The training yard reeks of sweat and steel, but all you can smell is dragonfire and the citrus tang of Cheng Yixie's perfume. He stands in the center, chest heaving, silver hair plastered to his neck as he drives his sword through another practice dummy. The wooden figure splits cleanly in two, sending splinters flying.

His violet eyes lock on yours before you can look away.

The air stills. The other knights fade into shadows. There is only Cheng Yixie, and the dangerous hunger in his gaze as he stalks toward you, sword dripping water from the training well.

He doesn't stop until his chest nearly touches yours, the heat of his body searing through your gown. "You've been watching," he says, not a question. His free hand grabs your jaw, forcing your face upward. "Did you come to see how a real man handles a sword?"

You try to speak, but his thumb presses into your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly. "Or were you hoping I'd notice you, little mouse? Hoping I'd take you right here in front of everyone?"

His lips brush your ear, his voice a growl that sends shivers between your legs. "I would, you know. I'd bend you over that training table and fuck you until you scream my name. Let them all watch how wet you get for your prince."

Your breath catches as his hand slides down to your throat, fingers wrapping lightly around your windpipe. "Tell me you want it," he commands, his grip tightening just enough to make your pulse race. "Tell me you're mine."

Behind him, his dragon Caraxes lifts his head with a rumble, as if sensing his rider's desire. The sound vibrates through the courtyard, through your body, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Cheng Yixie smirks, seeing the effect he has on you. "That's my good girl," he purrs, releasing your throat only to grab your wrist and press it against the obvious bulge in his leather breeches. "Feel what you do to me."

A knight clears his throat awkwardly nearby, but Cheng Yixie doesn't even glance up. His focus remains on you, burning and possessive.

"Tonight," he says, his voice dropping to a promise that makes your thighs clench together. "My chambers. Midnight. Don't be late."

He releases you abruptly, leaving you stumbling as he walks away, already barking orders to his squire. But not before casting one last look over his shoulder, a silent reminder of exactly what will happen if you disobey.