The chamber door closed behind them and the world reduced to one room.
Guinevere stood at the foot of the bed. Her heart was a drum she could not turn down.
Maddox crossed to her in two slow steps.
His gold eyes had been molten since the hall. They had not cooled in the walk back. If anything, they had deepened, the sun-gold sliding further toward the fire-gold she had seen the night he had tossed an urn across her father's throne room.
His hands went to the laces of her gown.
He pulled them one at a time. Slowly. The kind of slowly that was a choice, not a hesitation. The white silk loosened at her shoulders and he eased it down her arms, careful of her bruised hand and rib. The fabric pooled at her hips. Then at her feet.
She stepped out of it in her heels, then stepped out of her heels.
Maddox pulled her white silk stockings next.
Her face was already red.
She reached for the collar of his formal coat.
