“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, quieter now, but no less intense. His gaze dropped to my breasts for a split second again and a tic in his jaw jumped. “You’re not safe.”
I almost laughed. “From what?” I asked. “From the guards? The storm? The king?”
His eyes found mine again. “Fromme.”
The breath caught in my chest. Not because I was afraid. Because Iwasn’t. And that terrified me more than anything.
I should have stepped back. Should have run inside. Should have remembered who I was now—what was at stake. But I stood there, shaking and soaked, and I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. How close it was. How still. Howcapable.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered.
He didn’t move. Not right away. But something changed in his expression, just slightly. Like the tension that had been holding him back shifted. Like he was deciding something and losing the battle at the same time.
His hand lifted slowly, fingers pausing just shy of my skin. He didn’t touch me. Just hovered close to my face, as if giving me time to pull away. As if waiting for permission he had no right to want.
His knuckles brushed my jaw. Not possessive. Not tender.
Testing.
And I didn’t move.
His fingers skimmed along the edge of my cheek, down to my throat, tracing the line where my pulse thundered. His eyes darkened at the feel of it.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“You’re not exactly steady either,” I murmured roughly.
His mouth twitched then, something hovering there without fully forming. And then the warmth of his palm cupped my jaw, holding me still—not forcefully. Just enough to make my knees want to give.
“You’re playing with fire, Helena.”
“I didn’t start it,” I breathed. “I was simply out for a run in the rain.”
Lightning cracked overhead, casting the sky in a jagged flash of white. He stepped in closer, until the wet front of his chest pressed lightly against mine. The warmth of him seared through the soaked linen. We both inhaled sharply.
Too close.
Too exposed.
Too forbidden.
We stood there, staring. Like if either of us blinked, the spell would break.
I swallowed hard. Something was crawling beneath my skin, stirring everything I’d tried to keep quiet. A heat that was decadent and dizzying, as if the damn herb had come purring back to life.
His hand dropped. He shook his head, exhaling.
“Go to your room, Helena,” he murmured. “And don’t come back out.”
I froze.
The words hung between us, too soft to be a command, too firm to ignore. His cheek twitched, a tight little tic that betrayed the tension he kept otherwise buried.
I didn’t move for a moment … I wasn’t sure I could.
Finally, I forced myself to turn. My steps were reluctant though, like my legs were waterlogged, every movement dragging through the weight of what had almost happened. Before I reached the edge of the garden, I glanced back.
There he was, standing just outside the alcove. Rain still drenched his hair and dripped from his jaw, his tunic clinging to every cord of muscle like a second skin. His sword was in his hand again—why, I didn’t know. But he held it like it might save him, like he believed if he swung hard enough, he might cut through fate itself.
