"What?" His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. "What am I, Briar?"
The sound of her name in his mouth made her knees weak. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of the answer he wanted. Not when he'd left her to wake alone. Not when he was pretending last night meant nothing.
"My teacher, apparently," she said instead. "So teach me."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "You want a lesson? Fine."
He spun her to face the wall, pressed her against it with his body. One hand stayed in her hair while the other traced down her side, finding where the dress clung to her curves.
"Lesson two," he said against her ear. "When someone in court touches you, and they will try, you don't react. Don't pull away. Don't lean in. You simply exist in their space without giving them anything to use."
His hand moved to her waist, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through silk. The warmth pooled instantly, wanting more, and she bit her lip to keep from arching into his touch.
"You're already failing," he observed, and she could hear the dark satisfaction in his voice. "That bitten lip. The way your breathing changed. The slight arch of your spine. All of it screams that you can be taken apart with the right touch."
"Then maybe you should stop touching me."
"The court won't stop. They'll push until you break or I intervene." His hand moved lower, bunching her skirt slowly. "And if I intervene too soon, they'll know you're a weakness. Know they can use you to manipulate me."
"Am I?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "A weakness?"
His hand stilled on her thigh. For a long moment, neither of them breathed. Then his grip in her hair tightened, turning her head so he could see her face.
"You're mine," he said roughly. "That's all that matters."
But through the warmth, she felt the real answer. Yes. She was a weakness. Something that had gotten under his skin in ways he hadn't expected and couldn't control. The knowledge should have felt like power. Instead, it terrified her.
Because if she was his weakness, what was he to her?
He seemed to read the question in her eyes. His thumb traced her lower lip, and the gesture was almost gentle.
"We're getting distracted from your lessons," he said, but he didn't move away.
"Are we?" She turned fully in his arms, back against the wall, looking up at him. "Or is this the lesson? Learning to navigate wanting something I shouldn't want?"
"You already failed that lesson last night."
The words stung, but she saw the way his jaw clenched after saying them. Like they hurt him too.
"So did you," she said softly.
Silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken truths. The warmth pulsed, trying to pull them together, and they both fought it even as they stood pressed against each other.
"The court convenes tomorrow," he said finally. "You're not ready."
"Then we should continue practicing." She let her hands slide down his chest, felt him tense under her touch. "Unless you need a break? Need to attend to other matters?"
His eyes flashed at the reference to his morning abandonment. "Careful, little thief. You're not as recovered as you think."
"From last night?" She pressed closer, felt his body respond despite his control. "Or from this morning when I woke up alone?"
He kissed her again, harder this time, fingers tangling in her hair to hold her still. When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"You want to know why I left?" His voice was rough, dangerous. "Because if I'd stayed, if I'd woken with you warm and pliant in my arms, I would have taken you again. And again. Until neither of us could move. Until that warmth burned us both to ash."
The confession hung between them, raw and unexpected.
"And that scared you," she said, not a question.
