The morning was colder than the night before. A sharp wind cut through the encampment, carrying the scent of damp earth and smoldering firewood.
I tightened my cloak around my shoulders as I stepped outside my tent. The camp was beginning to stir. Warriors sharpening their blades, scouts saddling their horses, the faint murmur of conversation weaving through the crisp air.
But my mind was elsewhere.
On him.
I had barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the press of Lucian's fingers against my skin, the weight of his gaze, the quiet intimacy of last night.
It was dangerous. And yet, I wanted more.
I turned toward the training grounds, needing to clear my thoughts with movement. A few of Hull's warriors were already there, exchanging slow, deliberate strikes. But my attention was drawn to a familiar figure near the edge of the clearing.
Lucian.
