Alistair's hands twitched at his sides, clenching and unclenching. He looked as though one more word might push him to seize Lucian by the throat—or worse. "Careful. Push me too far again, and you won't walk away."
Lucian reached out, unhurried, his fingertips brushing just above Alistair's wrist. The touch was fleeting but unmistakable, sending heat where it lingered. His voice dropped softer, coaxing.
"Do you truly want me to walk away, my dear royal Highness?"
Alistair's breath caught, sharp as a blade. His chest rose too quickly, betraying the calm he struggled to maintain. "You already know what on my thoughts, tutor."
His eyes has already darkened, showing something far more dangerous than anger.
Lucian's hand lingered for a moment before slipping away, as though he had already extracted the reaction he wanted. His lips tilted faintly. "No," he said softly, almost to himself. "I don't think you do."
