The world
tilted.
Eliza barely registered the shift in movement, but she felt it the sudden absence of solid ground beneath her feet.
Raen had lifted her.
His arm, strong and unyielding, wrapped around her waist as if she weighed nothing. The scent of steel and embers surrounded her,
possessive, suffocating. She should have protested, but her mind was drowning in warmth, the wine thick in her veins, and instead of resisting…
She laughed.
A soft, breathy sound, escaping before she could stop it.
Raen tensed.
“Drunk,” he muttered under his breath, voice tight with restraint.
Eliza tilted her head against his chest, the fabric of his coat cool against her flushed skin. “Not drunk,” she corrected, her words slurring slightly. “Just…warm.”
He let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening. “That warmth is going to get you into trouble.”
She
smirked. A slow, lazy curve of her lips. “With you?”
His steps faltered for the briefest moment before resuming their steady,
merciless pace.
“Eliza,” he warned.
But oh, the way he said her name.
Like a tether snapping like he was fighting himself.
She liked it.
And she was
reckless enough to push further.
With a soft sigh, she turned her face into the crook of his neck, letting her breath ghost against his skin.
His pulse hammered.
“Careful,” he murmured, though his grip on her did not loosen. If anything, it became
worse fingers digging into her thigh where he supported her, claiming her even through the layers of fabric.
Eliza hummed, her lips barely brushing his jaw. “You always tell me to be careful, Raen. But I think…” she trailed her fingers along the edge of his collar, feeling the tension coil beneath his skin, “I think you like it when I’m not.”
A low
growl vibrated in his chest.
She barely had time to savor it before cold air hit her skin. The doors of the ballroom had
vanished, the night swallowing them whole.
The black carriage stood at the bottom of the palace steps, its windows
dark, its driver already waiting.
Eliza’s mind
faltered, even through the haze.
They were leaving.
She blinked up at Raen, trying to focus, trying to
think through the way her body felt too warm, too soft beneath his hands. “Raen…?”
He didn’t answer.
He
placed her inside the carriage instead.
The moment her back met the plush velvet seat, the door snapped shut, and the world outside disappeared.
Darkness.
Raen stepped in after her.
The carriage lurched forward, the horses pulling them away from the palace, from the court, from the carefully woven
game she had been playing all night.
And now…now it was just them.
The dim glow of lanterns outside cast flickering shadows against his face. His golden eyes burned, fixed entirely on her.
Eliza swallowed.
The wine
buzzed in her blood, heightening everything the way he sat across from her, one elbow braced against the seat, watching her with that quiet, terrible patience.
As if waiting.
Daring her to make the next move.
And maybe it was the wine.
Maybe it was the fact that her body
ached from the way he had touched her held her, as if she were something precious and breakable and entirely his.
Or maybe it was because, deep down, she knew she had already lost.
Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips, and
his gaze dropped.
The air in the carriage
thickened.
“Raen,” she whispered.
A command.
A plea.
A mistake.
Because in the next breath, he moved.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
Like a predator snapping a chain.
He was there in an instant, his hand bracing against the seat beside her, caging her in.
“Eliza,” he murmured, and the sound of her name was something dark, something
possessive.
She
should have been afraid.
But all she could think about was how
close he was.
How the warmth of his breath skimmed her lips.
How she could
feel the hunger rolling off him, so sharp, so ruthless it made her breath hitch.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
She didn’t.
Instead, she did something
stupid.
She leaned up
just slightl…just enough for her lips to brush the corner of his.
A whisper of a touch. A challenge.
His breath
shuddered.
Then...
His hand
fisted in her skirts.
“Eliza,” he warned, but his voice was
hoarse, raw with something he was trying so desperately to contain.
She tilted her head, her lips a breath away from his, her fingers curling against his chest. “What will you do,” she whispered, “if I don’t?”
Silence.
A heartbeat.
Then...
Raen’s
control snapped.