The world tilted, and for a moment, Ilaria's breath was the only thing she could hear.
Ilaria's legs were anchored around his waist, the silk of her gown a rustling, desperate whisper against her skin. Levan did not break the connection, his gaze remained locked on hers, dark as a winter well and burning with a gravity that seemed to pull the very air from her lungs.
She was shocked. Not by the act itself, but by the honesty of it. In the high courts of Caelwyn, everything was hidden behind fans and whispers. But Levan was dismantling her with a terrifying pride as if she were a holy thing he had finally been given permission to touch.
"Spread yourself," he murmured, his voice a guttural friction against the shell of her ear as he lowered her into the mattress. He followed her down, his weight a welcome heat that finally silenced the restless shivering of her limbs. "Wrap your legs around me— yes, just like that."
