Her heartbeat was in her throat, loud enough she was sure he could hear it. She’d crossed the line a long time ago, and now she was here, too far in, too tired to pretend she hadn’t changed.
She moved closer. Just an inch.
Close enough now that she could see every detail—the faint crease beside his mouth where a dimple threatened when he smiled. The way the light caught in the gold-flecked brown of his eyes, the smallest scar near his temple.
His gaze darted from her eyes to her mouth.
Stop, she told herself.Pull away. Now.
“You really think I’d kiss you right now?” She whispered.
“No,” he said, voice low. “I think you wantmeto kiss you.”
She caught a thin draw of air, lips parting as her attention drifted to his mouth before returning to meet his stare.
“I think you’re waiting to see if I’ll cross the line first,” he continued, keeping his eyes on her lips. “To have another opportunity to scold me. But I’ve learned my lesson, Evelyne. Idon’t push without permission. Not until you stop pretending it would be a mistake.”
A beat passed; his focus lifted to meet hers.
“So, say the word. Or turn away.”
Her fingers itched with the need to push him, to pull him, to shake him, to do something. Because breathing the same air, feeling the heat from his skin, smelling that damned Varantian cologne was unbearable.
“You're a masterpiece in provocation,” she whispered, almost against his lips.
“And you,” he replied, like it cost him nothing, “are a masterpiece in every sense of the word.”
She swallowed, breath still caught somewhere between fury and something far more treacherous. If she shifted just a bit her lips would—
Vesena cleared her throat softly from the nearby corner. “Perhaps we should consider the larger problem. Like why does this exist beneath the castle at all.”
Evelyne shook herself, and took a few steps back.
By the Rhyssa, what are you doing?
Then she saw it. A flash in his eyes. Quick. Raw. Unmistakable.
Hunger.
He wanted all of it.
Her throat tightened. She forced her eyes away, body angling just enough to slip free of the weight of his stare.
“Alright. So, what is this place?” she whispered at last, her voice hoarse.
When she glanced back, just once, his attention was still on her—soft, intent, so unguarded it was almost a touch.
And that tenderness was unbearable.
Chapter 46
She didn’t turn back. Not when she drew away, not when the fragile tension between them splintered like glass. He released a slow breath, his hand still hovering near the column where her hair had almost grazed him—where he’d stopped himself from crossing into something real.
Just for a breath, he had wanted something utterly foreign to him—
To be allowed back into that look just once more.
He shook himself, flexed his fingers, forcing the blood to move, to do something besides thrum with the echo of her nearness. Cedric caught his eye, of course. Arms crossed, one eyebrow up, a slow blink of condescension so sharp it could’ve cut glass.
