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Finally, they stopped asking questions and instructed me to leave while they deliberated my fate.

The sphinx led Zayne and me to the floor below. It was eerily empty—just a large empty room, like Leo had spent little time designing this part of the trial. Still, it was a relief to step away after all the questioning.

Out of sight from the air master griffins sniffing disapproval at my fidgeting, I relied on my exercise routine. It was a progression of postures designed to focus the mind and strengthen the body. The repetition, the familiar way I aligned my body, dancing without music… My body became familiar in a strange place.

Zayne watched, studying me, as I started the cycle a second time. By the time I began the sequence a third time, he asked, “Can I do it with you? I’ve learned something similar.”

I dropped into the first pose. “Sure.”

Zayne dropped into a similar posture.

“Hips to the front,” I corrected.

He shifted, improving the posture but still missing something. I wasn’t used to teaching. Maybe I could show him what I meant…

It wasn’t until my hands were on his hips, until I was saying, “Keep your hipbones forward,” that I realized I was touching him.

My fingers pressed into his muscle, finding his strength. Flushing, I jerked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Actually, that helped—I get it now.”

“You look better,” I agreed.

“The next posture is the balance, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, showing him, tipping forward until I balanced on my front foot. “The tricky part will be to keep your hips forward. I suspect your instinct will be to open them.”

He didn’t need my help. Regardless, I offered it. “If you’re okay with my hands on your hips, I can apply pressure, giving you feedback through the transition.”

He swallowed, and it was his turn to blush.Damn.I was asking if he wanted to play with fire, and he didn’t back down.

“Okay,” he said.

Pretending exercise was our intention, knowing it was a ruse, we began.

I set my hands against his sides, a slight pressure to his hipbones, my fingers gravitating lower. I allowed him to take the lead.

He tipped forward. As I’d predicted, his alignment slipped, placing extra pressure into one of my hands as his hips shifted. He responded, using my hand as feedback while he straightened himself.

He steadied into the balancing pose, the weight of my hands becoming unnecessary. He had the posture. I could step away, yet I savored the feel of him for a final moment before lifting my hands.

This had become self-created torture.

“You don’t have to go,” he whispered.

I should have disagreed, but I didn’t hesitate. My grip on his hipbones firmed…

For the second time that day, I didn’t know who moved first. Was it my hands drifting up his shirt, or his arms pulling me closer?

No kissing. We didn’t break that rule, but by Teyr, did we explore.

He dropped all pretense, stepping from the posture, and we embraced. Not a sweet hug. Our bodies clung together.

My hands wandered from his chest to shoulders before working my way back down his spine, dipping beneath the waistband of his pants. My thighs clenched as I felt his bulge forming against my stomach. His fingertips grazed my neck and collarbone, drifting under my shirt and toward my breast. I arched my back—

“Ahem.”

My hands were down his pants, one palming his ass. Zayne’s fingers stopped short of my nipple.