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"You're right," she said, rubbing her eyes. "We've been careless."

He stood, searching for his discarded clothing while trying not to stare as she stretched languidly. His tunic had been flung carelessly across the room in his eagerness to be free of it. Now he retrieved it with reluctance, knowing it would feel even more confining after the freedom of skin against skin.

"What's our story?" she asked, watching him dress with barely hidden desire in her eyes.

"That we discussed trade agreements until we both grew tired of talking," he suggested, pulling on his leather pants.

Linnea laughed softly. "No one who knows me would believe I'd tire of talking politics."

He couldn't help but smile. "Then perhaps we argued. That would be believable enough."

She rose from the furs, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her again. The knowledge that they would both pay dearly if discovered was the only thing preventing him from carrying her back to that nest of cushions.

"Help me," she said, reaching for the sheer dress she'd worn earlier. "This fastens at the back."

His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he secured the ties, and he felt her shiver at his touch. Even this mundane act of dressing felt intimate, charged with the memory of how he'd undressed her hours before.

When she was clothed, he helped her straighten her hair, his fingers gentle as they worked through the tangles their passion had created. She leaned back against him, her eyes closing briefly at his touch.

"We shouldn't do this again," she whispered, though her body said otherwise. "It's too dangerous."

"I know," he agreed, even as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her. "For both of us."

The sudden sound of the door opening sent them springing apart. Linnea's adjunct stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the disheveled room and their suspiciously perfect postures.

Zexx reacted on instinct, dropping into a formal bow that felt ridiculous given what had transpired between them. "Thank you for the dinner, Chancellor," he said, his voice deliberately gruff. "But it will take more than one meal under a tent to repair relations between our peoples."

Linnea's eyes flashed with understanding before her face settled into the cool mask he'd seen in her office. "The Dothveks carry as much blame as the Cresteks for the discord between us, Ambassador," she replied, her tone clipped. "Perhaps if your people were more willing to embrace change rather than clinging to outdated traditions, we might find more common ground."

He scowled authentically—her barb about traditions had struck close to home—and stomped toward the door, brushing past the adjunct with deliberate rudeness.

"Chancellor," the adjunct stammered, "I didn't realize—"

"It's fine, K’Nar," Linnea cut him off. "The ambassador and I were just concluding our... discussions."

He caught a final glimpse of her as the door closed—standing proud and tall in her chambers, every inch the chancellor despite her slightly swollen lips and the telltale flush that still colored her cheeks.

Only when he was halfway down the spiraling ramp did he release a heavy breath. They'd been reckless, foolish. A moment's difference in timing and they would have been discovered in a far more compromising position.

He descended slowly, his mind racing. What madness had they unleashed? And how hard would he have to work to conceal the desire that even now coursed through him at the memory of her in his arms?

By the time he reached his chambers, his body was tense with the strain of maintaining the façade of diplomatic animosity. He slipped inside, securing the door behind him before making his way to the bubbling pool in the bathing chamber.

He stripped off the clothing he'd so recently donned, letting it fall to the stone floor. The steaming water welcomed him as he submerged himself, hoping to wash away the evidence of their encounter. But instead of cleansing him, the heat only brought back vivid flashes of their night together.

Linnea's head thrown back in ecstasy, her throat exposed to his kisses. The way she'd whispered his name like a prayer when he'd claimed her body. How perfectly she'd fit against him as they'd moved together on the furs.

His body responded instantly to the memories, arousal flowing through him with renewed urgency. He groaned, sinking deeper into the water. Being ambassador had suddenly become a far more challenging task than he could have ever imagined.

Keeping their secret was no longer simply a matter of political expediency—it could be a matter of life or death for both of them. The Crestek council would not hesitate to remove Linnea from power if they discovered she'd taken a Dothvek lover. And Kyrana would not be pleased if she knew he'd bedded the leader of their former enemy while serving as ambassador.

Yet even as he contemplated the dangers, he couldn't bring himself to regret what had happened. For the first time since arriving in this stone prison of a city, he felt alive—truly alive, as he only ever had on the open sands beneath the stars.

The water swirled around him, carrying away the physical traces of their passion but doing nothing to diminish the burning in his blood. If anything, the forced separation only intensified his hunger for her. Knowing she was a few floors above him, perhaps lying in the same furs where they'd found such pleasure, was a special kind of torture.

He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the edge of the pool. Tomorrow would bring the challenge of facing her in front of those less understanding than her adjunct, of maintaining the pretense of diplomatic coldness while remembering the heat of her skin against his.

They would have to be careful. Strategic. Every glance, every word would need to be measured and controlled.