[Rynthall Estate—The next Morning]
The sun was entirely too smug for the next morning.
It barged through the curtains like an uninvited relative, spilling golden light across the bed where Lucein lay sprawled, tangled in sheets that had clearly surrendered all dignity hours ago.
His hair looked like he'd fought a hurricane. And lost. His throat was raw, his legs… well, we're not even going to talk about those.
"I didn't even sleep a wink..." Lucein mumbled.
From somewhere in the room came a low, satisfied hum—the kind that said I ruined you, and I'm proud of it.
Silas.
Sitting there at the foot of the bed, shirtless, sipping his tea like last night hadn't been a declaration of war on Lucein's body. His skin practically glowed, like he'd bathed in moonlight and smugness all at once.
"Why," Lucein croaked, squinting through sleep-heavy eyes, "do you look like you just came back from a spa?"
