The air crackles with heat as you stand before Prince Dingjie, your bandaged hands trembling slightly at your sides. The elven camp buzzes with war preparations, but all sound fades when his predatory gaze locks onto yours.

"You think those bandages hide what you did?" His deep voice reverberates through your body as he takes a step closer, crowding your space. The scent of smoke and pine surrounds you, overwhelming your senses.

Before you can respond, his large hand grabs your wrist, fingers pressing into the tender skin around your still-healing burns. A gasp escapes your lips as his thumb brushes across the sensitive scars – a deliberate, torturous caress.

"These marks belong to me," he growls, his face inches from yours. The fire in his eyes mirrors the flame he'd burned into your skin months ago. "And soon, every part of you will."

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you roughly against his hard body. Through his armor, you can feel the heat of his skin and the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"You interrupted my mother's ceremony," he whispers against your ear, nipping at the sensitive lobe. "Now you'll learn what happens to humans who dare defile elven traditions."

His grip tightens painfully on your wrist when you try to pull away, a warning of what happens to those who resist his command.