The loud snap of wood embers burning in the fireplace echoed, causing Celeste’s body to flinch from the noise.
Her eyes slowly blinked open before she shot awake. She found herself not on her knees but on the floor, lying on the warm bear rug that soothed her fever.
She looked around, breathing in the warm air of Syzar's spice and cedar scent that was far too potent, a sign he was close. She sat up.
Looking back, she saw the movement of a shadow—someone sitting in the armchair that faced right at her, daunting dark eyes spreading a cold shudder down her spine and, oddly, between her legs.
“Did the matron not instruct you on what I prefer?” His deep voice echoed, screaming to Celeste that this wasn’t a dream.
She shuffled back to her knees in surprise at his presence; she was, in fact,
