The moment it closes behind him, she turns toward me. "Ilyra, prepare something light for?—"
"Excuse me." I stand smoothly, already moving toward the stairs. "All this hard work securing your and Mariselle's future has exhausted me."
Her mouth opens in protest.
I don't stop walking.
"Ilyra—"
"I'm sure Mariselle can manage." I climb the steps without looking back, ignoring the sharp intake of breath below.
My door clicks shut.
Silence.
I release the breath I've been holding for hours, shoulders sagging against weathered wood.
Then I see him.
Azrathiel sprawls across my bed like he owns every inch of it—one knee bent, arms folded behind his head, gold-flecked eyes tracking my movement with predatory focus. The redness breaking up his obsidian skin pulses faintly in the dim light.
"I hate when he touches me." I shake my head, disgust curling through my stomach. The phantom sensation of Bram's cold fingers still lingers on my forearm.
Azrathiel snorts. "Not as much as I do."
The growl beneath his words sends warmth pooling low in my belly.
I roll my eyes, but can't stop the smile tugging at my lips. "Jealous again, Azrath?"
He doesn't answer.
His gaze follows my movements as I sink into the chair at my desk, fingers working through my braids methodically. Each pinhits the wood with softclinks. I catch his reflection in the small mirror—expression darker than usual, jaw tight.
Still watching.
Always watching.
I sigh, this time deeper than before. Exhaustion bleeds through the cracks now that I'm alone with him.
Safe.
"What would you like me to do next?" His voice cuts through the quiet, ready. Eager.
I shake loose the final braid, running fingers through tangled waves. "Nothing yet."
"Ilyra—"
"The timing has to be right." I meet his reflection's gaze. "I still have a few days to think it over."
He shifts upright slowly, celestial chain markings glowing faintly along his shoulders. "Time is running out."
"I know."
"The wedding approaches?—"
"I know." The words come sharper than intended.
Silence stretches between us.