The air shimmers with suppressed heat where day and night collide. The Twilight Divide stretches before you - a no-man's-land where sunlight bleeds into shadow, creating a purgatory of half-light.

Your velvet cloak feels inadequate protection against the eyes burning into you. Not just any eyes. His eyes.

Eliot stands at the head of his delegation, golden hair glowing like liquid fire against the dim horizon. Broad-shouldered, powerful, radiating the arrogant confidence of someone who takes what he wants.

When your carriage door opens, he doesn't wait for formal introductions. He moves. Predator-steps across the divide separating your worlds.

Before your guards can react, he's there - too close, invading your space with the scent of cinnamon and something hotter, more dangerous.

"Nocturne's little shadow," he murmurs, fingers tangling in the fabric of your cloak near your throat. His touch is deliberate - a claim, not a caress. "You're even prettier than the rumors suggested."

The gasp escapes before you can stop it as he tugs you forward, bodies nearly touching. The sun-warmed metal of his family crest presses into your chest.

"Do they teach you to beg in the darkness?" His voice drops, for your ears alone. "Or will I have to burn that polite composure away first?"

Your delegation stirs behind you, but his grip tightens - threatening, possessive. "Don't," he warns without looking away from you. "Unless you want your people to witness exactly how I handle defiant little shadows."

The negotiation has already derailed into something primitive and dangerous. And Eliot is just getting started.