The Princess's Second Life
Her hand lifted, hesitated, then knocked.
The door opened.
Darius filled the frame, shadows draped across his broad shoulders, golden eyes gleaming even in the dim light. He had stripped down to a simple shirt, sleeves rolled, forearms corded with muscle. Surprise flickered across his face at the sight of her, but beneath it—heat. Recognition. Want.
“Elara.” His voice was rough silk. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe not,” she said, stepping closer, “but I am.