The hall was almost silent, save for the crackle of firewood and the distant clatter of a drunk's cup. Shadows painted the room in gold and black. Elva sat on the table itself, legs swinging, her fiery hair spilling around her face like a dare. That grin of hers—wild, reckless, infuriating—hooked Alf in and refused to let go.
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until his hand braced against the wood by her thigh. The air tightened. His eyes—steel laced with midnight—locked onto hers.
"You've been staring all night, pretty boy," Elva murmured, her voice silk with a blade hidden inside. "Planning to say something, or should I start charging?"
Alf's jaw flexed, the faintest twitch of a smile. "I was only wondering," he said low, "how someone so reckless hasn't gotten herself killed."
Her smirk widened. "Luck. And charm. Don't pretend you're immune to either."
The distance between them shrank like a fuse burning down. His nearness radiated heat, his control wound tight like a drawn bow. Elva's hand slid across the table—lazy, daring—until her fingers brushed his. She didn't move away.
"You're bold," he said, voice rougher now.
"And you're slow," she shot back. "What's the matter? Crown Princes don't bite?"
For the first time, his gaze dipped to her lips—staying there just long enough to set her pulse racing. She leaned forward until their breath tangled. "Or," she whispered, eyes glinting, "are you afraid I'll bite first?"
His hand rose, almost against his will, skimming her jawline. The lightest touch—yet fire sparked where his fingers trailed. His mouth hovered a breath from hers, his restraint a trembling blade.
"Elvÿ," he whispered, his breath hot against her chin. "You've no idea how dangerous it is to tempt me."
"Danger," she murmured, wicked grin unbroken, "is my favorite game."
Their lips hung on the brink—too close, too sharp, too inevitable. The world itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, suddenly, Alf pulled back, as if ripping himself free from a spell, his control snapping tight again.
"Coward," she teased, husky, daring him to break twice.
Alf turned, but his smirk lingered, heavy with promise. "Sleep well, Lady Elvÿ," he murmured. "If you can."
Her teeth grazed her lip, the cunning fire in her chest refusing to fade. For once, she didn't know if to capture her prey or let it go.