Elena dreamed of him.
Not gently.
Not safely.
The dream pulled her under like deep water—warm, heavy, impossible to fight. She felt hands at her waist, strong and sure; breath brushing her throat; a voice saying her name like a command wrapped in hunger.
She didn't see him at first—only shadows, heat, the brush of a cloak against her skin. But when her mind finally shaped a face out of the dream's haze, it was Soren's.
Of course it was Soren's.
His mouth hovered near hers, close enough to steal thought.His fingers traced the inside of her wrist—slow, purposeful.His body pressed her gently, inexorably, to a wall she didn't want to step away from.
"Elena," he murmured—low, rough, devastating.
She shivered, leaned into him—
And woke with a gasp.
She bolted upright, heart hammering, face burning hot enough to power the citadel's forge. The room was still dim, morning light barely edging past the window.
"Oh no," she whispered, covering her face with both hands. "Absolutely not. We are not doing this."
Her body, traitorous as ever, disagreed.
She slid off the bed, pacing."It's stress," she told herself firmly."It's hormones.""It's the altitude.""It is NOT the prince."
Her reflection raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.She hated that.
A knock cut through her spiraling thoughts.
Not a timid knock.Not a hesitant one.
Three slow, deliberate taps.
Her stomach dropped.
"Elena."
Soren's voice. Calm. Rich. Entirely unhelpful to her dignity.
She swallowed once. Twice. "Yes?"
"Breakfast," he said. "Open the door."
She opened it halfway—and regretted it immediately.
Soren stood in a fitted black tunic and dark leather vambraces, hair tied loosely at the back of his neck. Morning light slid across his cheekbone, catching the faint scar there. His eyes swept over her face, pausing on the blush she could feel burning at her hairline.
His mouth twitched—almost a smile, but sharper.
"You slept poorly," he said.
She nearly choked. "No. I slept fine. Perfect. Amazing. Best sleep of my life."
His brows lifted. "Is that so."
"Yes." She crossed her arms. Too fast. Too defensive. "Why would you even assume otherwise?"
He stepped closer—just enough to brush her air, not her skin.
"You are flushed," he said quietly.
"I'm warm."
"It's cold this morning."
"Then I'm—thermal."
His eyes narrowed with slow, predatory amusement.
"Elena."
Her breath hitched. "What."
"You're avoiding my eyes."
"No, I'm not."
"You keep looking at the floor."
"I am admiring the… grain. The excellent stone craftsmanship."
He leaned slightly, angling until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
Her pulse jumped.
Soren saw it.Soren definitely saw it.
That smirk—small, controlled, devastating—tugged at his mouth.
"You dreamed," he said softly.
Her soul died on the spot.
"I—did—not," she sputtered.
"Mm." His gaze dipped to her throat, catching the flutter there. "Your reaction says otherwise."
This was it. This was the end of her. Death by embarrassment.
"It was a stressful dream," she insisted. "About… chairs. And administrative policy. Very alarming."
"Chairs," he repeated, tone flat.
"Yes."
"The sort I break?"
Her face combusted.
"NO. I mean—NOT YOU. Not—your chairs—just chairs in general—this conversation is over."
He stepped closer again.
Her back hit the doorframe.
His hands stayed at his sides—disciplined, restrained—but the air tightened around them anyway.
"Elena," he murmured, "if I am in your dreams… I expect you to tell me."
Her brain short-circuited. "Why would I ever do that?"
"So I know if I should stay out of them," he said.
Then—after a beat, voice dropping—
"Or step in further."
Her knees nearly gave out.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Breakfast," he said at last, stepping back with controlled precision. "Before you fall over."
"I'm not falling over."
"You are very nearly falling over."
"I—this—stop talking."
He opened the door for her, every movement effortlessly composed, while she resembled a startled woodland creature who had recently discovered hormones.
She brushed past him.
He leaned in just enough for her to hear it:
"Chairs, hm?"
She groaned into her hands. "I hate everything."
Soren fell into step beside her, undeniably pleased.