Chapter 5 Don't Turn Your Back on a Wolf

Rielle knew she was being watched.

Even with her back turned, hands gripping a cloth as she wiped down the dark obsidian desk in the Prince's chamber, she felt it-like the heat of fire too close to skin. Every movement felt magnified under his golden gaze, as if he were memorizing the way her fingers curved, the angle of her spine.

He hadn't spoken since she entered. But she could feel the weight of him.

She tried to keep her hands steady, tried to focus on the simple task of cleaning, but her heart was pounding. The silence was too loud, and the air too thick with something... hungry.

He was there. He was watching.

Prince Darian.

Rielle had only seen him three times since entering the palace. But each time, the encounter had been sharp, lingering, heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze felt like it could peel back her disguise with a single blink.

He was more than dangerous. He was deadly. But tonight, he looked like sin carved in flesh-barefoot, shirtless, only a silk-black robe hanging loose from his shoulders. He wasn't trying to look powerful. He just was.

And still, he said nothing.

She finished wiping down the desk, heart thundering. If she lingered too long, he might speak. If she left too fast, he might stop her.

Then he did both.

"Turn around," Darian said quietly.

Her hands froze. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table.

"My work isn't finished," she said, careful to keep her voice even.

"I didn't ask about the desk."

His voice slithered down her spine, dark silk wrapping around her bones. She straightened slowly, turning to face him. Her hood was down, hair tied up, scent masked to perfection. But his eyes were locked onto her like a predator that had already tasted the truth.

"I asked you to look at me," he murmured.

She obeyed.

He stood only a few steps away now. Tall. Sharp. Regal. The firelight cast gold shadows along his chest, dancing across scars and silver markings she couldn't quite place. But it was his eyes-those impossible golden eyes-that gripped her.

He stepped forward.

She didn't move.

Another step.

"Do you always stare at your maids like this?" she asked, keeping her tone cool.

"No," he replied. "Only the ones who lie to my face and break into my kingdom wearing borrowed skin."

Her breath hitched.

He was close now. One more step, and he'd be able to touch her. She wanted to step back.

She didn't.

"You have no proof," she said.

He smirked. "Don't I?"

He reached forward, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing against the sleeve that hid her wrist. The cuffs burned slightly as his touch passed over them.

"These," he said, voice low. "They pulse when I'm near. Do they burn you?"

"They always burn."

"Because they know what you are."

She looked away, but he tilted her chin up with two fingers. Her breath caught. His skin was warm.

"Why haven't you exposed me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Because," he said, leaning in so close she could feel his breath, "I'm not finished watching you unravel."

She swallowed hard.

"I should punish you," he said.

"Then do it."

His eyes darkened.

"Careful, little wolf. I punish with my teeth."

Her lips curled into the faintest smile. "Then bite."

Their faces were inches apart now, breath tangling in the air. Everything felt suspended-time, reason, rules.

She should've been afraid. She wasn't.

But just as he reached for her wrist again, a knock shattered the moment.

He tensed.

"Enter," he called, voice sharp.

A guard stepped in, bowing. "My Prince, the High Council requests your presence in the war chamber. It's urgent."

Darian didn't take his eyes off her.

"She stays," he said, stepping back slowly. "Do not let her leave this room."

The guard nodded and disappeared.

Rielle stared at him, her heartbeat wild.

"Wait-what are you-?"

He turned to her one last time, his eyes fierce.

"When I return, Rielle..." His voice dipped like a growl, dark and full of promise.

"We're going to finish what you started."