The workshop smells of dragonbone glue and expensive silk when the door slams open without warning. Cheng Qianli stands in the doorway, silver hair damp from the rain outside, his violet eyes burning with an intensity that makes your hands falter on the embroidery you're working on.

"Your Grace," you acknowledge coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the way your heart hammers against your ribs. You don't look up from your work, pretending the royal presence behind you means nothing.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, you hear his boots click across the stone floor, each step bringing him closer until you can feel the heat of his body at your back. His breath fans against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that you hate yourself for.

"You dare ignore a prince?" he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. Before you can react, his hand slams down on the table beside you, trapping you between his arm and the wood. The embroidery hoop clatters to the floor.

You finally turn your head, coming face-to-face with him—close enough to see the flecks of gold in his violet eyes, close enough to feel the tension humming between you like electricity. "I'm working, Your Grace," you snap, though your voice wavers slightly.

His lips curve into a predatory smile. "Not anymore." His hand reaches up, tangling in your hair and yanking your head back sharply. Pain shoots through your scalp, but it only makes your pulse race faster. "I want you. Now." There's no question in his voice—only command.

Your breath catches as his mouth crashes down on yours, hard and demanding. He tastes like dragon wine and danger, and for a terrible, wonderful moment, you consider giving in completely to the man who could destroy you with a single word.