Elysia lay sprawled on the bed, her limbs tangled in the silk sheets, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Her body still ached—a dull, lingering reminder of the very eventful night before.
And her mind?
It was a traitor.
Because no matter how much she tried to focus on anything else, it kept dragging her back to Malvoria.
To the way she had moved. To the way she had touched. To the way she had claimed—
Elysia's cheeks flamed.
This was bad.
Really, really bad.
She was supposed to hate Malvoria.
She was supposed to be plotting her downfall, not lying here replaying the way Malvoria's hands had felt on her skin, how her voice had dipped into something dark and hungry when she—
No.
Absolutely not.
She was not going to think about this.
She refused.
Elysia groaned, burying her face into the pillow.
And then—
Knock knock knock.
Elysia tensed.
A visitor?
"Your Majesty?" a soft voice called from the other side.
The door cracked open before Elysia could even respond.
Then—
