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Chapter 5 - The Game of Passion and Will

The palace at night was a place of strange stillness.

Shadows stretched long across marble floors, the flicker of torches bending in the occasional draft. Aric was making his way back to his chambers after a day of drills and council meetings when a soft, deliberate voice stopped him.

"Mmm… Sir Aric."

From the shadows, Miraela stepped into the light. Her emerald eyes caught the torch's glow, sparkling like dangerous jewels. She moved with a grace that was almost feline, her silk gown hugging her curves and hinting at the smooth skin beneath.

"It's been far too long since we've spoken," she said, the corners of her lips curling. "Tell me, hero of the North—do you ever think about things other than steel and blood?"

"I think about the kingdom," Aric replied evenly.

She stepped closer, the faint perfume of spice and flowers drifting between them. Her gaze lingered on his lips, then met his eyes again. "Then let me give you something else to think about. I'll make it simple—two choices. Keep your precious reputation intact… or spend one night with me. No courtiers. No whispers. Just us, and everything you've been denying yourself."

Her words were low and velvety, the kind that wrapped themselves around a man's thoughts. She trailed a finger down the front of his tunic, slow enough to make the air between them heavy.

Aric's expression didn't waver. "My first night with a woman will not be bought—or traded like coin. Not with you. Not with anyone."

For the briefest moment, her smile thinned, but then she laughed softly, a sound dripping with both amusement and challenge. "Then perhaps I'll just have to make you change your mind."

She brushed past him, her gown whispering against his leg, and vanished down the corridor with a backward glance that promised this wasn't over.

---

Hours later, when Aric entered his chambers, he froze.

Someone was in his bed.

The silken sheets had slipped low, revealing pale skin glowing in the warm candlelight. Miraela. Completely naked. Her body was a study in temptation—breasts full and heavy, hips wide and perfect, the curve of her ass round and firm even in repose. She lay on her side, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye along the length of her toned thigh. Her green eyes watched him, filled with slow-burning mischief.

"Aric," she purred, her voice like warm wine over velvet, "I thought you might enjoy some company tonight."

She rolled lazily onto her back, letting the sheet fall away entirely. Her hand traced down her own body, grazing the swell of her breasts before stopping at the smooth plane of her stomach. "You've fought for the kingdom, bled for it. Even the finest warriors need… release."

Aric stepped forward, his shadow falling over her. "Miraela, I meant what I said. My honor isn't yours to bargain with."

Her smirk deepened. "And yet—" she slid off the bed in one fluid motion, standing close enough for her warmth to touch him "—your body disagrees." Her hand closed around the hardness in his trousers, giving a slow, deliberate squeeze.

"This," she whispered, "knows exactly what it wants. And one day, you'll come to me for it."

He met her gaze without backing away. "Not tonight."

Her smirk twisted with irritation. "Then enjoy your bed, Sir Aric. I'm sure your hand will make a fine substitute."

She sauntered toward the door, hips swaying, then paused with her hand on the latch. "You'll be back," she said, voice thick with certainty. "Men like you always come back."

When the door closed behind her, Aric exhaled, turned from the bed, and reached for his sword. Training would be his answer—steel and discipline drowning the heat she'd tried to stir. He would not bend. Not now. Not ever..

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