Author's Note: Full disclosure - I watched Shadow & Bone and read a lot of book!canon-compliant fic in the aftermath, but I haven't actually read the books myself (yet). As such, I've almost certainly gotten some details wrong. Apologies in advance, and I hope the suspension of disbelief isn't too challenging!
Newly docked in Os Kervo, Captain Inej Ghafa of the Wraith allows herself to pause outside the dressmaker's window. The yellow satin is undeniably beautiful, glittering across the bodice with tiny beads that resemble opals.
Nothing she could wear though. Nothing she would wear, she amends firmly. Her days of being trussed and powdered for the pleasure of others lie behind her in the burnt ruin of the Menagerie, along with a good many other things. She smiles, thinking of how she and Kaz had watched the fire from a neighbouring rooftop.
"How long before someone else builds on the site?" she'd mused aloud.
"They won't." She glanced at him. "They won't dare. Your reputation is fiercer than you reckon, Wraith."
"Your reputation, you mean. From which I also benefit on occasion."
"No." He shook his head firmly. "This part of the mythology is yours alone. And if I know anything at all about the Barrel, I know this site will remain empty. It's a warning." He turned to look at her, firelight glinting in his dark eyes. "A monument, to the Queen of the True Sea and the fate that awaits her enemies. The first of many."
Queen of the True Sea. She has many monikers now, some more flattering than others, but she knows that one to be Kaz's favourite. We'll be kings and queens, Inej. Kings and queens. For her part, it feels a little strange – like a coat that's too big across the shoulders. Pirate queens are figures from campfire stories, women who laugh as they slaughter and take their pleasure freely in the aftermath. Not a damaged former lust slave who prays for the soul of every person she kills and still, even after more than a year, sometimes struggles to touch the man she loves without losing herself.
She sighs, raising a hand in greeting to the landlady as she enters the common room of the Red Cockerel. She'd sent a runner as soon as they docked to ensure her usual room would be waiting – complete, she hopes, with a hot bath.
She's barely climbed in, however, when there is a knock at the door. "Visitor for you, Captain."
She grimaces, closing her eyes. "Tell them I'll be down for dinner."
"Well that's not very friendly," a familiar voice observes.
Inej's eyes fly open and she sits up with a start, slopping water onto the floor. "Nina?!"
She hears the door open and close and suddenly Nina is there, an ear-splitting grin on her face. "Sorry to disturb you, Captain."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Inej is already on her feet, pulling a robe tight around herself. "Come here, let me see you! What on earth are you doing here?"
Nina's grin softens into something gentler as she wraps Inej in a tight hug, squeezing around her shoulder blades and letting go. "It's good to see you too, lovely. You don't know how good."
"But what happened? Where have you been all this time? And how did you know where to find me?"
"Well, the answer to those first two questions is a very long story, which I'll be happy to tell you over dinner," Nina rummages in Inej's shore bag, selecting a clean blouse and holding it out to her, "but the third one is easy."
Nina turns to face her, fingers spread and eyebrows waggling. "I'm your birthday present!"
Inej just stares at her. "What?"
Nina rolls her eyes. "You're familiar with the concept of a birthday, I hope? You know, one day a year when we celebrate your existence? Ringing any bells?"
Inej swats her with her free hand. "Yes, thank you. But it's not for another two weeks, and it still doesn't explain how on earth you found me."
Nina smirks at her. "Oh no? And tell me then, just who are you planning to see on this special day two weeks from now?"
Inej straightens from pulling on her leggings, her mouth dropping open. "Kaz sent you?"
"The very same," Nina grins again, "and you can be sure I won't allow him to forget this evidence of humanity and – dare we say it – romance any time soon."
Inej purses her lips. "Nina."
Nina blithely ignores the admonishment. "Before I forget, however," she turns to rummage in the pockets of her cloak, "this is the other half of your present. I'm in port for the next three days, so we'll have plenty of time to catch up, but there's someone you should meet tomorrow morning." She hands Inej a piece of creamy paper, neatly folded in half. Inside are a few words, written in a noblewoman's flowing hand. 54a Cooper Street, 10 o'clock.
