(16+ a little)
The room was silent. Not asleep—waiting.
Everything had been arranged for departure. The city no longer whispered in her ear. It watched her now, watched him, as if aware something it never deserved would soon leave its grasp— her grasp.
She had to leave him....soon.
Leoriness sat on the ceiling of the window, barely breathing.
Her golden hair swaying with air, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked down from the window through her gold like eyes, yet much precious than them.
Her eyes kept wandering towards the sound of water from bathroom.
She looked behind— two beds.
Two beds were behind her.
And between them… the kind of silence that wrapped around her ribs like a velvet rope.
Then finally after few minutes, the water dripping from shower stopped.
Click!!
The door opened with a click sound.
Leoriness eyes darted towards the direction too fact...and her breath got caught in her throat.
Elarion emerged from the bathing room, the faint sound of dripping water following him like footsteps on marble floor beneath him.
A robe— white with blue trim—hung open at his collar, revealing the smooth line of his throat, pale skin still damp. His hair, as black as night, clung to his neck, one stubborn lock tracing his collarbone.
He didn't glance at her.
He never did, not unless he chose to.
Which made every glance he gave her feel like drowning and resurrection at once.
Her tea had long gone cold, untouched on the tray. She couldn't drink. Couldn't swallow.
Because there he was. Moving across the room like a shadow that had learned to take form. Not with arrogance—no, that would make it easier.
It was worse than that.
He moved like he didn't know what he was. Or worse, didn't care.
Her eyes followed the dip of his waist beneath the robe. The faint imprint of muscle at his side. The wet sheen on his neck. The way the sash clung too low on his hips.
Gods.
She closed her thighs subtly under her gown.
This was becoming unbearable.
Leoriness had trained to kill. She had been raised on politics, deception, and poison. Now that her memories return she could remember, what she had seen , the nobles tearing each other apart in courtrooms more brutal than any battlefield.
And yet nothing—not one thing in her life—had prepared her for him.
How could he be sooo.... beautiful and cruel, distant and warm, cold as glass and yet quietly tender in his silences.
He didn't try to lure her.
That's what made it worse.
He just… was. And she was unraveling.
"You're not sleeping in a separate chamber?" she asked, voice smooth, though her pulse betrayed her.
Elarion didn't look up. "No point. We leave at dawn."
He walked past her—bare feet on polished stone, towards the waiter kettle at corner in her side. A whisper of soap. Of steel.
Her throat was dry.
She turned slightly as he sat, robe parting just enough to reveal the inside of his thigh, his skin too soft as pressed by the bed. He reached under the pillow and slid a dagger beneath it—his usual routine.
She watched the movement of his fingers. The vein under his wrist. The slow exhale that moved through his chest. His lips which were slightly parted seems even more alluring under the moonlight.
She wanted to bite her lip, but didn't.
Instead, her voice came quieter. "...I may wake you, since I move too much."
"Then don't."
She almost laughed. It was so him. So precise. So absolute.
And yet she couldn't stop imagining his voice breaking. Just once. Soft and raw and real—in the dark, in her arms.
No. She didn't want to possess him.
She wanted to break him open, gently, completely, until no piece of him remained untouched by her.
She wanted to trace her lips on that soft skin, leaving her mark on that pale skin of his.
Elarion layed on the bed
Elarion up a little his adam seems like he gonna say something
She lay on her side, facing him across the distance between the two beds. She could barely see his eyes—closed now—but even in rest, he was tense. Ready. Always ready.
His robe had shifted, slipped down one shoulder.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers curled under the blanket. She imagined reaching out. Tracing that collarbone. Running her tongue along the hollow of his throat, slow, until he looked at her. Until he said her name.
She imagined him pinning her down—not out of passion, but control. Cold fingers around her wrist. No words. Just eyes.
What would it take to make you lose control, Elarion?
Would you flinch if I kissed you? Would you tremble if I begged?
"Do you trust me?" she asked.
His reply was immediate. "No."
A sting. But she liked the sting.
"That's fair," she murmured.
She wasn't offended.
Because someday, she would change that.
She would be the only one in his world who earned his trust. Who touched the place beneath his silence. Who lived there.
"Will you?" she asked again, almost a whisper. "Eventually?"
He opened his eyes.
Even in the dim light, they burned.
Red and blue. Blood and frost. The kind of gaze that made you forget how to breathe.
"I'll decide," he said, "when it matters."
She didn't smile. But something deep inside her twisted—pleasure and pain bleeding into each other.
That's enough.
She could wait.
And while she waited… she would sink deeper. She already was.
Leoriness didn't just like him. Didn't just want him.
She was becoming obsessed.
And obsession, she knew, never ended kindly.
But if she could have him, even just a part…
She'd burn kingdoms for the privilege.
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