The chamber felt too small for the two of them. Every flicker of lamplight seemed to press heat into her skin, every shift of Riven’s body dragging the air tighter until she swore she could hear her own blood rushing in her ears.
Alina lifted her cup again, more for something to do than thirst. The wine coated her lips, sweet and sharp. She meant to swallow quickly, but her eyes caught on Riven’s mouth as he dragged his tongue across his own lower lip, chasing the last crimson drop.
Her pulse stuttered. She set the cup down too fast, and it clinked against the table.
“You’re shaking,” he said, amused.
“I’m not.”
Riven moved with deliberate slowness, crossing the short space to lean one hip against her table. The shadows caught in his hair and along his jawline, sharpening the lines of