"I think you're going to like her."
Inej does not like her.
54a Cooper Street turns out to be a small, white-walled workshop, clearly rented for the day and entirely bare aside from a truly obscene number of travelling trunks - and Genya Safin. And Genya Safin is exactly the type of woman who makes Inej feel inferior – tall, beautiful and impeccably made up, with glossy auburn ringlets spilling artfully down the back of her form-fitting lilac coat. She rises from her seat when Inej opens the door, greeting her with a warm smile that does not quite reach her brilliant green eyes.
"Captain Ghafa, welcome." She offers a smooth white hand which Inej shakes, reluctantly. "Shall we begin?"
"What…" Inej looks around the workshop, taking in the measuring tape by the window and the glint of silk spilling from under the lid of the nearest trunk. "What exactly is happening here?"
"Ah." A shadow passes over Genya's beautiful face. "My apologies, I thought you'd been filled in. In short, my instructions are to make you the ensemble of your dreams – an outfit that will make you feel like a queen. Whatever that may look like, to you."
Inej sighs internally. Kaz means well, she has no doubt, but he has misjudged her this time. She is already dreading the need to tell him.
"It doesn't look like anything," is what she says aloud, "I'm not a queen, and I have no desire to feel like one. Being myself is enough." She raises her chin at that, daring the taller woman to correct her. Genya doesn't though, simply runs an assessing eye over her that takes stock of everything from her worn boots to the defiance of her stance. "Of that, I have no doubt," she says softly. "But indulge me a moment. Will you sit?"
Inej sits, crossing her arms tightly. Genya takes the chair opposite, leaning forward with her hands clasped in front of her.
"I know something of your history," Genya says quietly. "Tales of the Wraith have reached as far as the Little Palace, believe it or not. So I know that the reason you hunt down slavers is because you were the victim of one yourself. And while I don't know the details, I know what kind of place young girls usually end up in." Her gaze flicks to Inej's wrist, where the coin of scar tissue is exposed. Inej pulls her sleeve down with a jerk.
"I won't say it's the same," Genya continues. "But I've had my own experiences of being at the mercy of powerful men. Men you can't say no to. I know about playing dead to save what little you can; letting them take whatever they want from your body so you can protect some fraction of your soul. And I know that when you finally win your freedom, the last thing you want is to be a pretty little doll for anyone else."
Inej's voice is blocked in her throat. She remains silent as Genya raises her gaze, unshed tears glittering in her emerald eyes.
"But this is not for them," Genya says fiercely. "Every woman deserves to feel beautiful. They don't get to take that from us. If we hide ourselves, push that part of ourselves away, then they win. It doesn't need to be every day, I know you have a job to do. But what you are doing is magnificent. You're doing what hundreds of women can only dream of. You're a hero, a more deserving queen than any who sits a throne. I think part of you knows it, deep down. But I want to help you feel it. On your own terms. Will you let me?"
Inej swallows hard. Despite herself, her thoughts flick back to the yellow satin she saw when she docked. "Where do we begin?" she asks in a small voice.
Genya smiles, a true smile this time, with a wicked edge to it. "Wherever you like, Captain. I have all day, and a budget so outrageous it may as well be infinite. Let's find out what your dreams are made of."
It goes quite smoothly from there.
With just a few well-aimed questions, Genya determines that Inej does not want anything revealing, that silks are a non-starter and that jewellery will make her feel trapped. Freedom of movement is important too – the fabric should be loose without risk of snagging, so Genya suggests a draped crepe, offering several swatches for Inej to test against her skin. It's like nothing she's felt before – it flows like liquid, without any of the telltale shine of satin – and she loves it immediately.
"What about colour?" Genya asks, "Any likes, dislikes?"
Inej thinks of the purple she wore in the Menagerie, of the primary colours of her childhood performances with her parents. She thinks, wistfully, of the yellow satin she saw in the window – and dismisses it. "Nothing too bright," she says.
