina instead. “Are you busy? I was hoping to steal you for breakfast.”

Her eyes go wide, ears perking straight up. She glances toward Kamiko, who just smiles and gives her a small, encouraging nudge forward. Brina immediately starts patting at her own hopelessly matted fur, trying and failing to make herself presentable in the space of a single panicked second.

“I’m sorry,” she says, flustered. “I didn’t get the chance to freshen up yet.”

“You look as adorable as ever,” he says, waving it off. She flushes to the roots of her ears. He holds out a hand, and when she takes it, he pulls her arm through his and tucks her snug against his hip. She yips at the sudden closeness, then settles, a small smile tugging at her mouth despite herself.

He leads her toward the river, chattering the whole way about the party, how wild the otter-kin get once the rum starts flowing, how he’s already planning to import the entire stock, maybe even bottle it under his own label. Brina barely hears a word of it, eyes half-lidded, leaning into the warmth radiating off him with a soft, satisfied hum, the morning sun still low enough to throw long shadows across the packed dirt path.

They reach the docks, weathered planks creaking underfoot, river water lapping soft and steady against the pilings, and he guides her to a small boat waiting at the end of one, bobbing gently against the wood.

She squints at it, then at him.

“Breakfast,” he says, gesturing grandly at the little vessel, “with a view.”

He just grins and offers his hand.

She sighs, smiles despite herself, and climbs aboard. Serenith trails along above them, silent, watching with far too much interest for someone claiming disinterest.

Lucien climbs in after her, pushes off, and they drift out onto the water, the current catching them slow and easy, morning mist still curling faintly off the surface in thin, silver ribbons.

Brina says nothing, doing her level best to keep her eyes off him and failing within seconds every single time.

He rows them out at an easy pace, muscles flexing easy and unhurried with each pull, humming some tuneless, cheerful melody under his breath, making idle chatter about the current, the weather, anything at all. A pair of otter-kin pups paddle past in the shallows, waving enthusiastically before diving under with a splash, and Lucien waves back like they’re old friends, water dripping steadily off the oars in bright little arcs with every stroke.

Eventually Brina works up the nerve to ask the question that’s been sitting heavy in her chest since she woke.

“What happened last night?”

Lucien sighs, fond, and looks at her, smirk and smolder both sliding neatly into place. “Thank you. For last night.”

“Nothing happened, though,” she says, blushing.

He smiles at her then, and it isn’t the smirk, isn’t the practiced smolder at all. Something else entirely. Pure, unguarded gratitude.

Brina’s blush deepens considerably.

“You came to me,” he says. “Offered yourself to me. That’s the greatest gift a woman can give, and not one I take lightly.” He sets down the oars, leans forward, and takes her hand in both of his. “I couldn’t enjoy it, knowing you weren’t in the right state of mind to properly appreciate the moment yourself.” His thumb strokes gently across her knuckles. “But if you still find me worthy of your body, I promise to worship it exactly the way you deserve. Whenever you’re ready.”

Brina melts.

Every wall she’d carried onto that boat, every scrap of hesitation, every last doubt, all of it shatters at once under the weight of his words.

Lucien watches it happen, watches her expression tumble from confusion into disbelief and finally something close to reverence, and simply lets her sit with it, picking the oars back up and easing them into a slow, steady rhythm, humming softly to himself as the boat glides on, water rippling out behind them in a widening, silver-edged wake.

Brina just stares at him, heart hammering, tail gone limp, mind entirely too overwhelmed to form a single coherent thought, the boat rocking gently beneath them as the last of the village noise fades into the soft, steady lap of water against wood.

“Gods, the river really is beautiful this time of—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Brina pounces, closing the distance in a single desperate lunge, already tearing at his shirt with both hands.

Lucien doesn’t flinch. He lets himself topple backward onto the floor of the boat, grinning wide, thoroughly pleased with himself as he watches her strip him with the frantic, single-minded urgency of a woman whose entire life now depends on it, eyes glazed, a wicked, hungry grin spreading across her face, the little boat rocking dangerously with every eager tug.

When she finally reaches the last button of his pants and peels them open, she freezes.

Eyes going wide. A slow, audible gulp.

She turns to him, lips parted, chest heaving, dazed and hungry all at once.

Lucien just smiles up at her, warm and easy.

“I’m in your hands,” he says. “Whatever you want. However you want it.”

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