There isn’t any.
Her eyes lift to meet mine.
Storm-gray. The color of winter skies before snow. And completely unafraid.
Something shifts in my chest. Tightens.
What the fuck?
I haven’t felt anything resembling this in years. Not since?—
No. Don’t think about that.
I lean forward slightly, studying her face. Trying to understand what it is about this particular human that’s crawling under my skin. She’s pretty enough, I suppose, in that delicate human way. But I’ve seen prettier. Taken prettier, back when I was younger and stupider.
This is something else.
She doesn’t lower her gaze. Doesn’t flinch from my stare.
Bold little thing.
Then her scent hits me.
Warm human skin with an undertone of something green—herbs maybe, or the soap they use in the river villages. Thread and fabric, the particular smell of worked cotton and silk. And underneath it all, something sweeter. Floral.
It curls around me in the enclosed space, invasive and distracting.
I hate it.
Hate how aware of it I am. How aware of her I am.
Focus.
I rise from the throne slowly, deliberately. Every inch of movement calculated. The wolf pelts across my shoulders shift, and I see her eyes track the motion. See her throat work as she swallows.
Good. Let her see what she’s facing.
I descend the three steps from the dais, my boots striking stone with heavy thuds. The hall stays silent. Even the braziers seem to burn quieter, flames barely crackling.
I circle her.
She doesn’t turn to follow me—smart enough to know that sudden movements around predators end badly. But tension locks her shoulders. Her hands flex in the chains. She wants to turn. Wants to keep me in her sight.
I move behind her, studying the line of her spine through the thin dress. The way her hair falls. The bruises already forming on her upper arms where the soldiers grabbed her.
Mine.
The thought is primal and possessive.
Property of the Iron Warlord.
I complete the circle and stop in front of her. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. Close enough that her scent surrounds me completely.
“This one is mine.” My voice comes out rougher than intended, scraping across the words.
The hall erupts.
Warriors pound spear butts against stone in approval. Voices rise in a chant that shakes the walls. “IRON WARLORD! IRON WARLORD!”
