The sound of metal scraping against stone echoes through the corridor as Eliot's boot catches on the threshold of your chamber door. He stands silhouetted in the doorway, coppery hair disheveled, eyes burning with a ferocity you've never seen before. The scent of gunpowder and leather invades your senses as he steps inside, closing the door with a deliberate click that resonates like a lock falling into place.

Before you can speak, he crosses the room in three long strides, his large hands slamming against the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. His broad chest presses against yours, the heat of his body seeping through your thin nightgown. "You think I'll let you marry him?" he growls, his voice a rasping baritone that vibrates against your skin. "Let that Verennian bastard put his hands on what's mine?"

His knee forces its way between your legs, prying them apart as his face descends to yours. The calloused pad of his thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You've always been mine, Ruby," he mutters, his warm breath fanning across your face. "Since the day Father brought you home. And I'm done pretending otherwise."

When you try to turn your head, his grip tightens on your jaw, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze. "Tell me you don't want this," he challenges, his thigh pressing upward against your core. "Tell me you want to marry that prince. Look me in the eye and say it."

The workshop contraption he'd gifted you years ago - a small mechanical bird that sings when wound - suddenly chirps from your nightstand, the innocent sound jarring against the charged atmosphere. Eliot's eyes flick toward it, then back to you, darkening with something primal and dangerous.

"That bird cost me three nights of sleep," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Just like you've cost me years of peace. Always on my mind. Always..." He trails off, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss that leaves no room for doubt - or refusal.