“Most of them,” she whispers.
My blood hums.
This one will ruin me.
Or I will ruin her first.
I brush past her, moving to the heavy oak table near the hearth, where a silver goblet of spiced wine waits for me. I pick it up, swirling the dark liquid before taking a sip.
“I have seen many women like you,” I say casually, watching her from the rim of my cup. “The ones who think they can change their fate by playing games beyond their depth.”
She crosses her arms, the silk of her dress slipping slightly, revealing a hint of the pale skin of her shoulder.
“And I have seen many men like you,” she counters. “The ones who think they hold the chains when they are just as bound as the rest of us.”
A spark of laughter curls in my throat.
Bold. Dangerous. I like it.
I set the goblet down and move toward her again, slow and unhurried, like a beast circling its prey.
This time, she stiffens—just a fraction, barely noticeable. But I see it.
I inhale her reaction like a drug.
“You are right,” I say, my fingers brushing her wrist, tracing the delicate ridges of her pulse. “We are both bound in our own ways. But only one of us gets to decide how tightly the chains fit.”
Her breath shudders, just slightly, just enough.
She is not immune to me.
Good.
“I wonder,” she whispers, her voice dipping lower, almost seductive, almost cruel, “if you will still believe that when your own chains tighten around your throat.”
My lips part, a slow, predatory grin curving over them.
Oh, she is delightful.
“I look forward to finding out,” I murmur.
She lifts her chin, and in that moment, I realize—she is not prey.
She is the blade hidden in silk, waiting to be unsheathed.
And I have just wrapped my hand around the hilt.
______________
3
ANYA
The first rule of survival is to watch.
So I do.
From the moment I step into Varkos’s chambers, I absorb everything—the way the silver-inlaid marble reflects the candlelight in ghostly ripples, the way the heavy velvet drapes stifle sound, the hidden alcoves where shadows gather like waiting specters.