Elysia lay still.
Flat against the sheets, breath short and ragged, her pulse thundering in her ears like war drums—but she wasn't fighting.
She didn't know what this was.
Her body—this vessel honed in silence, shaped in duty—felt foreign now. Every nerve was awake, every inch of skin prickling with a sensitivity she didn't recognize. It wasn't pain. It wasn't fear.
It was something else.
Something warmer.
Something worse.
She didn't understand it—but it coiled through her belly and down the insides of her thighs like heat trapped under armor, seeping deeper with every second she spent beneath his eyes.
They terrified her.
Not because it was dangerous.
But because part of her wanted it.
Wanted him.
Elysia felt her arms shift, almost of their own accord, crossing over her chest in a slow, defensive curl. Not combat-ready. Just… hiding. As if that could shield her from the truth rising through her ribs like a tide she couldn't hold back.
She didn't know this.
