Kaelen took her hand, his massive paw engulfing her fingers, but before he could pull her toward him, Lucien emerged from the balcony shadows. The Sorcerer-King had removed his royal robes, standing in nothing but a soft linen shirt that clung to the lean, elegant muscles of his torso. The quiet, lethal grace of his movements contrasted sharply with Kaelen's raw, muscular bulk, yet they moved in perfect synchronization around her, like two predators circling their shared treasure.
"We have one final night in this place," Lucien murmured, his grey eyes turning a deep, smoky purple as he knelt on the edge of the mattress, his cold fingers sliding up the smooth skin of Gwen's ankle, shifting her heavy traveling skirt until her bare thigh was exposed to the cool evening air. "Let us wash the scent of the Southern court from your skin, Gwen."