"No black though," Genya returns, "with your colouring, it would be a crime."
Inej thinks ruefully of the years she spent in black as the Wraith, and almost smiles. A crime indeed.
"Perhaps a dark red?" Genya suggests, "Or a green?"
Inej drifts over to the trunk where Genya is standing, which is overflowing with swatches of crepe in every colour imaginable. She picks up a silvery grey, running it absentmindedly between her fingers, and her attention is caught by the swatch below – a deep, deep blue with a hint of green to it, just like the ocean at twilight. Genya follows her gaze, and begins to smile. "Yes," she says. "Oh, yes."
The real work begins then. Genya has her strip and begins pinning the crepe into place, experimenting with various folds and drapes as she goes. After some debate, she even allows Inej to keep her knives, rising to the challenge quickly with suggestions of hidden openings and clever lines that will allow for easy access in case of emergency. Despite the speed of Genya's hands, the pins don't graze Inej even once, and in short order she finds herself in something resembling a dress – a beautiful sheath that covers her from wrist to ankle while skimming artfully over the curves beneath. She stretches experimentally, takes a few steps, and is pleased to discover that she retains almost the full range of movement.
"What is it?" Genya is watching her closely.
"What do you mean?" Inej glances over her shoulder at her. "It's beautiful."
"But it's not perfect," Genya says shrewdly. "Not yet. What's missing?"
Inej turns back to the mirror, studying herself. The dress is truly gorgeous, a dreamlike variation on the high-necked tunics and sleek leggings she is most comfortable in. But perhaps that's it – it's almost a little too similar, a little too businesslike. She thinks of Kaz, imagines how he might look at her in this. Imagines how she wants him to look at her.
"Maybe…," she hesitates, "maybe we could show a little skin?"
Genya gives her a frighteningly sharklike grin.
The compromise they come to is inspired – the high collar remains, but it splits down the middle into a sharp plunge that stretches all the way to her sternum while remaining narrow enough that she doesn't feel exposed. It makes Inej thinks of knives. She trails a fingertip along the edge of the fabric, imagining Kaz's touch in place of her own. Her stomach twists pleasantly. She loves it.
"What about your hair?" Genya asks. "It would be a shame to leave it in the braid, after all this."
Inej shakes her head. "I don't wear it loose," she says. "Not since…"
"Not loose then," Genya agrees, understanding. "But perhaps we could find another way to contain it." Her hand hovers over the tie at the end. "May I?"
Inej nods, letting Genya's nimble fingers shake out the strands. It reminds her, suddenly, of her mother unbraiding her hair before bed when she was small.
Genya cups the weight of it in her hands once she's done, coiling it experimentally first in one direction, then another. Twisting the lengths around her fingers. She hums. "I think I know just the thing. Close your eyes."
"Really?"
Genya doesn't answer, just raises her eyebrows pointedly until Inej does as she's told. She can hear Genya rummaging on the far side of the room, muttering under her breath. Whatever she's looking for, it doesn't seem easy to find. But at last she comes back, stopping just behind Inej's shoulders. Inej fights the urge to turn, to open her eyes. She's not used to having people at her back.
"Just bear with me a moment," Genya tells her. "It will be worth it, I promise."
Inej feels the weight of her hair suddenly lifted, the brush of fabric over her head, Genya's precise touch at her shoulders, her throat. She feels her step back. "There," the tailor breathes. And Inej opens her eyes.
The effect is… it's breathtaking. Inej stares at her reflection, barely able to credit it. In a couple of deft gestures, Genya has used the same crepe to create a generous hood that skims over her hair and collects the mass of it in a dark pool around her shoulders, a luxurious reflection of the hood she used to wear on jobs. And lining the crepe, merging with the darkness of her hair, is an impossibly delicate mesh studded with hundreds of tiny black diamonds that sparkle as she turns her head like the infinite stars by which the Wraith charts its course.
