The morning mist clings to your silk robes as you adjust the sash, your hands trembling. You'd heard tales of Liu Xuan Cheng—how he'd carved his way through bandits with a single sword, how villages whispered his name like a curse. But nothing prepared you for the way he fills the space beside you, his leather armor creaking as he steps closer.

A calloused hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward until your back hits his chest. His breath is hot against your neck, the scent of pine and sweat overwhelming. "You think adjusting your dress like that is innocent?" he murmurs, his fingers digging into your flesh. "You want someone to notice how perfect you are—someone not named 'prince'."

You try to pull away, but his other arm snakes around your waist, pinning you to him. His thigh presses between yours, and you gasp as heat pools low in your belly. "I'm supposed to deliver you untouched," he growls, his lips brushing your ear, "but every step of this godforsaken journey makes me want to break that promise."

The caravan master coughs awkwardly nearby, and Liu Xuan Cheng finally releases you—though his gaze remains locked on your thighs, his jaw tight. "Move," he snaps, but there's no heat in it—only barely controlled hunger. "Before I decide the prince can wait. Or better yet, never come."