LIMITS
In the morning, I stole three more daggers.
Kairos wanted to work on my gift today—whatever that meant—but I had more pressing concerns. The party was in two days. After that, the clan heads would know what I could do, and they’d never let me leave.
Kairos said he wanted me, but what he really wanted was my ability. He’d dressed it up with pretty words, but I’d heard that song before.
I’d started rationing food—hiding rolls, sausage, cheese, anything that’d keep for longer. Stashed everything in multiple spots. Kairos couldn’t have eyes everywhere.
And I took a copy of the map—ripping it from the book. Then I folded it into the tiniest square possible, sliding it inside my boot, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kairos knew. He’d find out and thwart me again, dragging me through another humiliating display.
A hard knock rattled my door in the afternoon.
I didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
Kairos filled the doorway, wearing darkleather. His gaze swept the room before landing on me, curled on the bed in my nightgown. He didn't move.
“You’re supposed to be ready,” he muttered.
Heat crawled up my neck. “I’m not going.”
He stepped in, closing the door. The look in his eyes wasn’t hunger—it was ownership.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“I don’t care.” I pulled my knees up. “I’m not one of your warriors.”
“No. You’re not.”
The way he said it made my stomach flip.
He moved closer, stopping near my bed. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Unless you want the servants gossiping about how their king carried you through the halls in your nightclothes, I suggest you get dressed.”
My pulse hammered. “You wouldn’t.”
“Who’s going to stop me?” His gaze dropped to my shoulder, where the nightgown had slipped. “You're making it very hard not to follow through.”
I blushed violently. After a hundred years in chains, whatelsehadn’t he done in a long time?
I tugged the gown in place. “Out.”
He smiled wickedly. “Five minutes. Then I’m coming back in.”
He backed toward the door, his eyes holding mine until the last second.
The door clicked shut.
I sat there, heart racing. The nightgown felt damp against my back. Had I been sweating? From him juststandingthere? Damn him. Damn the way he looked at me.
I scrambled off the bed. Then I yanked on a simple dress, fingers fumbling with thelaces.
The door opened exactly five minutes later.
“Good girl,” he said. “Let’s go.”
