In the Shadow of the Crown

The heavy door shut with a soft click, sealing them in the dimly lit chamber.

The air was thick charged with something dark and unspoken. The low glow of the hearth painted flickering golden light across the carved stone walls, stretching shadows that seemed to whisper of things long forbidden.

Eliza stood just beyond the threshold, her breath uneven.

Raen was watching her.                                 

Not just watching.

Waiting.

His golden eyes gleamed in the firelight, filled with something raw and unreadable. He had discarded his gloves, and now, those bare hands rested at his sides, fingers flexing like a predator deciding whether to pounce.

She knew she should speak first.

[Say something. Anything.]

But her throat was dry, and when she finally parted her lips, he moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Each step sent a new shiver down her spine, her pulse hammering with every inch he closed between them.

By the time he stopped, there was barely enough space for breath.

Raen reached for her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers warm against her chilled skin. "You should be afraid of me," he murmured.

Eliza swallowed. "I know."

His hand lingered, thumb tracing along the curve of her jaw. "And yet you came."

She forced herself to hold his gaze. "I’m not here for you, Raen."

A smirk ghosted over his lips. "No?"

His fingers drifted lower, barely skimming her collarbone before coming to rest at the laces of her bodice. The heat of his touch burned even through the fabric, and gods help her, she did not move away.

"You lie so prettily," he whispered.

Eliza exhaled sharply, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "If I wanted to leave, would you let me?"

Raen's expression didn’t change. But something in his golden eyes darkened intensified. "No."

Her breath hitched.

The word was soft, spoken as if it were inevitable. As if it were fact.

As if she had never truly been given a choice to begin with.

His fingers traced idle patterns against her skin, each movement laced with quiet possession. "You should have run when you had the chance," he mused.

Eliza let out a breathless, bitter laugh. "You never gave me one."

Raen’s smirk deepened. "You never truly wanted one."

Her heart pounded, heat rushing through her veins in a dizzying mix of anger and something far more dangerous.

[He was right. Damn him.]

[A game.]

[That’s what this was.]

A game of fire and chains, where every step she took closer to him only tightened the binds around her.

[And the worst part?]

She was playing willingly.

Her fingers lifted hesitant at first, then bolder pressing against his chest, where she could feel the steady, controlled rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the fine fabric of his tunic.

Raen inhaled sharply, the muscles beneath her palm tensing.

Eliza tilted her chin, looking up at him through dark lashes. "And if I demand my freedom?"

His hands ghosted down her sides, slow and teasing, until they settled on her waist. He pulled her flush against him, his breath fanning against her lips as he murmured, "Then I will make you forget why you ever wanted it."@@novelbin@@

Her stomach twisted, heat pooling low.

She hated him.

She wanted him.

The two emotions tangled so tightly she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

His mouth was close now, a whisper away from hers, yet he did not close the distance.

He wanted her to surrender.

Wanted her to be the one to fall first.

Eliza’s nails dug into his chest. "You play dangerous games, my lord."

Raen chuckled, dark and velvety. "Only because you make them worth playing."

And then.

His lips brushed against hers feather-light, a cruel mockery of the fire simmering between them.

Eliza gasped, barely restraining the urge to chase after the touch.

Raen’s grip tightened at her waist. "Say it," he murmured against her lips.

She shivered. "Say what?"

His golden eyes gleamed. "That you are mine."

A demand wrapped in silk. A collar disguised as a promise.

Eliza’s pulse thundered.

This was the moment.

The moment she could break free, pull away, remind him and herself that she was not something to be owned.

And yet.

She exhaled, barely more than a whisper.

"Make me."

Raen’s smirk vanished. His control so carefully maintained fractured in an instant.

His lips crashed against hers, all patience obliterated.

It was not a kiss of tenderness.

It was a claim.

A war.

Eliza fought back with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his black hair, nails raking against his skin as he backed her toward the heavy four-poster bed. His hands roamed lower, gripping her hips, pulling her against him with an urgency that sent sparks shooting through her veins.

A sharp gasp escaped her when his teeth grazed the delicate skin of her throat, his tongue tracing the mark in silent possession.

"You are a storm, Eliza," he murmured against her skin. "And I intend to be caught in it."

Her head tipped back, a shuddering breath leaving her lips as he dragged her down into the fire.

And gods help her.

She did not want to be saved.