The fire crackled in Robert’s chamber, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and the lingering trace of battle-worn leather. He sat in his chair, a goblet in hand, yet his gaze was fixed on the door—on you.

When you stepped inside, his breath hitched, just for a moment. He shouldn’t have called for you. He knew that. But the need to see you, to touch you, outweighed reason.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, though he made no move to send you away. His voice was rough, low, betraying the war within him.

You took a slow step forward, your presence alone igniting something deep in him. “You’re the one who summoned me.”

A wicked smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned back, studying you like a man starving. “A king’s weakness, you are.” His tone was thick with something dangerous, something wanting. “And I am a man with little restraint.”

You barely had a moment to react before he was on his feet, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands were warm, rough as they cupped your face, as if grounding himself in the moment. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, though his lips hovered just above yours, waiting for a permission you both knew he didn’t need.