"I was thinking we could embroider some more on the collar," Genya says quietly. "Perhaps down onto the shoulders too. So that one blends into the other."
She allows Inej a few more minutes of silence, her gaze calculating. "What do you think?" She asks at last.
"It's…" Inej shakes her head. "I can't wear this."
"Why not?"
"I..," she shakes her head again, unable to put words to the feeling.
"Because you don't deserve it?" Genya suggests. "Because things like this are not meant for girls like you?"
Inej closes her eyes. "Yes."
"Then on behalf of every girl who's ever felt the slaver's whip, let me be the first to disabuse you of that notion," Genya says firmly. "Every girl who's ever been at the mercy of a man they did not choose. Every girl you've saved, Captain. Nobody deserves this more."
Inej opens her eyes to find the tailor's emerald green gaze fixed on her. "And I suspect the man who arranged all of this would very much agree."
That actually makes Inej laugh, an inelegant snort. Yes, Kaz would love to see her in diamonds, she's sure. Dirtyhands has always had a taste for expensive things. "You may be right there."
Genya may not know why she's amused, but she returns the smile anyway. "Not only there, Captain, but it's a start. Do you feel like a queen yet?"
"I'm beginning to, I think."
Everything is else is detail. They discuss linings, shoes, underwear. Choice of buttons, a motif for the collar embroidery, some simple makeup.
"That's everything, I believe," Genya says at last. "Just one last choice." She holds up a hand, turning it as though displaying it for Inej's assessment, and her expression turns almost apologetic. "You know by now that I'm a tailor, of course, but it's true in more than one sense. If there is anything you'd like to fix – any memories you'd like to erase – just say the word."
Whatever Inej was expecting, it wasn't this. Tailors are rare – so rare that Inej never even dared to dream of meeting one, of having a choice about whether to keep her scars. Now that the choice is in front of her, she has no idea what she wants. An itinerary of scars flashes through her mind, every one a reminder of an indignity, a hurt, a moment of terror. Scars from performances, from the Menagerie, from the Crows. Every one a story, many of which she'd prefer to forget. And yet somehow, now that she has the choice…
"I don't know who I'd be without them," she says at last. Her eyes drop to the raised coin of scar tissue on her wrist. "I'm not sure I want to find out."
"Changes to the outside don't change what's inside," Genya reminds her, but her eyes are sympathetic. "But I do understand. And if you ever change your mind, I'm sure you'd manage to find me."
It's true, but having spoken the choice aloud Inej is suddenly certain she will not change her mind about this. It's as if, by choosing to keep her scars when she had the option to erase them, she has taken ownership of them somehow – turned a symbol of her shame into a symbol of her power instead. Much like everything else today, she supposes. And it's that, more than anything else, that allows her to thank Genya graciously for her time and leave the workshop with her head held high, feeling more deserving of her fearsome reputation than she ever has before.
Inej docks in Ketterdam two weeks later and lets herself into to the Van Eck mansion. Jesper and Wylan will return from Novyi Zem later in the week, and given everything that happened in Os Kervo Inej was somehow unsurprised when Kaz did not appear to welcome her at the harbour. Instead, there is a large box waiting on her bed and a note in familiar spidery handwriting telling her to be ready for a carriage at eight sharp. There is no signature. Inej rolls her eyes.
Nonetheless, she can't help a frisson of excitement when she lifts the lid and is confronted with deep sea crepe and the wicked glitter of diamonds. There is another note inside, from Genya this time, explaining how to manage the fastenings without someone else there to help her. Genya does not know all her history, clearly – reaching some buttons in the middle of her back is no problem for a former acrobat.
There are other surprises though; soundless velvet slippers in the same colour as the dress, delicate underthings that lie flat against her skin and show no lines at all, a small vial of perfume that reminds her of the spices in her mother's cooking. She takes her time bathing and getting dressed, avoiding the mirror all the while. It feels like bad luck somehow, though she couldn't say why. She brushes out her hair and cards oil through the lengths before coiling it into the cowl of fabric that waits at her shoulders and pulling the hood up over her head, carefully arranging the mesh to lie flat. Only then does she brave the mirror that waits near the door, closing her eyes as she turns and taking a deep breath before opening them again.
