59:A dangerous game (3)

Jesper wasn't sure when the game had stopped being a game but now, held in Subedei's arms, legs wrapped around his waist, bodies pressed together, he could no longer tell where the edge was. Or if he had already fallen.

Subedei smelled of spice and smoke, of slow-roasted meats and freshly chopped herbs, of warmth that lingered long after the meal had ended.

His clothes, usually pristine despite the chaos of the Queen's bustling kitchen, were now askew, his shirt coat torn open, revealing broad shoulders dusted with flour and the faint sheen of sweat from hours over the fire.

He was not built like a soldier, but there was strength in him all the same.

A quiet, steady power in the way his hands worked dough as easily as they wielded a cleaver. In the way he could command a kitchen of thirty with a single look, a single word and now, Jesper had made him hesitate.