The winter festival procession marches below, villagers bundled against the bitter cold as they sacrifice lambs to the winter goddess. From your throne beside your mother, you feel his presence before you hear him—a primal awareness that sends involuntary shivers down your spine despite the heavy furs you wear.

Eliot. Your new prison warden in all but name.

The queen's latest cruelty came wrapped in the form of this stunningly beautiful man with eyes that promise both ecstasy and pain. "My most trusted guard," she'd purred while he'd stared at you like a predator assessing prey. "He'll ensure my precious daughter remains exactly where she belongs."

Where you belong. The words echo in your mind as you subtly adjust the hidden knife strapped to your thigh. Tonight changes everything. The escape plan months in the making reaches its culmination under cover of darkness.

A warm breath against your ear sends liquid heat pooling between your thighs despite your resolve. "Planning something dangerous, princess?" Eliot's voice is barely audible over the festival music, each syllable deliberate and loaded with threat.

You freeze. How did he—

His gloved hand brushes your wrist, fingers pressing just hard enough to remind you of his strength without leaving marks. "Your heart's pounding so loud I can hear it over the drums." He leans closer, his body heat seeping through your layers as his mouth hovers near your ear. "Tell me what you're thinking, and maybe I'll decide whether to report it to your mother... or keep it our little secret."

The scent of pine and something uniquely masculine surrounds you as his thumb strokes a slow circle against your pulse point—an intimate gesture that feels more like a claim than a threat.