Page 17 of Savage Crown

Lartina always knew how to walk into a room like she owned it.

She doesn’t knock. Doesn’t announce herself. Just arrives—like a whisper of perfume curling through the air, like the slow drag of silk over bare skin before the knife hidden beneath it bites deep.

I don’t turn immediately. I don’t need to. I feel her presence before she speaks, her confidence pressing against my back.

"Rylan," she purrs.

I sip my wine. "You’re persistent."

Her laughter slithers through the dim room, smooth as poison, curling around me in ways I shouldn’t let it.

"You used to like that about me."

I finally turn, resting the glass against my knee, my gaze sweeping over her.

She looks the same.

Too perfect. Too poised. Too dangerous.

A gown of obsidian silk clings to her frame, slit high enough to reveal the endless length of her legs. Dark elven runes,delicate and shimmering, trace along her collarbone, an old spell—one I remember pressing my mouth to, once upon a time.

She smiles when she sees my gaze linger, as if daring me to remember the way she used to own me.

I smirk. I remember.

But I don’t miss the way her crimson eyes flick toward my desk, toward the space where Seraphina sat not long ago.

"She’s intriguing," Lartina muses, stepping forward. "The little human."

I don’t react, but my muscles coil. She’s watching me. Testing me.

She reaches for my wine glass, lifting it without permission, taking a slow, deliberate sip. Her lips stain the rim red.

"Tell me, Rylan," she murmurs, swirling the glass in her hand. "Is she… special?"

I tilt my head. "Why do you care?"

Lartina hums, setting the glass down, stepping closer. "Because you don’t protect things unless they’re valuable."

She lifts a hand, her fingers trailing up my chest, slow, knowing.

"And you used to only value me."

Her touch is warm. Familiar.

My breath remains even, controlled. But something in my jaw tightens.

"You’re assuming I ever did."

She smiles, leaning in, her breath brushing against my throat. "Oh, darling," she whispers, "you can lie to everyone else, but not to me."

She still smells the same.

Amber and dusk, laced with the faintest hint of something burning.

I remember that scent tangled in my sheets. On my skin. I remember the way she used to taste like sin and victory in equal measure.

She presses closer, her fingers trailing along my jaw. "Do you miss me?"

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