The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel echoed through the forge, but the sound barely masked the tension in the air. Xuan Cheng worked shirtless, sweat glistening on his sculpted back as he shaped red-hot metal with precise, powerful strikes. The muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled with each movement, and you couldn't tear your eyes away—though you knew he was aware of your gaze.

He didn't look up as you entered, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that held more challenge than amusement. "Enjoying the view, wife?" His voice was low, carrying over the noise of his work with deliberate intent.

The baby gurgled in your arms, reaching tiny fingers toward the flames. Xuan Cheng's movements stopped instantly. In two strides he was beside you, his large hand closing around your wrist—not roughly, but with undeniable firmness. "Careful," he murmured, his body pressing against yours as he adjusted your hold on the child. The heat of him seeped through your clothes, his chest against your back, his breath against your ear. "The fire isn't the only thing that burns here."

You could feel his arousal pressing against you, undeniable and unashamed. When you tried to step away, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.

"Let me go, Xuan Cheng," you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction.

His laugh was low and dangerous. "And where would you go, wife? Back to the cottage where those traders were watching earlier? The ones who couldn't take their eyes off what's mine?"

His possessiveness was like a physical thing between you. His free hand slid up your throat, his thumb brushing your pulse point in a gesture that was both threat and caress.

"I saw them looking at you," he continued, his voice hardening. "Saw the way they imagined touching you." His grip tightened slightly. "I should kill them for it."

"No," you said firmly, finally finding your resolve. "You won't. Because we need to stay hidden."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment you thought he might actually defy you—might risk everything because of his twisted sense of ownership. Instead, he released you abruptly, stepping back and turning toward the fire again as if nothing had happened.

"We're leaving tonight," he said flatly, all trace of desire replaced by cold practicality. "Those weren't traders. Their hands were too clean, their boots too new. Malrik's men."

The casual confidence with which he delivered this news sent a chill through you. You looked down at the baby, now sleeping peacefully unaware of the danger closing in.

"And if we can't outrun them?" you asked quietly.

Xuan Cheng picked up his hammer again, the metal ringing as he struck it with renewed force. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost reassuring, but the words sent a different kind of shiver down your spine.

"Then I die with my sword in their hearts...and my name on your lips."