“Lord Asterian.”
Both of them turned. Maris stood in the doorway, her tone perfectly neutral.
Asterian straightened with a lazy shrug. “You always ruin my fun, Maris.”
“I’m very sorry,” she said, clearly not, “but Riven needs to get cleaned up. He’s expected.”
Riven seized on the exit like a lifeline, shouldering past Asterian. As he stepped into the hall, his skin still tingled where Asterian had nearly touched him. His stomach turned. There’d been a moment—just a second—when his body had betrayed him.
Maris walked beside him for a few steps, glancing his way. “You all right?”
Riven didn’t answer right away. “Do they always talk like that in this House?”
She smirked faintly. “Just the pretty ones.”
They walked in silence for a few paces, the tension still clinging to Riven like a second skin. His pulse hadn’t settled. His skin buzzed with residual anger and shame. Maris didn’t rush him. She had the same easy pace and unruffled demeanor she always did, though her eyes flicked to him now and then, like she was assessing damage.
“Should’ve left when I had the chance,” Riven muttered.
Maris glanced at him sidelong. “I’d say you handled yourself just fine. You’re still in one piece.”
“Barely.”
They turned a corner, passing a few servants who bowed subtly before continuing on. Maris waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke again.
“Word of advice?” she said. “Find a way to steer clear of Asterian.”
Riven didn’t answer.
“He’s persistent. Doesn’t like being told no. He’d happily drag you into the mess just because you’re…connected to Thane.”
“Connected,” Riven echoed bitterly.
Maris arched a brow. “Don’t look at me like that. You think people haven’t noticed? Half the estate heard what went down with the two of you. And Asterian listens when he wants to. You’re on his radar now.”
Riven exhaled sharply through his nose. “Great.”
They stopped in front of his door, and Maris keyed the lock open before turning to face him fully. “I’m serious. He’s dangerous in ways Thane isn’t. Thane is brutal, but predictable. Asterian will smile while he guts you.”
Riven’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to be connected to either of them.”
Maris studied him for a beat, her expression unreadable. “Sure you don’t.”
He opened his mouth to snap something back, but she turned into the room ahead of him and gestured toward the bed. “Outfit’s been delivered.”
Riven followed her in and stopped. A carefully arranged ensemble lay spread across the duvet—dark slate-gray slacks, a tailored deep green button-down, and a high-collared black jacket cut to his size with razor precision. It was clearly expensive.
He stared at it for a moment. “Do I have a choice?”
Maris shrugged. “Sure. You can wear it and make things easy. Or don’t, piss Thane off, and end up wearing it anyway—with extra bruises for the trouble.”
He muttered under his breath and reached for the buttons on his shirt.
Maris turned for the door. “Ten minutes. Then I walk you to meet your future.”
Before he could respond, she was gone, leaving him in the quiet hum of the room with a pile of perfectly selected clothesand the knowledge that nothing about this night was going to go how he wanted.
He stared at the outfit on the bed like it might bare its fangs. The fine lines, the careful tailoring, the polished perfection—it all reeked of Thane. Of ownership dressed up as elegance.
