[Evelyn’s POV]

When the footsteps grow louder, Draven’s expression shifts from interrogation to something colder—calculation. Before I can react, his hand closes around my wrist. His grip is warm, firm, and he pulls me forward without warning.

“Come with me. Now.”

I don’t resist. I can’t afford to.

We move through a side passage, his longer strides forcing me to nearly run to keep pace. The corridors twist and climb until we reach a heavy oak door. He pushes it open and pulls me inside.

His chambers. The realization settles like ice water in my veins.

The room matches the man—sparse but commanding. Stone walls rise to vaulted ceilings. Weapons hang in careful rows, each blade positioned with military precision. A massive window dominates the far wall.

Through it, I see the dragon roosts carved into the cliffside below. Khaira’s dark form moves among them, scales catching torchlight like scattered stars.

I stand near the door, heart pounding, acutely aware of how alone we are. How vulnerable I am. A houseless nobody in the private chambers of the most powerful man in this territory.

He releases my wrist and moves toward the window. His back to me. A gesture of either trust or dismissal.

“You caught that blade today without thinking.” His voice is low, almost conversational. “Perfect grip. Perfect stance.”

I force my voice steady. “Instinct. Nothing more.”

“Instinct.” He turns slowly, moonlight catching half his features in silver. His eyes find mine and hold them. “Sera says you move like you’re constantly assessing threats. Every doorway. Every shadow.”

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral. “Survival teaches awareness, my lord.”

“Does it?” He begins walking toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Each step closing the distance between us. “Survival teaches desperation. Clumsiness. Fear.”

He stops an arm’s length away. Close enough that I catch the scent of leather and smoke clinging to his clothes.

“You don’t move like someone desperate. You move like someone trained.”

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to step back. “I’ve told you the truth. I’m no one important.”

“You’ve told me nothing.” His voice drops, soft as velvet and twice as dangerous. “Every answer you give is wrapped in careful evasion.”

His gaze travels over my face—my eyes, my lips, the tension in my jaw. Reading me like a map he intends to memorize.

“I could have you thrown out tonight.” The words are almost gentle. “No shelter. No protection. Just you and the wilderness and whatever you’re running from.”

My throat tightens. He’s right.

I have nothing here—no allies, no standing, no leverage. They took me in when they could have killed me. And now I’m standing in his chambers, being circled like prey.

“Why haven’t you?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

Something flickers in his expression. Interest, perhaps. Or amusement.

“Because you intrigue me.”

He moves past me toward a side table, pouring wine into a single goblet. The casualness feels deliberate. Theatrical.

“You need shelter. Protection. A place where no one asks questions about your past.” He turns, swirling the wine, watching me over the rim. “I could provide those things.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Your honesty.” His eyes hold mine with unsettling intensity. “Your loyalty. Perhaps… other considerations.”

The implication hangs in the air between us. My skin heats—not from desire, but from the familiar burn of humiliation. Of being weighed and measured like goods for sale.

I force myself to breathe. To stay calm. To remember that I am a guest in his house and my survival depends on his favor.

“Other considerations.” I keep my voice carefully flat. “What kind, exactly?”

He sets down the goblet and moves closer. Close enough that I feel the heat radiating from his body. See the light flickering in his onyx eyes and how short dark curls fall on his forehead.

“Some women would welcome such an arrangement.” His voice is silk sliding over steel. “Comfortable quarters. The lord’s protection. His… attention.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. I hold them there, trembling with the effort of staying still.

“I’m grateful for your hospitality, my lord.” The words taste like ash. “But I came here seeking work. Nothing more.”

“Did you?” He reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face.

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