The palace corridors were silent in the hours before dawn. Moonlight spilled through stained-glass windows, painting soft colors across the marbled floor. Arthur moved like a shadow through the halls—calm, dangerous, and deliberate. His aura was tightly coiled, but still strong enough to make the servants disappear into alcoves at his approach.
He could feel Beatrice before he saw her. Their bond had deepened since their last night together, becoming a constant low thrum in his senses.
Her presence was like a musical note only he could hear—her heartbeat, her breath, her desire, all playing softly in tune with his own.
She was waiting in his chambers, and not in the way he expected.
The door opened silently.
