His Mark, Her Shame

The night air was cool against Aria’s skin as she slipped out into the back courtyard, her breath forming faint clouds in the dark. It was well past midnight, but the kitchens had run out of fresh bread for the morning rounds, and someone needed to run to the lower cellars to fetch more grain.

Of course, that someone was her.

She didn’t complain. She never did. Complaining would only bring attention. And right now, the last thing she wanted was attention—especially his.

Aria’s steps were quiet against the stone path, her fingers clutched around the edge of her shawl. The stars above were blindingly bright, like a sky full of eyes watching her every move.

She hadn’t seen Lucien in two days. Not really. Just brief flashes of him walking past in his ceremonial armor, his voice echoing down the hall during council meetings. But each glimpse was like a dagger sliding between her ribs. And every time she caught his scent—deep forest and smoke—it coiled around her throat like a noos