Page 177 of A Court of Thralls and Thorns

“If the dose is small enough,” he said carefully, “we may be able to purge it with heat.” His fingers flexed at his sides like he was forcing himself to stay still. “I’m running us a bath.”

His words hit me like a blow, and I blinked at him.Us?Before I could find a response, he reached for my hand, and I let him guide me through the doorway.

The room was warm, the air thick with steam that clung to my skin. A massive copper tub dominated the space—easily large enough to fit both of us with room to spare. The darkened water inside shimmered slightly, and the scent of herbs and something richer—familiar—filled my senses.

“Vanilla,” I murmured, inhaling the comforting scent. It brought back faint memories of my childhood—of warm kitchens and stolen moments of peace. For a second, the ache in my body eased.

Zander’s eyes flickered toward me, and the black that rimmed his irises deepened. His fingers twitched at his side, and then they moved to the buckles of my flight armor.

My pulse skittered in my chest. “I can do it,” I said quickly, but my hands shook so badly I couldn’t grasp the straps.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured. “Let me help.” His voice was low, quiet. Careful.

I forced myself to nod, too weak to argue.

His fingers worked the buckles with practiced ease, loosening the leather plates and pulling them free. The first piece of my armor hit the floor with a dullthud. His fingertips grazed my arms, leaving a trail of fire in their wake—but not from the poison. This was something else. Something worse.

When he reached the clasp at my throat, he hesitated. I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. Dark Fire flickered in their depths, barely restrained. His knuckles brushed my collarbone, and I sucked in a breath, my skin drawn tight from heat and tension.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. His voice was rough, like he was struggling to stay in control.

“I believe you,” I whispered back.

His fingers undid the final clasp, and my undershirt stuck to my skin as the rest of my leather armor fell away. His gaze lingered on me—not with lust, but something softer, something deeper—and for a heartbeat, I forgot about the fire in my blood.

Zander reached for the hem of my shirt, and I lifted my arms without hesitation. The fabric slid up my torso, brushing my overheated skin, and when it finally came free over my head, I was standing bare before him.

His gaze roamed over me like he was trying to memorize every inch of me. I should have felt embarrassed, vulnerable even, but I didn’t. Instead, heat pooled low in my stomach, and my skin prickled in anticipation.

His breathing hitched, and his gaze faltered for a moment. But then I saw it—the unmistakable bulge pressing against his silk pants. A wicked smile tugged at my lips. I reached out, sliding my hand along the sharp angle of his cheekbone, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath my fingertips.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he swore under his breath. “Get in the tub, Ashlyn,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Or I will have you in my bed for the remainder of the night.”

I should’ve moved—turned away, broken the tension. But I didn’t. Instead, I let my fingers drift lower, down the hard line of his jaw, to his throat where his pulse hammered beneath my touch.

I wanted him.Not just because of the poison coursing through my veins—though it amplified every feeling, twisting hunger and desire into something unbearable—but becausehewas Zander. The man who had defied my expectations of what a royal should be.

“I might be okay with that,” I murmured, my voice softer than I intended.

His eyes snapped open, dark and intense, and the heat that burned in their depths stole my breath. He stepped closer—so close his chest brushed against mine—and for a moment I thought he was going to close the distance. To end this torment.

But he didn’t.

“Get in the tub,” he said again, the words hardly more than a growl. “Now.”

His hand rose to my hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind me who was in control. He was fighting for his restraint—barely hanging on—and that realization made the fire in my blood burn even hotter.

I turned slowly and climbed into the bath. The heated water swallowed me, soothing my skin like a balm. But the ache inside me only grew stronger. I glanced back at Zander as he unfastened the ties on his silk pants. His gaze never left mine as the fabric pooled around his ankles and he stepped into the water.

Gods help me, I thought as he settled behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his legs bracketing mine.

His hand slid around my waist, anchoring me against him. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into his warmth, knowing this fire wasn’t going to burn out anytime soon.

Zander’s fingers traced slow, deliberate circles against my waist, but it wasn’t enough. The fire beneath my skin pulsed stronger, the ache deepening until I couldn’t think past it.

“Why were you in the hallway?” he asked quietly, his voice low in my ear.

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I was... I planned to break into the dungeon.”