Before the Storm, A Moment of Warmth
He moved forward, the quiet of his steps claiming the faint focus of the room. As he approached the couches, Fey slid toward him, her hips swaying with a cultured seductiveness that felt as effortless as breathing. She moved like silk come to life, a vision of loveliness schooled to oblige—but it was not obligation that warmed her eyes when they met his.
She stooped to pour him tea, the scent rich and comforting as it drifted up.
"Your tea, my lord," she said softly, her voice a sigh, eyes cast modestly down but with an unvoiced warmth.
Leon took the cup, a thin smile. "Thank you, Fey."
She looked up at him for an instant, her mouth going up in a smile. "My pleasure, Master."
He sipped—taste earthy, soothing, familiar. The heat of the cup in his hands, but the real heat was from the room itself, from the women there, their being more stabilizing than anything else.
His gaze walked over them one by one.
