Diavolos' hand was surprisingly gentle as he stitched together the gash in Kenna's shoulder where his father's blade had struck; they'd found the infirmary clean and stocked but mostly empty, the healers all gone to rest after tirelessly patching up the wounded soldiers, or tending to the comfort of the seriously and terminally injured. His stitches were small and neat, which Kenna found very telling; the warrior prince had not only led his men into battle, he'd also cared for them when they'd fallen. The catgut caught on her damaged flesh, and she hissed.

"I'm sorry, my queen," he said softly, his eyes warm as they met hers.

"You've done this before," she said, changing the subject to take her mind off the pain.

"For my men," he said simply, returning his attention to his handiwork. "We haven't always been so fortunate to have a healer on hand, and you do what you must to fight another day."

"What will you do now that the war is over?" Kenna asked, trying not to flinch as he continued to stitch her wound.

"Almost done," he said soothingly. "War is all I've known. Perhaps I'll just have to travel further to find one."

"I think you should stay," Kenna told him, as he tied off the last stitch. He cut the sinew close to her skin, and contemplated how best to wrap the shoulder to keep the wound clean.

He looked up at her face. "Hmm?"

"I said, I think you should stay," she repeated, hastily covering her shoulder. Her blood-stained garment was rent from Luther's dagger, and did little to hide her injured state. "Well, I think you should help me back to my rooms so I can rest up for the feast this evening, and then… then, you should stay."

"Stay here in the Five Kingdoms," he asked, "or here in Stormholt?"

She shrugged her good shoulder as he rose to his feet. "I hear there are a few openings for kings."

They walked to her rooms in relative silence, and if she leaned on him for strength, he was grateful for the contact as much as he was her unspoken forgiveness.

At her door, he hesitated before leading her inside to the large, four-post bed. This room had belonged to Queen Adriana, and for two years after that, to his father, whose body was by now cold on the floor of the throne room. "Should I fetch someone for you? Annelyse, or Dominic?"

Kenna shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. And… you must be, as well. Will you rest with me?"

Diavolos raised an eyebrow at her proposition. "In the queen's bed? People will talk."

"Let them talk. We've earned our rest." Kenna began to shed her armor, wincing as she reached for the fastenings with her injured arm. "Would you help—"

"Allow me," he said, closing the space between them and easing her clothes down onto the floor. Though they'd lain together in the wild less than two days before, somehow now - in the daylight, in the privacy of her rooms, her casual and shameless nudity was almost too intimate for him to bear. He felt the swell of his desire, and took a half-step back.

"Thank you," Kenna said, meeting his eyes. "May I?"

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and her small hands made quick work of his tunic and settled at the fastening of his trousers. Embarrassingly, he let out a low groan, and she drew her hands back in surprise. "Please," he said through gritted teeth, "don't stop there."

She laughed, a sound like music; he wasn't accustomed to women laughing in his presence, other than Zenobia and her friends taunting him. Kenna's laughter was kind, however, and he felt his answering chuckle bubble up from his belly unexpectedly as the tension he'd felt melted away. Delighted, she reached up with her good arm to pull him down for a kiss. "I don't intend to stop at all," she assured him when they parted.

"You should be resting," he scolded playfully, reaching down to lift her easily by her hips. Her legs wrapped around him just as he'd hoped they would.

"Then by all means," Kenna invited, bending her neck to bite his neck before all but purring in his ear, "take me to bed."

The churning in Kenna's guts had not been eased by bedding Diavolos again. She knew that soon her people would want to see her wed, and she knew she must give them a king. Her attraction to Diavolos was undeniable and, frankly, instant. She felt the heat of desire pool below her belly at the very thought of him. They were kindred spirits, of a sort, both raised noble and soft, yet forged to a hard edge in the heat of battle, both loyal and both, as of that morning, the eldest of their line. Diavolos was the rightful heir to the throne of Abanthus, should he choose to return to Lykos, but it seemed unlikely that would happen unless he had a reason to stay.

But then there was the problem of Raydan. They'd had the same immediate attraction, but he'd also proven himself a loyal friend and ally over time. Diavolos had very nearly helped his father assassinate her that very morning. She suspected – no, she knew – that she loved Raydan. Her heart had shattered when she thought he had betrayed her to join forces with Azura. But she thought she could love Diavolos as well.

Laying naked in her bed, wrapped in the protective limbs of a drowsing Nevrakis prince, Kenna laughed at herself. Her mother had told her that times of war made for strange bedfellows, but finding herself torn between the son of her mother's murderer and an orphaned master of spies was not a situation her lessons had covered.

"If you're still awake after that, I fear I may be out of practice," Diavolos murmured against the skin of her injured shoulder, brushing the softest of kisses just above the line of delicate stitches.

"No. Too much on my mind," she admitted. "Heavy is the head, and all that."

"Mmm," Diavolos agreed. Then, with calculated casualness, he asked, "It's the spymaster, isn't it?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she was grateful that his face was buried against her neck, because she knew she could not meet his eyes. "You knew."

"I could smell him on you, the night before battle," Diavolos told her, and to her great surprise she could feel him becoming aroused between her thighs. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," she breathed. "I am sorry, Diavolos. I never meant to—"

"Do you love me?" Diavolos shifted, sliding easily inside her once more. To her great shame, she was ready for him again, and her body made no protest. "Do you love me, Kenna Rys? Could you love the son of your enemy?"

"Gods help me," she murmured as he slipped his hand between them to coax her to her completion more quickly. "Yes!"