Alaric turned on him then, voice low and rough, the growl of a man stretched to his breaking point.
"You play with fire and you will definitely get consumed by it."
Lucian leaned closer, lips near his ear, voice silken and sharp.
"I am fire, so I can't get consumed."
For a breath, the air between them pulsed, alive with the threat of violence—or something more consuming. The silence was suffocating, heated, unbearable.
Alaric's hand twitched, nearly rising to seize him, to crush the smugness from him with reckless force, but he stilled it with visible effort. His chest heaved. His eyes were dark, storming, dangerous.
Lucian straightened at last, calm and elegant, as though the tension had been nothing more than a pleasant exercise. He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve, smiling faintly.
"I should let you return to your duties. Wouldn't want the kingdom to crumble while its crown prince burns."
