The tableau in the office was a masterpiece of wreckage, and Caelen Caldrith was the only witness.
Through the gap in the heavy oak doors, the world narrowed to a single, devastating focus. Eris was perched on the edge of the mahogany desk, her gown hitching slightly to reveal the curve of her legs.
Soren was a wall of muscle and obsidian silk wrapped around her, one hand splayed firmly against her back, the other buried deep in her snowish hair. He was pulling her head back with a raw, territorial hunger, exposing the violent purple and red map of his previous work on her neck.
They were kissing... not the polite, formal press of lips expected of a royal union, but a deep, rhythmic devouring. Caelen could hear it: the soft, wet slide of skin, the ragged intakes of breath, and the small, helpless moans that Eris let out against Soren's mouth.
