He is in me, and we are one. We swing and roll and set spin to the motionless world, as first I then he, then I once more own the high-ground of our lovemaking. I've felt his breath on my skin, the fire of the dragon inside him come to claim me. I sought a protector, and the gods sent me a savage—a beautiful, perfect monster—who owns my heart and soul now as well as my body. He is nothing civilized, nothing cultured and refined, but he is a warrior. He's killed for me; he'll kill again.

But not now. Now, he is mine, and I show him the truth of it with the wetness between my legs, and the drag of my fingernails in his flesh and muscled back. Tomorrow he may perish, and this night might be his last, and even if there were a million rubies and opals to give in my stead, I could not part from him with less than the totality of my being surrendered to his.

Meek lords and ladies dance in the ballroom just beyond these walls as a cello plays a sharp and scathing melody, calling my sin for what it is. I don't mind. Let the whole earth know I've made my bed with the man I love.

I've found my place in this world: beneath the strong tower he is built from.