She looks…
She doesn't have the words. Inej Ghafa stares at her reflection and feels something inside her swell, feels a smile creep unbidden across her face. Her chin lifts, her already perfect posture straightens.
She feels…Beautiful. Proud. Powerful.
She hears horses pull up outside and turns away from her reflection. Twilight has fallen on the West Stave and the streetlamps glow gold, their light bouncing in the puddles that collect on the cobbled streets. Inej climbs gracefully into the unmarked carriage that awaits and settles back against the plush seats, a sense of giddy anticipation rising in her.
Kaz is waiting.
They pull up outside a small but undeniably expensive hotel whose name she doesn't know, warm light spilling from the windows and ivy climbing the stone façade. The manager offers her an arm and escorts her to the top floor, where a single door awaits. And then she is alone.
She takes a deep breath, raises her chin, and pushes open the door.
Her sharp eyes catalogue a large room, a table set for two with silver domes already in place. A truly enormous bed, and beyond, an open window that lets in the smell of the canal and distant voices from the street below. But all of that fades into insignificance compared to the man in front of her, seated in a winged armchair with his bad leg stretched out before him.
Kaz looks exactly as she remembers, all sharp angles and dark tailoring. His hair is smoothed back from his pale face and his three-piece suit is immaculate. He is already staring at her and she feels a rush in her stomach that is equal parts warmth and nerves, raising her chin a little higher.
"Inej," he breathes, rising to his feet. For once, his expression is entirely unguarded – lips parted, cheekbones flushed red, and eyes wide with a mixture of awe and desire.
In all the time she has known him, Inej has never seen Kaz Brekker look awestruck before, but there is no mistaking it now.
And it seems she is the cause of it.
He approaches her slowly, until his height blocks out everything else and there is only the two of them. He raises a hand, ungloved, as if to cup her cheek – but stops a millimetre short. "Inej," he murmurs again, his voice catching.
When he drops his hand, Inej quickly stamps down the disappointment that rises inside her. It has been better between them in recent months, much better, so she had allowed herself to hope… But she, of all people, knows that demons can strike at the most inconvenient times.
But Kaz is not finished. Slowly, hand braced on his cane, he lowers himself first to one knee and then the other before her. And Inej stares at him.
Kaz Brekker kneels to no one.
It is that, more than anything, that startles her out of silence. "Kaz, don't –"
But he simply lift a hand, quelling her with a look. "I have never sworn allegiance in my life," he begins hoarsely. "No king, no country. No saints, no gods. No master but myself. But you… Inej, I told you we'd be kings and queens. I lied. I am no king, nor will I ever be. But you… you are a queen in truth, Queen of the True Sea. My queen. And I swear to you, for as long as I live, everything I have is yours. Everything I am. Just say the word, and if it is within my power I will give it to you. I swear it, may Ghezen strike me dead where I stand."
She stares down at him, uncomprehending. "You… you don't believe in Ghezen."
His eyes flare. "I believe in you."
"Kaz, you don't –" she swallows, "You don't have to do this. The dress, the carriage, the hotel, you. It's already enough, it's more than enough. You don't have to break your pride just to build up mine."
He glares at her, unmoving. "I don't know why you would think I was anything less than entirely sincere in what I just said. This is no mere flattery, Inej, and frankly it's insulting you would think so."
She closes her eyes a moment. "I don't know how to believe you," she admits.
"Then let me prove it," he returns immediately. He stretches a hand up towards her, in plea or invitation. "Please, Inej. Just say the word. Let me prove it."
It is the word please, more than anything, that gets through to her. She ignores his hand and instead drops gracefully to her knees, facing him without touching. She looks him in the eye.
"Did you plan this?" she asks. "Tell me honestly, Kaz."
