I’d caved.
Again.
“Tonight is about celebration,” Graves reminds me as I exit the chapel. “Don’t overthink it and try to enjoy yourself.”
I cross the yard, heading toward the dormitory. Lamplight flickers in the windows, a warm glow beckoning me to join. When I enter the dining hall, I see her immediately.
Arianette stands near the long table, speaking softly to one of the Shadows, binder tucked against her side. The colors are a deep red against black. The bodice fits close, structured enough to suggest intention rather than invitation, the lace at the neckline a quiet edge. It isn’t meant to draw the eye so much asholdit, the way a blade does when you know it’s sharp.
She’s breathtaking.
Her skirt falls mid-thigh, not scandalous enough to protest, but short enough that every step threatens revelation. The fabric moves when she does, lifting just a fraction, enough to draw my eye to the smooth line of her legs and the dark stockings hugging them. Lace kisses her skin high on her thighs, a shadowed promise rather than a display, and the glimpse feels earned rather than given. I’m never sure if Arianette knows what her body does to the men around her. If the clothing she wears is an intentional tease. I suspect she doesn’t, but from the way DK and Hunter watch her every move, I’m not the only one aware of it. It’s as if she knows exactly how long it takes a man to look away… and chooses not to spare him.
The stockings alone are enough to make a man weak, to conjure ideas of peeling them off. I think of the way her legs hugged my shoulders as I pounded into her the other night. How tight everything about her felt. Her arms, her legs, her pussy.
Christ. I’m fucking hard as a rock, and I haven’t even touched her.
The contrast of it all, the soft fabric, firm leather, bare skin and hidden lace, feels calculated in a way that makes my jaw tighten. And the worst part is how naturally she wears it. No fidgeting. No self-consciousness. Not tonight. She stands like someone who knows the power of what’s visible and what isn’t. Like she understands that desire intensifies when it’s teased out one breath at a time.
I tell myself this is inappropriate. That she is too young for myattention, too good for my thoughts, too bound to a role neither of us chose. But my eyes betray me anyway, tracing the line of her legs, the hint of lace, the promise hidden just out of reach.
If this is what she looks like simplystanding at my side, then I am in far more danger than I care to admit.
She turns and our eyes meet.
Something flickers across her face, and for once, she doesn’t lower her gaze. She doesn’t wait for instruction.
She simply comes to me.
“You’re early,” she says quietly.
A lie. But I allow it.
I look around again, taking in the transformed hall. The tables aligned into one unbroken line. The iron candlesticks, measured and exact. The absence of a head seat. No hierarchy carved into the wood.
Balance.
“You accomplished this alone?” I ask, well aware of the state it had been in twenty-four hours ago. I used to try to demand some order and cleanliness in the dorm, but learned early on it was futile. The best I can do now is send in a cleaning staff bi-weekly to make sure it hasn’t turned into a bio-hazard.
She shakes her head. “Goodness, no. I had help.” She nods toward the men gathering along the walls. “They did all the heavy lifting.”
I follow her gaze.
They stand taller than usual. Cleaner. Focused. Not dressed in ceremonial robes or masks, not tonight. Tonight, they are simply men who showed up.
I’m impressed.
I extend my arm.
She takes it without hesitation and side by side, I escort her to the table. Not King and possession. Partners. I guide Arianette to the seat beside mine where DK and Hunter stand by their chairs. She is so small next to me. Not fragile, more like something honed rather than delicate.
That’s when I notice the two men at the other end greeting some of the seniors and look down at Arianette. “Did you invite them?”
“I saw a page in the binder about the guest list. It says that the former Barons should be invited to help celebrate and transfer the rites.” She worries her bottom lip. “Was that wrong? Should I not have?”
“No,” I hold her brown eyes with mine, “it’s exactly right.”
It’s the little details that make these ceremonies impactful and seeing Liam standing near the far end, broad and tattooed, is the perfect example. Billy is beside him, quieter, long, light brown hair in a neat ponytail. His eyes hold the kind of wisdom earned through consequence.Bloody and definitiveconsequence. Their psyche marred by the loss of their brother and his ultimate betrayal. It’d been a relief to have that past us and for new leadership to step in, but seeing them here now is an honor to the positions they held.
