Elena dragged in a breath, trying to gather what remained of her composure off the floor.She could not—could not—be reacting like this in front of eight armored warriors and the man who single-handedly reset her nervous system.
But apparently her body hadn't gotten the memo.
Because the moment she saw him—broad shoulders framed in black leather, dark hair wind-tossed, jaw shadowed from days away—her pulse turned into a dying fish.
And the Sentinels flanking him? They were all tall. All lean muscle and black leather. All carrying enough quiet violence in their posture to depose multiple governments before breakfast.
Are Abercrombie & Fitch recruiting medieval death knights now? Is that a thing in this world?
Every one of them looked carved from "danger but handsome." All shadows and sharp lines. All watching Soren with a predator's discipline.
And she had reacted like a hormonal Victorian maiden seeing an ankle.
Fantastic.
She forced herself to stand straighter, even while her knees softened at the sight of Soren moving through the corridor—predatory, controlled, impossibly composed.
He didn't slow when he saw her.
He stopped.
So abruptly the two Sentinels nearest him nearly stepped into his back.
His gaze locked onto her like a tether snapping taut.
"Elena."
Her name in his voice—a low, dangerous ripple—sent heat spiraling through her spine.
Her rational mind: Get a grip.
Her hormones: Climb him.
Her feminism: I'm filing a formal complaint.
"You—" she cleared her throat and tried again— "you're back… Your Highness."
She bowed. Sarcastically. On purpose.
His eyes didn't leave her. Not for a moment. Not even to conceal what flickered through them—fatigue, danger, and something else she couldn't name without spontaneously combusting.
"I am," he murmured.
Then, slower:
"You look… unsettled."
Unsettled?She nearly choked. She was one intrusive thought away from climbing him like a fire escape.
"I'm fine," she lied.
One of his dark brows lifted—barely, but enough to communicate an entire paragraph of: No, you're not. And I always know when you lie.
She shifted her weight, heat rising under her skin. "You could have told me you were leaving, Your Highness."
She spat the title just sharp enough to sting.
Something flickered across his face—something sharp, unguarded, quickly caged beneath his usual control.
"I did not expect—" His jaw tightened. "I did not think it would matter to you."
Her breath snagged.
She wanted to shout Of course it mattered, but that would require vulnerability, and she was far too busy pretending she wasn't fantasizing about his gloves around her throat.
He took another step closer. His voice dipped—quiet, amused, unbearably intimate.
"So formal today," he murmured. "Careful, Elena. When you call me Your Highness in that tone…" His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up. "It sounds less like deference and more like invitation."
Her brain short-circuited. Absolutely combusted.
Her body betrayed her—heat blooming in a slow, devastating wave that left her thighs aching to press together.
She shifted, just slightly, and instantly regretted it.
Soren's eyes flicked downward.
A knowing flicker crossed his face.
"I—I wasn't—"
"No?" A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "I rather enjoyed it."
Her stomach flipped. Rude. Illegal. Deeply unhelpful.
She backed into the stone wall behind her without meaning to.
He froze—not touching her, but close enough that the cold from his armor soaked into the air between them.
"Elena."
There it was again. That soft, dangerous gravity.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he said. "Not after what we found."
"We?" she echoed.
"My Sentinels."
He nodded toward the corridor where the armored men had disappeared with the struggling spy.
"We found him near the rift marking," Soren said. "Near where you appeared."