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He steps back, releasing me like he wasn’t just holding me like a fucking possession. Like he wasn’t just branding me with his body.

I refuse to show weakness. I push off the wall and meet his gaze with as much venom as I can summon. “If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.”

A slow, lazy smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

I will.

The tension still claws at my skin as I follow him down another corridor, my pulse uneven, my rage simmering beneath the surface.

I need to focus. I need to figure out what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into before it’s too late.

There’s one undeniable truth hanging between us, thick and suffocating.

I’m not afraid of him.

I’m afraid of the way I want to see how far I can push him.

And worse?

I think he wants the same fucking thing.

He leads me into a war room.

Maps are sprawled across a massive obsidian table, marked with locations I don’t recognize. Strange artifacts rest on the shelves, each one humming with dark energy. I don’t want to know what they do.

He gestures to a chair. “Sit.”

I remain standing.

His lips twitch. “Already disobeying?”

I fold my arms. “You didn’t say ‘please.’”

“Do you think this is a fucking game?”

I do now.

“Tell me what you want me to steal,” I say instead. “ I’m not staying in this palace of yours any longer than I have to.”

He studies me for a moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he unrolls a parchment.

I step closer. And the second I see what’s sketched onto it, my stomach drops.

The High Council’s Vault.

I go very, very still.

“No,” I say immediately.

Zephiran voice is soft. “Yes.”

I snap my gaze to him. “You want me to break into the most secure fucking vault in all of Orthani? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

He leans forward, resting his hands on the table. His rings glint in the candlelight, dark jewels dripping with wealth and blood.

“Why else would I need you?” he murmurs.

Fuck.