Elena's world was still spinning.
Not from embarrassment. Not even from the sprint Soren had practically dragged her into.
No—it was him.
Her body still trembled where his hands had been. Her pulse still raced in her throat, in her wrists, everywhere he had touched.
And gods help her—
She wanted more.
As her spine pressed back against the door he'd cornered her against, she could feel him— all strength, all heat, all impossible restraint—standing so close her breath tangled with his.
She felt him. Hard. A promise pressed against her hip through leather and muscle.
Her breath caught sharply.
A new wave of heat rolled through her, sharp and dizzying—as if the climax he'd pulled from her had only awakened something deeper, something ravenous that hadn't existed until him.
Soren braced one hand beside her head, the other gripping her waist in a way that made her knees weaken instantly.
"Elena," he murmured, voice rough from restraint he no longer pretended to have,"look at me."
She did.
And the world dropped away.
His eyes—dark, hungry, undone—devoured her in one slow sweep. Not with impatience. Not with entitlement.
With need.
Her hands, still trembling from the rush of what he'd already done to her, moved instinctively to his belt. The cool metal, the heat of his body, the faint scrape of leather beneath her fingertips—it all sent another wave of want crashing through her.
Soren went very still.
His muscles tightened beneath her touch, breath shuddering out of him in a sound that was almost a growl.
She fumbled with the buckle, desperate, dizzy—until his hand came down on hers.
"Elena," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire, "you don't have to—"
"I want to," she whispered.
His eyes closed for the briefest second, like the words hit him harder than any blade ever had.
When he looked at her again, there was no restraint left. No distance. No cold northern prince.
Only a man undone.
Something inside him snapped.
His belt buckle clinked softly as his hand—still resting over hers—guided her movement rather than stopping it.
His breath hitched.
"Elena…"It wasn't a warning.It was surrender.
Her fingers slipped under leather, against warmth, against him—and Soren's restraint dissolved completely.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
They froze.
Elena's soul left her body.
Soren went completely still, every muscle locked, his breath suspended in his chest like he'd been carved from obsidian on the spot.
Another knock.
"Your Highness?" Kael's unmistakable voice. Of course.
Soren closed his eyes. Inhaled once. Very slowly.
"Elena," he whispered, forehead still pressed to hers, "I am going to kill him."
She was trembling—part desire, part mortification. "He can't—he wouldn't—come in… right?"
Another knock, louder this time. "Your Highness, the king's envoy has arrived early. The council requests—"
"Not. Now." Soren's voice came out like a blade dragged over stone.
A very respectful silence followed.
Then: "…Should I return in an hour?" Kael ventured, sounding like a man willing to risk death for clarity.
Soren turned his head toward the door, jaw clenched so tightly Elena genuinely worried for the structural integrity of his teeth.
"Kael." A warning. A threat. A prayer. All at once.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Leave."
Footsteps retreated at a speed that suggested Kael had no desire to be murdered today.
Silence.
Soren exhaled, long and slow, his forehead dropping back to her shoulder as though gathering the last fibers of his sanity.
Elena let out a breath she'd been holding for an eternity. "…Well. That ruined the moment."
His head snapped up.
"No," he said, voice low and shaking with everything he hadn't yet let himself feel."It did not."
He pressed her gently but firmly back against the wall, hands braced on either side of her head, eyes dark and wrecked and hungry.
"We are not done," he murmured, as if the interruption had only sharpened whatever storm lived inside him.
Her pulse jumped. "But the envoy—"
"Can wait."
"You can't ignore them."
"Watch me."
Her breath stuttered.
His lips hovered a breath from hers again—
Then, with visible agony, he forced himself a step back.
"We will finish this," he whispered, voice hoarse, "when I am no longer one knock away from committing treason."
Elena's knees turned to absolute water.
"Soren…"
He swallowed, dragging a gloved hand over his jaw.
"Stay here," he said, breath uneven. "Do not change. Do not run. I will return the second they release me."
Then—with one last, hungry, tortured look—he left the room.
The door clicked shut.
Elena stared after him, heart pounding, every nerve ending vibrating.
She whispered into the empty room:
"…I'm going to die."