The moment Selvira's hips vanished around the corner of the library door, I slumped into the lounge chair like I'd just run a marathon through a landmine field of boobs.
"God help me," I muttered. "That woman was a walking death sentence."
I barely had a moment to breathe before Verona reappeared—graceful, poised, and efficient as always.
"My Lord," she said, folding her hands in front of her short skirt—barely. "Master Gren Vess is still awaiting your presence in the receiving room."
"…Right. Him."
She gave a polite nod. "Shall I escort you?"
"No. No, I'll… walk myself. Slowly. Regretfully."
---
The receiving room was all polished stone, velvet cushions, and statues of curvy women in dramatic poses. I made a mental note to ask if there was a "tasteful statue" budget I could cut. Doubtful.
Master Gren Vess stood when I entered. Plump and beaming, with rings on every finger and a tunic so colorful it nearly blinded me, he greeted me like a long-lost brother.
"Lord Caldus!" he said with a bow deep enough to make his jiggling belly nearly clap. "A pleasure beyond words!"
"And yet you're trying anyway," I mumbled. "Welcome."
A young assistant stood beside him. Brunette. Pretty. Smiling. And—of course—wearing a skirt so short I almost saw her soul. No undergarments, naturally. Because this world didn't believe in them. Custom, not law.
I sat and crossed my legs very tightly.
"We brought a gift," Gren said, setting down a small, ornate chest. "Perfume, scented wine, and a rare silk blend infused with nightbloom essence—excellent for stimulating the senses."
"Oh, they need no help with that."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
The assistant bent to open the box.
I looked away. I really did. But a man's reflexes are not his ally in a world where women's skirts barely function as clothing.
I forced my eyes back to Gren, who was already laying out scrolls with trade plans and a silk license approval. I nodded through it, signed what I had to, smiled politely, and only broke a sweat when the assistant bowed a little too low again on her way out.
Gren chuckled as they left. "The Goddess truly favors those who appreciate beauty, my Lord. May your eyes—and your bed—never know boredom."
"Oh, they don't. Believe me."
---
Just as I was considering whether I had enough willpower left to crawl into a closet and hide for the day, Verona returned.
"Lady Sylthiel has arrived. She's in the sunroom."
I blinked. "Wait. Already?"
"She arrived during your meeting."
"…Of course she did."
Verona tilted her head ever so slightly. "Shall I prepare refreshments?"
"Yes. A bucket of cold water. To dump on my head."
She said nothing, but I caught the briefest smile on her lips before she turned.
---
The sunroom was—unfortunately—gorgeous. Glass walls, magical vines, floating lights. The afternoon sun made the space glow with golden warmth. And in the middle of it stood a vision that nearly stopped my breath.
Sylthiel.
Barefoot. Poised. Ethereal. Her silver hair flowed down her back like moonlight on water, and her sheer ceremonial robe shimmered with the barest coverage. Golden embroidery danced along the curves of her arms, hips, and just above her sacred place.
"Lord Caldus," she said softly. "Or shall I call you something else today? You feel different."
I froze halfway through the door.
"You noticed?"
She smiled. "Elves notice many things."
She stepped toward me, every movement so fluid it felt choreographed by wind. When she stood close, her scent—like night flowers and something faintly electric—wrapped around me.
"You're late," she whispered.
"I was… negotiating with a merchant."
"Was she pretty?"
"I—what? No. I mean yes. I mean—irrelevant!"
Sylthiel's laugh was melodic. Dangerous.
She led me to the soft rug laid beneath the crystal window dome. I hesitated only a second before sitting beside her. Her robes slipped just slightly higher when she crossed her legs, revealing smooth skin and that familiar, barely-covered sacred place.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.
"You're breathing like a man under siege," she said.
"Probably because I am."
She leaned in, brushing her cool fingers against my chest. "Do you remember how we used to sit here naked? Meditating. Breathing in each other."
"Vaguely. I was probably distracted by your… entire everything."
"Mm." She tilted her head. "You joke more now. That's new."
I tried to maintain composure, but then she rested her head on my shoulder.
"You're not the same," she murmured. "Last time, you didn't hesitate. You pinned me to the glass. Kissed me until I begged for air."
My mouth went dry.
"I'm just… trying a softer approach," I managed.
Sylthiel hummed. "Soft can be pleasant too. For now."
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
Then leaned in and pressed her lips softly to my cheek. Her hand trailed slowly down my chest, lingering just above my stomach.
"I'll let you remember me in your own time," she said. "But I won't wait forever."
Then she stood—silent and regal—and left, her robe floating like a sigh behind her.
---
I collapsed backward, limbs shaking, eyes staring blankly at the glass dome above.
Then came the familiar whisper—soft and velvety, curling in my ear like a lover's breath.
"Even the moon bends to desire. And she… is your moon."
I groaned and threw my arm over my face.
"I'm not built for this."