Pyris was bold, but more than that—he was intentional. Every movement, every word, every lingering glance had a purpose. And as he stood before Ambrosia, the untouchable, the woman no man dared to claim, he let her feel it.
"Ambrosia," he murmured again, her name slipping from his lips like a promise. He still held her hand in his, his thumb tracing the faintest circle against her skin—a touch so subtle, so daring, that it could be dismissed as nothing. Or everything.
She arched a delicate brow, her amusement unwavering. "You're playing dangerously for a character such as yourself, Pyris. It's dangerous if you're targeting me, you see."
His lips curled. "Good. I'd hate to be bored."
The way she watched him, sharp and assessing, told him she wasn't so easily swayed. She wasn't some young noblewoman giggling over empty flattery. Ambrosia was powerful. Cunning fox. Untouchable Empress.
