The training yard echoed with the metallic clash of swords as Eliot's blade struck the practice dummy again and again, each blow harder than the last. His breathing was heavy, chest heaving beneath his open uniform jacket as sweat dripped from his jaw.

He wasn't just training — he was punishing himself for the thoughts that had kept him awake all night. Thoughts of you. Thoughts so vivid and obscene they would have shocked even his most hardened men.

The sound of footsteps approaching didn't make him pause. He knew it was you before he even turned around. That familiar scent of magic and jasmine that haunted his dreams, that made his cock stir in his trousers like a man possessed.

"Captain, the queen requests your presence in the audience chamber," you said, your voice steady despite the way his eyes raked over your body, stripping away your robes with a single look.

Eliot finally lowered his sword, letting it fall with a metallic clang to the stone floor. He took three deliberate steps toward you, each one making your heart race faster until he was so close you could feel the heat of his body and the raw hunger in his gaze.

"Drop the formalities," he growled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingertips lingering against your skin. "You know better than to address me that way when we're alone."

His hand slid down to grasp your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to make your breath catch in your throat. "The queen can wait," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "I've been waiting all night for this."