I didn’t see him move, but suddenly, he was closer.
Not approaching with ceremony. Not flanked by anyone.
Just there.
In front of me.
Close enough that the hairs on my arms lifted. Close enough that I caught the cool spice of his scent, like winter wind cut with steel.
"Quite the reception," a voice murmured low, right in front of me. "Though I expected more smiles."
I stumbled back, and nearly forgot how to breathe.
He stood tall, effortless, composed. Eyes like glacier, split ice beneath midnight, black hair. Up close, he didn’t look like an envoy.
He was a force.
His presence didn’t merely fill space, it claimed it. Quietly. Without permission. Without question.
His eyes, glacial and unrelenting, pinned me as if I’d already made a mistake and he was simply waiting for
