The heavy iron doors of the Duchess's chambers clicked shut, sealing out the whispers of the imperial court and the freezing draft of the stone hallways.
Inside, the room was bathed in the amber glow of the hearth. Elara exhaled, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the laces of her corset. It had been a long night of political posturing, and her shoulders ached under the weight of her family's expectations.
"You're late releasing me from my duties, Elara."
The voice came from the shadows near the balcony. It was deep, rasping, and lacked any of the formal polish he used in public.
Caelum stepped into the light. In the courtyard, he was the Silver Knight—the unbreakable shield of the North, a man of cold steel and few words. But here, in the sanctuary of her bedroom, he had already shed his chestplate. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone and the faint silver scars of a dozen battles.
"The Duke wouldn't stop talking about the grain taxes, Caelum," Elara sighed, turning to face him. "I thought you were supposed to be guarding the door, not waiting inside it."
Caelum didn't answer with words. He crossed the room in three long, predatory strides. He didn't stop until he was inches away, his heat radiating through her silk gown. He towered over her, his eyes—usually as cold as flint—now burning with a dark, restless hunger.
"The sun is down," he whispered, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her neck. His fingers were calloused but his touch was impossibly gentle. "When the sun is down, I am not the Duke's knight. I am yours. And I've been starving for you all day."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. The man who could face down an army was trembling. It was the secret that would ruin them both: the kingdom's greatest protector was also its most desperate prisoner.
"Undo the rest," he murmured against her skin, his breath hitching. "I can't stand the space between us anymore."
he tension in the room was thick enough to choke the flickering candlelight. Elara felt her heart hammering against her ribs—not out of fear, but from the sheer, overwhelming presence of him. In the daylight, Caelum was a statue of duty, his face a mask of indifferent stone. But as the clock struck midnight, that mask didn't just slip; it shattered.
"Caelum," she breathed, her voice a fragile thread. "Someone might hear."
"Let them," he growled, though he didn't move away. Instead, his hands found her waist, his large palms spanning nearly the entire width of her torso. He pulled her flush against him, the rough fabric of his tunic contrasting with the delicate silk of her chemise. "The guards are at the end of the hall. The maids are asleep. For the next six hours, the world doesn't exist. There is only this room. And there is only you."
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply as if he were a man drowning and she was his only source of air. Elara felt a shiver race down her spine as his stubble grazed her sensitive skin. He wasn't just protective; he was possessive.
"You were smiling at the Marquis tonight," Caelum muttered, his voice muffled against her skin but laced with a sharp, jagged edge of jealousy.
"I had to. It was a formal gala, Caelum. It meant nothing."
"It meant his eyes were on you. It meant his hands touched yours during the dance." His grip tightened on her waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her of the raw strength he usually kept under such tight control. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue of his irises. "I spent four hours standing by that pillar, gripping the hilt of my sword so hard I thought the steel would snap, just to keep myself from dragging you away from him."
He let out a jagged exhale, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder. The "Silver Knight" looked almost broken in his desperation.
"I'm pathetic when the lights go out, aren't I?" he whispered, a self-deprecating trail of heat against her collarbone. "The great protector of the realm, begging for a scrap of attention from the woman he's sworn to die for."
Elara reached up, her fingers sliding into his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. She loved this version of him—the version only she got to see. The version that was vulnerable, needy, and utterly consumed by her.
"You aren't begging," she whispered, tilting her head back to give him better access. "You're exactly where you belong."
Caelum made a low sound in his throat—a mix of a groan and a purr—and suddenly his lips weren't just brushing her neck; they were claiming it. He scooped her up effortlessly, her feet leaving the rug as he carried her toward the heavy velvet canopy of the bed.
"Tonight," he promised, his voice dark and promising, "I'm not guarding your door. I'm guarding your heart. And I don't intend to let a single inch of you go unno