SAPPHIRE
I glance at Riven again,and for once, our emotions seem aligned.
I don’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to do this.
And yet, the water awaits.
“Let’s get this over with,” he finally says, short and clipped.
I inhale, sharp and pained. Because aftereverythingI just vowed to him—after every hateful word I slung—that’s all he has to say? He doesn’t want to shoot anything back at me? He just wants to jump into the water, partake in what will be the most resented kiss ever, and call it a night?
Lysandra, who’s clearly still enjoying this, claps her hands like a child. “Into the water with you both,” she says, sounding disturbingly pleased with herself.
Riven moves first. But not to step into the water.
First, he reaches for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up and over his head in one smooth motion.
My breath catches. My body betrays me.
Because despite everything, he’s still the most painfully beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, his sharp lines and defined musclesculpted like a winter god. He’s a masterpiece of power, honed to perfection, and he knows it.
And he’s using it against me.
“Like what you see?” he asks, the seriousness in his voice when he made his vows replaced with the taunting tone he uses to get a rise out of me.
I force my eyes to his face, refusing to let them wander lower. “You wish.”
He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t laugh.
Instead, he unties his pants and kicks off his boots. The quiet sound of fabric sliding over skin follows as he sheds the rest, leaving him in nothing but his black underclothes.
I swallow hard.
I’m not thinking about how unfair it is that he looks like this. How effortlessly he draws attention. How cruel it is that even now, after everything, my body still reacts to him before my mind can stop it.
Nope. Definitely not thinking it.
“That dress, despite how exquisite it is, will weigh you down,” he says when he’s done, his voice deceptively casual, although his silver eyes gleam with something darker. Something hungrier.
It’s the same way he looked at me when he tempted me with his blood.
It’s a challenge. A test. A reminder that no matter how much I hate him, he knows exactly how to get under my skin.
“It would be wise to remove it,” he finishes.
“Water ismy element,”I snap at him. “Nothing will weigh me down. Not even this forced marriage toyou.”
“Always so fiery,” he murmurs, and he makes his way to the water, his movements slow and deliberate, meant to tempt and manipulate.
It’s working.
And I hate him for it.
The moment he enters the pool, the water reacts to him, rippling as it welcomes him into its depths. Slowly, he moves toward the center, where it laps across his chest, and then he stops.
Waiting.
Watching.