"Yes. No. I don't know?" He rubs a hand over his face. "I didn't plan the speech, if that's what you mean. But I hoped… I hoped the dress would let you see yourself the way I see you, that's all." He shoots her a sharp glance. "That part seems to have worked, if I'm any judge. And seeing you like that, well. Pride looks good on you. It just seemed like a good time to say some things I've been thinking all along."
Saints, what can she say to that?
"Kiss me," she whispers.
He doesn't hesitate. His only tell is a small twitch when his ungloved hands rise to cup her face, like a static shock, but he doesn't pull away. Instead he leans in, pressing his lips to hers, and Inej feels all the things he can't say in his kiss, the desperation of it. She responds in kind, meeting him in the ache and urgency, raising her own hands to hold his jaw, cup the back of his head, knot in his hair and pull him closer, closer, closer.
They break for air, foreheads pressed together. Kaz has his eyes closed, breathing hard.
"Is this okay?" She whispers.
His eyes snap open. "It's not enough," he growls. "Not nearly enough."
Desire pools deep in her belly at that, stoking the fire inside her, and she reaches for him again but he leans back, shaking his head. "Stand up and let me see you properly."
So she rises, helping him up too, until they stand just as they were before. Kaz runs his eyes over her slowly, lingering at the the flare of her waist, the bare skin of her breastbone, the angle of her collarbone. The glitter of diamonds at her throat, in her hair. "Glorious," he whispers fiercely. "You are glorious."
Slowly, without breaking her gaze, he reaches out a finger and traces the deep vee of her collar, beginning at her sternum and drawing up, up, over the curve of her breast and up her throat until he hooks it into the hair behind her ear. This time his lips land just beneath her jaw, mouth moving over her skin with dark intent before moving lower, lower, retracing the path his finger took just a moment before. He presses her insistently backwards as he does so until he has her crowded against the door, head thrown back as his teeth graze her taut nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.
He pulls away for just a moment, looking up to meet her eye. "Tell me if it's too much," he tells her and she can only nod as he bends to kneel before her once again. Only this time, she is the one in the compromising position, and she can tell from the dark smirk he gives her that he knows this all too well. He strips off his jacket and folds it with quick efficiency to create a pad for his bad leg before returning his attention to her, nimble fingers skimming over the hem of her dress. His touch is firm as he draws his hands up her legs, baring her to him, and Inej feels a moment's hot embarrassment at the wetness she can feel pooling at her core that feels ready to spill over at any moment. When he reaches her hips, Kaz loops the skirt of her dress around his arm in a single deft gesture, pinning it out of the way against the door. The efficiency of it reminds her of how he fights, a graceful economy of movement, and the thought runs through her with a shiver.
Kaz looks up at her then, eyes black with desire. "You cannot imagine how much I have thought about doing this," he tells her, and the businesslike tone of his voice is a shocking contrast to the sudden warmth of his mouth at her core. Inej bucks against him, gasping, as his strong hands hold her in place and his tongue cards through her folds, seeking out the most sensitive point. It's almost insulting how quickly he finds it – certainly faster than Inej herself had managed on her first tentative explorations – but her surprise bursts into pleasure almost instantly as he moves his tongue in a tight circle, causing her to throw her head back with a broken-off cry, eyes squeezed shut and fist pressed against her mouth. Kaz goes rigid against her.
"Don't –" he gasps, pulling back. "Let me hear you. It – it helps. Keeps me here."
Inej stares down at him, a thousand thoughts swirling together in her mind. Kaz's face is damp with her arousal, she can see the sheen of it as it catches the light, and she is hit with a fierce rush of love for this dogged, damaged man. Not only has he taught himself to touch her without flinching, without holding back, but he has willingly put himself in a position almost guaranteed to awaken the worst of his demons. Darkness, wetness. Her heat must be the only thing grounding him – that, and her voice, apparently. How did he get here? How much preparation and ill-fated experimentation did it take for him to get to a position of confidence, to know how this could work for him and how not? How many times did it go wrong, while he was thinking about this and waiting for her to return?
