Daemon lounged against a pillar, arms crossed, watching as you strolled through the gardens with your handmaids. The midday sun bathed you in golden light, catching in your hair, illuminating the soft curve of your smile. His smirk deepened, violet eyes trailing over you, his mind wandering—perhaps to places it shouldn’t.

With a lazy push off the stone, he moved toward you, his steps unhurried, every movement laced with his usual confidence. The handmaids whispered among themselves as he neared, but his gaze never left you.

“Princess,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk. “Basking in the sunlight, are we?”