"L-Look at his face… the way he… looks at you…" Serelith whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and longing.
Cerys's fingers brushed her own lips, a soft, unconscious touch. "And the way you arch for him… I didn't know… I didn't know I could look like that…"
In the playback, Mikhailis's deep voice rumbled through the display, a growl that made both won's knees weaken. "You're both… so beautiful… I can't… I can't get enough…"
They watched as his hands gripped Serelith's waist, pulling her back to et his every thrust. Her moans grew louder, her head thrown back, eyes glazed, a quivering smile on her lips. The angle shifted, showing Cerys's thighs squeezing around his hips, her hands clawing at his back, her lips crashing against his, her muffled gasps swallowed in their heated kiss.
The wet, slapping sounds grew faster, a desperate, frantic rhythm. Serelith's voice, a high, breathless wail. "M-Mikhailis! I'm… I'm going to—"
" too…! Gods… don't stop…!" Cerys's voice mingled with hers, the two cries blending in perfect, desperate harmony.
Their bodies quivered, and then the playback shifted, capturing the fierce, shuddering climax—Serelith collapsing forward, her trembling form held up by Mikhailis's strong arms, while Cerys's body tensed, back arching, her head thrown back as a strangled moan spilled from her lips.
The two won watching in the corridor leaned closer, breathless, eyes wide. Their shoulders touched, and neither pulled away. The heat between them was palpable—an invisible thread of shared desire, of shared mory. Cerys's fingers curled at her side, desperate to touch, to feel that rush again. Serelith's breath ca in soft, quivering gasps, her lips slightly parted.
"I… I can feel it… just watching…" Serelith whispered.
" too… gods, too…" Cerys's voice was barely a breath.
The display panned out, showing the three of them tangled together, a perfect, sinful tableau of shared passion. Their voices, ragged and breathless, filled the corridor.
"M-Mikhailis… yes… yes…!" Serelith's voice trembled.
"Don't… don't stop…" Cerys's voice begged.
They watched, caught in the vivid playback, pulses racing, hearts pounding. And then—
"What in the God-Emperor's na are you two doing loitering in the corridor after dusk?"
The voice sliced through the thick, heated air like a blade. Both won jolted, the display blinking out in a flash. They spun around, hearts racing, to see Pri Minister Aelthrin standing just a few paces away. Tall, sharp-featured, with silver spectacles perched on his thin nose, his expression was one of stern curiosity tinged with disapproval.
Serelith's mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, her cheeks blazing crimson. Cerys snapped to a rigid salute, her face burning with sha.
Aelthrin's gaze swept over them, noting their flushed cheeks, their wide, guilty eyes, the faint shimr of the monocle and visor still fading. "Serelith. Cerys. What… exactly were you doing?" His voice was calm, but the sharp edge beneath was impossible to miss.
"I-It's nothing!" Cerys stamred, the words tumbling out too fast. "I was just… consulting… about… about magic! Yes, magic theory!"
Serelith blinked, then nodded quickly. "And I was consulting about… about a warrior technique. Yes. Very advanced. Positioning and… uh… impact analysis."
Aelthrin's silver brows rose, but his lips curled into a faint, skeptical smile. "Consulting each other about magic and warrior techniques? You two? That's… rare. Pleasantly so, but rare."
Cerys forced a stiff smile, still trembling slightly. "Well… we… we're just trying to… expand our knowledge."
"Expand… indeed." Aelthrin's voice lingered on the word with an almost teasing hint. He glanced between them, noting the way they both seed frozen, like mice caught in a trap. But then he sighed, his tone softening.
"Well, whatever you were 'consulting,' keep it brief. The Queen is currently at the sacred temple, eting with Saintess Myria Elthea, with Lady Vyrelda accompanying her. I hope nothing untoward is happening there."
Serelith and Cerys exchanged a brief, startled glance—Elowen eting the saintess? That was news.
"Of course, Pri Minister," Serelith managed, forcing her voice steady. "We… we will get back to our duties imdiately."
"See that you do," Aelthrin said, turning with a swish of his indigo robes. He walked away, his sharp footsteps echoing down the marble corridor.
The mont his figure disappeared around the corner, Serelith and Cerys sagged against the wall, hearts still hamring.
"Oh gods…" Serelith whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth. "He… he didn't see… did he?"
"No, but…" Cerys swallowed, wiping sweat from her brow. "But we… we were so close…"
A flicker of that heat remained, pulsing beneath their sha. Their eyes t, lingering for just a mont. And though their cheeks were flushed with embarrassnt, the ember of shared desire hadn't dimd.
"Later?" Serelith whispered, her voice low and shy.
Cerys bit her lip, nodding. "Yes… later."
But they didn't dare linger, each turning and walking quickly in opposite directions—yet stealing one last glance over their shoulders, hearts still racing.
_____
Moon-white braziers lined the central nave of the Sacred Temple, their flas scenting the air with sandalwood and crushed rose hips. Each step Elowen took rang softly against mosaicked stone, the sound swallowed almost at once by soaring vaults overhead. Starlight filtered through a lattice of crystal panes, painting moving constellations across her silver-and-blue gown. At her temples, the slender arms of her glasses glimred—a sign only she recognized that Rodion was awake and watching.
Ahead, Saintess Myria Elthea waited upon the dais. She stood statuesque between two marble pillars carved with ancient hymns, dark umber skin glowing in the firelight. A circlet of moon-opal crowned her tightly coiled hair, and a ceremonial staff—ivory wrapped in living vines—rested lightly against her palm. When her golden eyes lifted to et Elowen's, warmth and warning mingled in equal asure.
Elowen inclined her head, allowing a lock of ivory-blonde hair to slip neatly over her shoulder. "Blessings of the moon upon you, Saintess."
Myria's answering smile was gentle, almost affectionate, yet sothing sharper hid beneath. "And starlight upon your path, Your Majesty. It is always a joy to welco a living descendant of Heliandria's line."
Rodion's cool undertone slipped into Elowen's ear.
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