Almost.
Sabine smoothed her gown with shaking hands and slipped away.
When she reached her chamber, Lysa looked up from the fire and went very still.
“You passed,” Lysa said.
“Yes.”
“And?”
Sabine set both hands on the edge of the writing desk and looked down at the wood grain because if she looked at another person right now she might combust.
“And I need another dress,” she said.
Lysa was quiet for one beat.
Then, “That bad?”
Sabine let out a short, unbelieving laugh. “Worse.”
Lysa stood. “Did anyone see?”
“Not at the corridor.”
“That is not the same as no.”
“No.”
Lysa came closer and stopped. “Look at me.”
Sabine did.
Lysa took one long look at her face and exhaled slowly. “So it’s crossed that line.”
“Yes.”
“Far?”
Sabine thought of Lucien’s hand on her thigh. The weight of him between her legs. His voice when he said if he kept going he was not stopping in a corridor.
“Yes,” she said.
Lysa closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them. “Then the next mistake will not be a small one.”
Sabine turned away and went to the window, pressing her hot forehead to the cold glass.
Outside, the palace gardens sat quiet under late light. Formal. Controlled. Full of buried things.
Inside, her body was still burning.
She could still feel him between her thighs. Still feel the shape of his hand. Still hear the rough, ruined honesty in his voice.
This was no longer flirtation.
No longer just tension.
No longer something she could file under strategy while pretending the rest was the bond’s doing.
