“And what if...” My voice betrays me, coming out softer than intended. “What if there's already something there?”
“It happens occasionally.”
“And the ritual?”
His eyes lock with mine. “It becomes... overwhelming.”
My throat tightens as I shift my weight, silk whispering against my skin. “So it’s literally just a spell?”
“Yes and no… You’ll need to take off your dress.”
Before I can utter a response, he's removing his jacket, his shirt following in one smooth motion that reveals inch after inch of taut, golden skin. Heat floods my face as my eyes trace the defined ridges of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hipbones disappearing beneath his waistband. A flush spreads across his chest as he catches me staring, but he doesn't stop. His movements are deliberate, almost predatory, and I can't look away from the play of muscles beneath his skin.
The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer, the air between us charged like the moment before lightning strikes.
His trousers come off until he's wearing just silken black briefs that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
This guy and his freaking silk.
I force my eyes upward. “Um, excuse me?”
“I presume Nyssa fitted you with lingerie for tonight,” he says.
“Yes. But you're not supposed to see it!” The words rush out breathlessly.
His eyes darken as they sweep over me. “The ring on your finger says otherwise.” The gold band feels suddenly hot against my skin. “I can’t sugarcoat this, Esme. I’m sorry. Not if you want to stay alive. The sooner we're done with this, the faster the guests' attention will go back to the drinks and the music. We just need to… do enough to set off the runes.”
“This is insane,” I mutter, yet my fingers tremble as they find the clasps of my dress. The shoulder bands unlatch, fabric sliding against my heated skin. I feel his gaze like a physical touch as the dress pools at my feet. My pulse hammers in my throat as I stand before him in nothing but white lace that clings to every curve. His jaw tightens, a muscle flickering beneath the skin.
“Okay,” I whisper, hating the way my voice catches, “what next?”
“Lie down,” he says, his voice a low rasp. He doesn't move, just watches me, and for the first time, I see the control in his posture falter. His hands are fisted at his sides.
My feet obey even when my brain screams betrayal. The silk sheets are cool against my bare back, a stark contrast to the heat building between us. He follows, his weight dipping the massive mattress. He doesn't touch me, but the space between our bodies crackles, like an invisible current pulling us closer.
“The ritual requires skin contact,” he explains, his voice strained. “The runes will draw from our connection.”
He murmurs something inaudible under his breath, then reaches out, his fingers pausing inches from my collarbone. “May I?” he asks.
I swallow and nod.
His fingers trace the line of my collarbone. The stone walls of the chamber pulse with a soft, golden light. My breath hitches. His touch feels like a brand, searing and possessive, and the spell has barely begun. My own treacherous magic surges to meet his, a dark tendril of shadow wrapping around his fire.
My body arches into his touch, an involuntary betrayal. The runes on the walls flare brighter, casting shifting patterns of gold across his bare chest. I can feel the magic now, a thrumming in my bones, an insistent pull from the walls that seems to draw the very marrow out of me, demanding more.
“It’s working,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through my skin where his fingers rest.
“I noticed.” The words are a ragged whisper. My shadow magic writhes inside me, a living thing drawn to his internal flame. It’s starting to feel less like a fight and more like a dance.
He moves over me, his body a furnace hovering just above mine. He braces his weight on his elbows, caging me in. The runes pulse in time with my frantic heartbeat. Outside, the first firework of golden light streaks past the window, a silent explosion against the cavern’s dark ceiling, while the whole kingdom watches.
“This isn’t weird at all,” I gasp.
A smile quirks his lips. “The spell requires commitment. We have to sell it.”
“Sell what? A lie?” I challenge, but my voice lacks its usual bite.
“A promise,” he corrects. His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. Another shower of sparks erupts outside, brighter this time. “It has to feel real.”
