Shadows of Doubt

Vexaria spent the next day avoiding Xypheron. Not because she was afraid of him—but because she was afraid of herself. Of how easily he had unraveled her, how effortlessly he had slipped past the defenses she had spent years perfecting.

She needed time to think, to regain control of herself before facing him again.

But Xypheron was not a man who allowed distance.

As she walked through the palace corridors that evening, lost in thought, a strong hand suddenly grasped her wrist, pulling her into the shadows of an empty alcove.

Her breath hitched, but she didn't fight. She knew exactly who it was.

Xypheron loomed over her, his face partially lit by the dim torches along the walls. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm, possessive.

"You've been avoiding me," he murmured, tilting his head slightly.