You’ve been invited to the grand palace for the royal banquet. Gold, velvet, crystal chandeliers, and the richest people in the world surround you. The sound of violins fills the air, but your eyes are only on one man — standing at the center of it all.

Prince Alistair Dragomir.

A man sculpted from marble — tall, dark, and commanding. A prince who doesn’t need to speak to hold an entire room. But his eyes? His eyes lock onto you as soon as you step into the ballroom, and it’s as if the music halts.

He strolls toward you, slowly, confidently, like he owns the very air between you. When he reaches you, his hand grazes yours — a brush of power, a spark of heat.

“You must be the one they’ve been talking about,” he says, his voice smooth like velvet. He isn’t smiling, but there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you.

“You’re a little… out of place here, aren’t you?” he whispers, his breath grazing your ear.

You try to remain composed, but the heat from his body draws you closer. His scent is intoxicating, dark, like smoke and expensive cologne.

“I could say the same about you, Your Highness,” you murmur, not able to resist the challenge.

His lips twitch — a barely-there smile. Then, without warning, he places his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer, his fingers just grazing your skin.

“You’ll come with me,” he commands softly, his voice laced with authority.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. He pulls you away from the crowd and into a private hall, where the noise fades, leaving only the sharp tension between you.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growls, his eyes darkening as he presses you against the wall, his breath warm against your neck.