I step inside and promptly forget how to speak for the second time in an hour.
The room is enormous.
A polished stone floor, softened by thick woven rugs in shades of deep green and charcoal.
A bed big enough to host a small yoga class dominates one side, its frame carved from some dark, glossy wood shot through with faint, glowing veins.
The sheets are soft-looking and pale, with a subtle pattern of leaves.
A balcony juts out from the far wall, its doors open to let in the twilight breeze.
Beyond, I can see the terraces stretching away, glowing faintly with the same low magic as before.
To the right, an arched doorway leads to a bathing chamber. I glimpse a sunken stone pool, steam curling up from its surface, shelves lined with glass bottles full of shimmering liquids in earth-tone hues.
My brain supplies one very eloquent thought.
Holy. Shit.
Brianne moves toward a low table near the balcony doors, where a ceramic pot sits nestled in a holder carved from stone. Delicate cups wait beside it.
She pours.
The liquid that fills the cup is a deep, rich brown, and it smells amazing.
Like coffee’s hotter, darker cousin. Roasted and earthy, with a hint of something spicy underneath.
“Fyrran,” she says, handing me a cup. “Careful. It is strong.”
I wrap my fingers around the warm ceramic and breathe in.
If this stuff tastes half as good as it smells, I’m doomed.
I take a cautious sip.
Heat spreads along my tongue.
Bitter and bold, but not harsh—there’s a sweetness under it, and a faint tingle like cinnamon or ginger.
It slides down my throat and then blooms in my chest, warmth unfurling through my veins.
“Okay, wow,” I say. “I absolutely need this recipe.”
Brianne’s mouth curves.
“I suspect your world does not have such plant derived recipes worth the barter,” she says mildly. “But perhaps we can arrange a trade of sorts.”
I have no idea what I could possibly offer in exchange for this in life-changing beverage form, but honestly?
I’d consider selling my soul. Or at least my grad thesis.
As if sensing my brain veering off-track, Brianne inclines her head toward the bathing chamber.
“When you are ready,” she says, “you may bathe. I have set out garments suitable for tonight’s Rite of Binding. If any do not please you, we will find others.”
Rite of Binding.
The mating ceremony.
