The chamber pressed down on her like a tomb.
High, ribbed arches loomed overhead, carved with runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The scent of incense clung to the air, sharp and suffocating. The Council sat in a semicircle upon their raised dais, their robes a cascade of silver and shadow, their gazes cold as riverstone. Every detail of the place screamed judgment.
And Alina—still trembling from the last time Kael and Riven had touched her—stood alone in the center.
Her thighs ached. Her skin carried the sticky reminder of their claim. Her lips were swollen, her breasts too tender from Kael’s grip, her pulse still erratic from Riven’s tongue. All of it hummed in her body like a secret, and yet she had to stand here, eyes clear, voice steady, as though she hadn’t been undone