And for what? For her pleasure, nothing more. For a chance to give her the only intimacy he knows has not been tainted by the Menagerie. Nothing more or less than that.
Saints, but she adores him. She feels a tear escape and slip down her cheek, but she musters a shaky smile for him.
"Alright," she says, trying for levity and missing by a mile. "Let's see what new tricks you've learned."
His mouth quirks at that and he returns to his task, finding the exact same spot as before, the same tight circle. She breathes out, hard, and he does it a second time, a third, and then she feels his clever fingers begin to stroke her too, the counterpoint of sensation almost overwhelming. He dips experimentally into her heat, tongue maintaining the consistent rhythm, and she gives a choking gasp. Emboldened, his slender fingers push further, curving upwards until they brush a spot that makes her vision go white, letting out a keening noise she didn't even know she was capable of. Always a quick learner, Kaz seizes on this victory and repeats it, steady and insistent as the wave builds inside her and her legs tremble, threatening to give out, until at last the tension breaks, whiplashing inside her like a lightning bolt as she gasps out something utterly incoherent, knees buckling.
Kaz holds her upright as she returns to earth, bracing her against the door. He looks insufferably smug and for a moment she feels like hitting him. The thought flees her mind, however, when he catches her eye, quirks his mouth in a small smirk, and deliberately strokes a finger over her nub. Inej yelps, and Kaz's strength is the only thing that keeps her on her feet as he does it again, sharp eyes carefully cataloguing her reactions.
"What-" she squeaks, struggling to adjust the pitch of her voice to something resembling normal. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?"
She opens her mouth to respond, but breaks off into a high-pitched whine as he strokes her again. Her cheeks flush a furious red at the noises emerging from her, entirely without her permission.
"Relax, Inej," he murmurs, expression softening for a moment. "I've got you. You can always say if it's too much."
Inej squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in sharply through her nose. Exhales. This is Kaz, she reminds herself. Kaz who loves her. Kaz who, just a year ago, could barely bring himself to touch her. She is safe here.
And if she is honest… She opens her eyes, looking down at him again. If she is honest, there is something absolutely intoxicating about having Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel himself, on his knees in worship to her. The song inside her swells, fierce and exultant.
"Your queen, you said?" Her voice is unsteady, and she's not entirely sure what she's asking him, but he nods as though it makes perfect sense.
"My queen," he agrees. His fingers twitch over her, and she shudders. "My love, my life. Slavers' Terror, Ocean's Shadow, Queen of the True Sea." He places a delicate kiss on the spot where she can feel the thudding of her pulse. "Inej."
And then, before she can articulate a response, he has pulled her thighs over his shoulders and pinned her pelvis with his hands, burying his mouth against her once again. And Inej forgets everything, even her own name.
They manage to go four more rounds before collapsing against the door, both of them sweaty and exhausted. Inej can feel her entire body trembling with aftershocks. Kaz turns with a groan, settling between her knees so he can finally stretch out his leg, and she winces in sympathy at the way his face goes taut with pain.
"You should have said something," she admonishes him, carding her fingers through his thoroughly dishevelled hair.
"I didn't notice," he mutters.
"Liar."
"Fine." He glances up at her. "I didn't care. Better?"
She tries and fails not to smile. "Next time, we take the bed."
Kaz grunts, neither acquiescence nor refusal. "I like you in diamonds," he says instead.
"You would."
"And you?" he asks, twisting to look at her straight on. His expression is more open than usual; he looks concerned. "Was it too much?"
Inej considers it. The dress, the diamonds. The way they made her feel. Kaz on his knees for her. My queen. "Almost," she admits, "but I think I could get used to it."
His mouth quirks. "Power is an acquired taste," he acknowledges, leaning in to rest his sticky forehead against her own, "but it looks so good on you, my love."
Inej lets her eyes drift closed, brushing her lips across his. She smiles. "Perhaps a crown next time," she says.
Author's Note:
For the curious - Inej's outfit was inspired by these two images, although it's obviously not a precise copy of either:
Dress: .
Hood: .