The full moon turned Gin to silver. The light clung to the obsidian curves of her frame, sharpening her into something unreal—a vision both dangerous and impossibly beautiful.
From above, Drakovitch watched. His breathing slowed as his gaze locked onto her. Her attempt at seduction was unrefined, messy, and wild, but to a man like him, it was more intoxicating than the most polished courtly dance.
He didn't call the guards. He didn't hesitate.
In a single motion, Drakovitch vaulted over the marble railing. His white robes billowed like wings as he dropped twenty feet, landing before her in a silence that made the ground tremble.
He rose to his full height. Even as his massive frame loomed, he barely reached the level of her chest. The heavy, primal scent of the dragon flooded Gin's senses, turning her knees to water.
She whipered,
"Uh-uhm… Your Majesty—"
Before she could speak, Drakovitch cut her off. The sharp, heavy sting of alcohol on his breath hit her full in the face.
