Chapter 95: Mark

“You’re worrying.”

The voice was soft, close, and entirely too knowing.

Eris’s head snapped up.

Soren stood a few paces away, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his pale hair catching the firelight. He’d been watching her. For how long, she couldn’t say.

“I’m thinking,” she corrected coolly.

“Same thing.” He pushed off the frame and crossed the room with that unhurried grace that made every movement look deliberate, calculated. “You’ve been distant all evening.”

“I’ve been focused.”

“And you’ve been avoiding me.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he was already closing the distance between them, his boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. He stopped in front of her, reached down, and plucked the goblet from her hands before she could protest.

“Hey—”

“You haven’t taken a single sip,” he said, setting it aside. “You’ve just been staring at it like it might explode.”

Eris stood, crossing her arms. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“Soren—”

“You’ve been acting cold toward me,” he interrupted, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “We haven’t had a proper conversation since that night you fell asleep in my arms.”

Heat flooded her cheeks instantly. She turned her face away, composure slipping into place like armor. “There are far more important things for you to do as Emperor than chase after me.”

“Are there?” He tilted his head, voice dropping lower. “Name one.”

“The beasts. The barriers. The—”

She tried to step past him, but he moved faster.

One hand braced against the table behind her. The other, setting the goblet down, mirrored it on the opposite side.

Caging her.

Eris’s breath hitched. “Your Majesty, I’m warning you—”

“Go on, then. Warn me.” His voice was soft, teasing, dangerous. “I’m listening.”

She glared up at him, but he only smiled, that maddening, infuriating smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing and had no intention of stopping.

Then, before she could protest again, his hands moved to her waist.

And he lifted her.

Onto the table.

Eris gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance. “What do you think you’re—”

He stepped between her thighs, his hands settling firmly on her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His body was solid, cool, grounding in a way that made her head spin.

“What are you up to this time?” she demanded, though her voice had lost some of its edge.

“Replenishing my warmth,” he murmured, and then he buried his face in her neck.

The first brush of his breath against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

Cold. So cold. But not unpleasant. His ice met her warmth, the two elements colliding, conquering, invading their hosts. Frost bloomed faintly where his lips ghosted over her throat, melting almost instantly against her heat.

She should push him away. Should scold him. Should remind him that they were in a military garrison and this was completely inappropriate.

But instead, her hand moved to his neck, intending to pull him back by his hair or his collar, and found itself threading through the soft, pale strands instead.

Soft. Impossibly soft.

Like snow that hadn’t yet been touched.

He reminded her of a pet, she thought absurdly. Though she’d never been fond of them.

“You’re worrying about the beasts,” Soren whispered against her neck, his voice low and soothing.

“Of course I am,” she managed, trying to keep her composure even as her fingers continued their traitorous stroking. “They’re—”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glowing with an intensity that stole the words from her tongue. Ice-blue, bright, burning with something far more dangerous than frost.

Desire.

Barely contained. Barely restrained.

“Have faith in me your majesty,” he said quietly, his gaze holding hers. “No matter how cunning those beasts have become, I’ll take care of them all… Without breaking a sweat.”

She arched a brow, still stroking his hair like she was gentling a wolf. “Are you bragging?”

His lips curved into a smirk. “Maybe.”

And then he was back, burying his face in her neck again, inhaling deeply as though he were memorizing her scent. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, and she felt the low rumble of satisfaction that vibrated through his chest.

He wasn’t just stealing her warmth.

He was drowning in it.

Then his eyes caught something, a faint mark on her neck. A bruise, nearly faded, but still visible.

From Caelen.

The shift in him was instant.

His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. That possessive, dangerous edge surged to the surface, sharp and unforgiving.

Without a word, he lowered his mouth to the mark.

And his tongue, cold, wet, deliberate, dragged across her skin.

Eris gasped, her hand fisting in his hair. “Soren—”

But he didn’t stop.

His saliva carried healing properties, something ancient, something tied to his ice magic and he activated it now, erasing the bruise with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue.

The taste of her skin was immediate.

Intoxicating. Addictive.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t want to.

His mouth moved lower, sucking harder, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, until a new mark bloomed in place of the old one.

His mark.

Eris’s breath hitched. Her core sparked with heat, desire unfurling low in her belly. She felt breathless, weightless, caught between fire and frost.

Soren took that as invitation.

One hand slid up to her neck, cradling her face gently, tilting her head back as his lips traveled upward. His tongue dragged fully against the skin of her throat, slow and teasing, tracing a path to her chin.

His teeth grazed her jawline, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make her shiver.

Then he moved to her ear, his breath turning warm against the shell of it.

“Eris,” he whispered, and the sound of her name in his voice sent another wave of heat through her.

And then, as all stolen moments must, the spell was interrupted.

The door creaked open.

Ryse stepped inside, a report clutched in his hand, his mouth already forming words,

And froze.

His eyes went wide.

Eris’s back was to him, but Soren’s gaze locked onto the knight instantly. His expression didn’t change. Didn’t soften.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared.

And in that stare was a single, crystal-clear message:

Get. The fuck. Out.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees in an instant. Frost crept across the floor, slow and threatening.

Ryse stiffened. His hand tightened on the report. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

Then he bowed, quickly, clumsily and backed out of the room so fast he nearly tripped over his own boots.

The door clicked shut quietly.

Silence.

Soren’s gaze returned to Eris, and he continued exactly where he’d left off, his lips moving against her skin with renewed hunger.

Eris, for her part, was too lost in the haze of sensation to care.

His lips traveled lower again, his hands tightening on her waist, his breathing growing heavier. He was growing impatient, every brush of his mouth against her skin, every soft sound she made, only fed the fire burning inside him.

And then she made a sound, a small, breathless gasp that cut through the fog like a blade.

She jolted back to reality.

Her hand did what it initially wanted to do, fisted in his hair, pulling him back sharply.

Soren’s eyes met hers, glowing, wild, drunk on something they both couldn’t name.

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