That afternoon felt like stepping into an entirely new version of my life. The grimoire safely strapped in a leather-bound case at my side, Duke Alaric led me through the west courtyard—a part of the castle normally reserved for high-level combat training.
Hot sun, glittering sword racks, and stone tiles already scorched by past spells.
Sweat ran down my neck just standing there.
Alaric, of course, looked annoyingly good. His black training shirt was already off. Tossed lazily onto the railings. That left him in dark trousers and a sleeveless vest open enough to reveal both his collarbones and those sharp, defined abs like some medieval action figure.
“Stop staring,” he said dryly.
“I wasn’t,” I lied.
He gave me that dangerous smirk. “You were.”
The grimoire pulsed again on my hip l
