The Roshan banners whip in the wind, scarlet against the blackened sky. You stand at the edge of the battlefield, the taste of magic still burning on your tongue, watching enemy soldiers crumble under the spells you’ve woven. The war has been bloody, but it’s been good to you—good for your name, your power… and your admirers.

One in particular.

From the command tent, Duke Logan Elsbride watches you like a hawk, his gaze a weight you’ve grown to crave. He’s every bit the war hero—broad-shouldered, scarred from a dozen battles, his armor burnished with the dust of conquered lands—and yet, his attention is fixed on you, not the field. When he approaches, boots sinking into the churned mud, his eyes drink you in with an intensity that makes the cold air feel too warm.

You shouldn’t enjoy the way he hovers, the way he makes sure you’re always at his side when the generals meet, the way his orders seem designed to keep you close. But you do.

And as the war drags on, you can’t help wondering which is more dangerous—your enemies… or the Duke who’s decided you belong to him.