The warmth flared at the word, and they both felt it—that echo between them that made him stiffen against her back. She pressed back against him deliberately, felt his hands tighten on her hips.
"Don't," he warned, but he didn't step away.
"Don't what? Move like I chose my surrender?" She turned in his arms, looking up at him. "Isn't that what you're teaching me?"
His eyes had gone dark, that careful control fracturing at the edges. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I learned from the best."
For a moment, they stood frozen, bodies pressed together, the warmth singing between them. She could feel his arousal against her stomach, could see the war in his eyes between control and want.
He stepped back abruptly, leaving her cold.
"Again," he commanded. "Walk across the room. Without me this time."
She did, letting her hips sway naturally, letting the dress move as it was designed to. When she turned back, he was gripping the back of a chair hard enough that the wood creaked.
"Now pour tea," he said tightly. "Show me you can serve without your hands shaking."
She moved to the tea service, hyperaware of his eyes tracking her. The warmth pulsed with each movement, reaching for him, trying to close the distance he'd imposed. As she reached for the teapot, she froze.
Arranged on the table beside the service, strung on what looked like sinew, was a grotesque necklace. A dozen appendages, each obscenely long with too many joints, still glistening as if freshly severed. The webbing between them was torn but visible, and she recognized them instantly—fingers. They still haunted her dreams, belonging to the creatures that had tried to drown her in the underground river.
She looked up to see Eliam watching her, his expression passive.
"The Gryndelok forgot their place," Eliam said, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "Hunting in my waters. Touching what belongs to me."
She stared at the macabre trophies, understanding washing over her. He'd hunted them, he had gone into those dark waters and killed them. The fingers were still fresh which meant he must have been out there at dawn, maybe earlier.
Her hands trembled slightly as she poured the tea, the display making her stomach turn even as something else, something warmer, recognized it for what it was. A primitive kind of protection. Vengeance served cold and displayed proudly.
"Bring it to me."
She crossed to him, offering the cup, trying not to look at the grotesque necklace again. He didn't take it.
"I said bring it to me. Properly."
The implication was clear. She should kneel. Serve from her knees like she had no power, no choice. Anger flared hot in her chest, he'd killed for her but still wanted her subservient.
"No."
His eyebrow arched. "No?"
"If you want me on my knees, you'll have to put me there yourself."
The words hung between them, challenge and invitation both. His control snapped almost audibly.
He moved, the teacup and its contents clattering to the floor, forgotten as he backed her against the wall. His hands braced on either side of her head, body caging hers without quite touching.
"Careful," he breathed, the word full of warning. "You haven’t the slightest idea what kind of fire you’re playing with."
"Don't I?" The warmth was burning now, pulling them together despite the hairsbreadth of space between them. "I felt you come apart last night. Felt you lose that precious control when I—"
His mouth crashed into hers, cutting off the words. The kiss was punishing, violent with suppressed need. She kissed him back just as hard, nails digging into his shoulders, giving as good as she got. The warmth exploded between them, that echo doubling and redoubling until she couldn't tell whose need she was feeling.
He pulled back, breathing hard. "This is what the court will do. Use your responses against you. Turn your own desires into weapons."
"You're not the court," she gasped. "You're—"
