He smirked at his own book. “As the first three pages describing the levels of stone are. What’s the third level again? Quartz?”
My teeth grazed my lip, my cheeks burning as I scoured the inked words for anything resembling an answer, but the letters swam. Glancing back up at him, he flashed a knowing smile and his brow raised in challenge. I clenched the tome tighter.
Caught. Again.
“Perhaps this isn’t the right book for me,” I muttered, snapping it shut. My fingers curled over the cover, as if holding it too tightly would betray my nerves.
“If the garden paths are more to your liking, I’m sure Greaves–”
“No!” The word burst out before I could temper it. Heat climbed up my neck as I bit my lip, wishing I could snatch it back. “I mean… no. I’d rather stay here.”
The mantle was gone tonight. No crown, no weight of the throne. Just Kallias. And I didn’t want to lose that.
His dark brow arched as he shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. His book now rested forgotten on his knee. “Surely you’re not nervous.”
A laugh caught in my throat, dry and unconvincing. Butterflies stirred low in my stomach, their wings igniting flames that raced through my veins. A vivid, shameful image of myself straddling his lap seared my thoughts, leaving my cheeks unbearably red. “Not at all,” I croaked.
His chuckle was deep, rich, and far too knowing. I shifted my feet, but before I could tuck my foot beneath me, he snagged it. My breath hitched as his fingers wrapped around my ankle, warm and rough from countless battles. He didn’t tug, but the unspoken command was there. I relaxed into his hold, and he pulled it into his lap with deliberate care, settling my heel against his thigh.
His gaze locked on mine, unwavering, a challenge burning in his eyes. My pulse thundered as his palm slid up, slow and unhurried, trailing heat along my calf. The motion was infuriatingly steady, each inch of contact unraveling my composure. A whisper in the depths of my mind told me I should protest, wrench my leg away, but the truth sat heavy between us—I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
It was just my ankle for the love of the sea.
His hand stopped beneath my knee, fingers cradling the back of my calf. The room felt charged, the air electric—and I reveled in it. His breaths came quicker now, his lips parting as his focus narrowed. That gaze—blistering, unguarded—pinned me in place.
My heart slammed, warring between right and wrong. I should stop this, shove his hand away, create the distance that decency demanded. But instead, I shifted, sliding my foot a fraction deeper into his lap. His jaw twitched, and the slight clench of his fingers warned me not to push further.
Good. Let me unnerve him.
I raised my book again, burying my nose in its pages. Pretend. I could pretend we were two strangers sharing quiet moments in the dim light. Pretend the heat pooling in my core wasn’t because of him.
The words blurred before my eyes, swimming in meaningless swirls. Still, I turned pages at a steady pace, faking interest in tedious descriptions of stone layers and crater flora. Kallias hadn’t been wrong about the dry content—it did little to distract me. Especially with his thumb stroking along my skin, a lazy, maddening rhythm that made focus impossible.
My eyes darted toward him over the book’s edge. His own expression betrayed nothing but concentration, brow furrowed as he absorbed whatever legend or history that had captured him. The gold embroidery of his tunic caught the lamplight, the deep green softening his sharp features. His silver-threaded hair, slightly mussed, lent him an air of ease. Dignified. Put-together.
Like he knew how to handle a woman.
He flipped a page, his long fingers precise and deliberate, and then his gaze found mine.
The intensity there stole the breath from my lungs. His thumb stilled on my leg, a silent acknowledgment that we’d crossed some invisible line. Neither ofus spoke. Neither of us moved. His eyes searched, daring me, waiting for me to decide.
I shifted my foot again, brushing the edge of his belt buckle. His hand rose with the motion, stopping beneath the bend of my knee. His grip tightened. Not harsh, but firm enough to let me feel his restraint. The charged silence thickened, words unnecessary as his thumb resumed its agonizingly slow sweep.
“Nienna.”
The way he spoke my name terrified me. It wasn’t just a word—He rasped it like a starving man. My name was a command to stop, a desperate plea for more. It was a prayer to his god for mercy. Hunger roughened his voice, fraying its edges like an unraveling thread.
I tore my leg from his grasp and scrambled to my feet. My heart pounded against my ribs as I fumbled to shelve the book, my fingers trembling so violently I almost dropped it. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out all sound until his hand landed on the shelf beside me. The warmth of his presence radiated against my back, crumbling the last remnants of my composure.
“Was it not to your liking?” His breath skimmed the nape of my neck, coaxing a shiver down my spine.
My fingers grazed the spines of books without focus, pretending to search. My grip faltered as I clutched one, its title a blur. “I… couldn’t give it the attention it deserved.”
“And what has you so distracted?” His voice dropped lower, a coaxing murmur that slid beneath my skin.
Every sensible instinct screamed at me to flee, to demand distance, to uphold decorum. But duty had shackled me all my life—telling me how to act, what to wear, even how to breathe. For once, I wanted to choose for myself.
