The market turned into a blur of light and noise as Derek and Kira tore through it, weaving between stalls, ducking under hanging lanterns, and shoving past startled vendors who barely had ti to register what was happening before the wind of two royals running at full speed had already passed.
Behind them, the n with clubs were shouting, swearing, knocking into baskets of fruit and strings of fairy lights, generally announcing their progress to anyone within a half-mile radius.
Kira’s heart was hamring against her chest, but it wasn’t out of fear; it was for the sheer thrill of the run.
Derek, however, was far from thrilled. His jaw was set so tightly, and his amber eyes flashed with a lethal golden light under his hat.
Every instinct in his Lycan blood scread at him to stop, turn, and reduce their pursuers to a pile of broken bones. To the King of Dravengard, retreat was a foreign concept, and fleeing from a pack of drunken, club-wielding humans felt like a stain on his very soul.
"Kira!" he called over the noise of the market, dodging a man carrying a crate of apples. "Enough of this! Let finish them. They dared to speak to you that way!"
He squeezed her hand, to anchor her so he could deal with the threat.
Kira didn’t stop. Instead, she threw a glance over her shoulder, her face flushed and radiant. To Derek’s utter bewildernt, she was beaming.
"Why are you smiling?" he bellowed, dodging another vendor carrying a basket of bread. "You should have let dismantle them the mont they stepped out of line!"
"And spoil the fun?" Kira yelled back, her laughter like silver bells ringing through the chaos.
She ducked under a low-hanging canopy. "It’s way more fun running from a bunch of drunkards than watching a bloodbath, Derek! Look at them—they can barely keep their balance, let alone catch us."
"They called you a whore," he growled. "I will not have it. I should teach them a lesson they’ll rember for the rest of their miserable lives."
Kira let out a bright, mocking chuckle as they rounded a sharp corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a startled vendor.
"Oh, stop overthinking it! Do you actually think I’m a whore, then? Is that it?"
"Don’t be ridiculous," Derek nearly tripped, but he caught himself, his pace easily matching hers despite his mounting frustration. "Why on earth would I think that?"
"Then relax!" she said, her voice dropping into a playful lilt. "We’re on a date, not a military excursion. Those n aren’t worth your ti or your temper. By tomorrow morning, they won’t even rember us, let alone what they shouted tonight. Don’t turn our night out into a massacre over a few idiots who’ve had too much ale."
Derek watched her as they ran, his gaze fixed on the way her hair whipped behind her and the genuine, infectious joy radiating from her every pore. She was crashing into passers-by, dodging stacks of goods, and apologising with breathless giggles that made his own lips twitch.
For the first ti in a long ti, the ’Mighty King’ found himself pulled into soone else’s orbit, his rigid sense of honour losing ground to her sheer vivacity.
Slowly, the absurdity of the situation began to seep through his icy exterior. Here he was, the most feared Lycan in the kingdoms, being led on a chase through a human market by a girl who thought a pursuit was a ga.
A dry, raspy sound escaped his throat—a rusty laugh.
"Are you actually enjoying this?" he asked, his voice losing its edge.
"Yes!" Kira scread at the top of her lungs, throwing her arms out for a split second before regaining her balance.
That was the breaking point. Derek’s laughter broke free, deep and booming, harmonising with hers as they sprinted down a darkened alleyway.
Kira turned her head, caught him laughing, and lit up so brightly that for a second Derek genuinely lost track of where his feet were supposed to land.
They ran on, both of them laughing now, dodging carts of oranges and ducking past a fishmonger who shouted sothing extrely unkind in their general direction. The n behind them were still coming, still cursing, still tripping over their own feet.
In this mont, there was no crown, no contract, and no thoughts of deceit—only the cold night air and the girl whose laughter was more intoxicating than any wine.
As they reached a particularly narrow, shadowed junction, Derek saw his chance to end the ga. He didn’t want Kira to exhaust her strength, no matter how much she enjoyed the chase.
So, he yanked Kira’s hand, his grip firm but careful.
"This way," he hissed.
He pulled her abruptly into a hidden, pitch-black crevice between two brick buildings. The force of the movent sent Kira stumbling forward, landing squarely against his broad chest. His arms instinctively wound around her waist, pulling her flush against him to keep her steady.
Kira froze. The air between them instantly turned electric. Their faces were inches apart, their ragged breaths mingling in the small space, creating a cloud of mist in the chill of the alley.
Derek’s heart was drumming a heavy rhythm that she could feel through his shirt, and her own pulse was racing like a trapped bird against her ribs.
Derek raised a hand, pressing a single finger against her lips. "Shh," he whispered.
Her eyes widened, locking onto his. The amber in his pupils was swirling, dark and possessive. They stood in total silence, the only sound the shuffling of the drunk n as they ran right past the hidden entrance of their sanctuary.
The footsteps grew fainter and fainter until they were swallowed by the city’s hum.
But neither of them moved.
The tension in the alley shifted from the thrill of the chase to sothing far more crackling. Derek’s scent began to wrap around Kira’s senses, making her head spin.
Derek could not have said when he stopped trying to control himself. Sowhere in the chase, sowhere in the laughter, sowhere in the mont her body had landed against his in this hidden alley, his last thread of sanity had broken.
Her jasmine scent, warm from the run, wrapped around him like a string pulling him forward.
The cold, emotionally absent King was gone; in his place was a man who wanted nothing more than to claim the woman in his arms.
He leaned down, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Kira didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her chin up, her lips parting slightly in a silent invitation.
The world around them vanished. There was no market, no pack—just the heat of his body and the magnetic pull of his lips.
Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart, the space between them charged with sothing that had been gathering for months and had finally, finally found a mont quiet enough to exist in.
"Oi! Get a room, you two! S’not a bloody bedroom, is it?" a slurred voice cut through the silence like a blunt saw.
They both jumped, snapping apart from each other so violently that Kira nearly stumbled, and Derek had to catch her elbow to steady her.
Their faces flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson in the moonlight. Derek shoved his hands through his hair, his chest still heaving with a mix of adrenaline and thwarted desire.
Kira stepped back, smoothing her clothes with trembling fingers, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
A few feet away, a lone drunk man staggered past the mouth of the alley, muttering incoherently about "young people" and "decency" as he swayed toward the main road.
Kira looked at Derek, and Derek looked at Kira. The absurdity of it hit them at the sa ti. A small snort escaped Kira, followed by a full-blown chuckle. Derek joined in, a shorter, more sheepish laugh, but the tension had broken just enough to let them breathe again.
Derek reached out, taking her hand once more, his thumb grazing her knuckles in a way that felt far more intimate than a simple hold.
"Right," he said, his voice regaining so of its usual authority, though a hint of a smile lingered. "I think that’s our cue. Shall we go and actually find that food before another ’adventurer’ interrupts us?"
Kira squeezed his hand, her smile softening into sothing warm and real.
"Lead the way, Your Grace. I’m starving."
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