Sergius sat close, voice smooth, as though coaxing a nervous bird.

"All will be well, my Ariya," he murmured, his tone measured, practiced. His hand brushed over hers lightly, not pressing, not holding.

The touch was cold in its restraint - like a man performing duty, not desire.

"You can trust me. Speak to me. Tell me what weighs you."

But his words barely reached her. Her mind slipped, unmoored, drifting backward-

It wasn't Sergius's face she saw.

It was him.

Her prince. Her ...