Chapter 5
Velmira Avarelle was a woman used to power. Used to whispers. Used to servants who dared not meet her eyes, and nobles who stammered when she walked by in red.
But Zephyr?
Zephyr didn’t look away.
He met her gaze even as her hand glided down the slit of her crimson gown, exposing one leg wrapped in silk and sin.
"I was told you’d be taller," she said with a smirk.
"I was told you only hunted married men."
She let the insult hang in the air, eyes glittering.
"Perhaps," she said coolly, "because only married men have anything worth losing."
Then, in a flash of motion, she pushed Zephyr back onto the couch, straddling him, her perfume intoxicating — jasmine, rosewater, and the metallic bite of ambition.
Velmira leaned down, brushing her lips against his.
"I’m not here to play," she whispered. "I’m here to own you. Just once. Just tonight. So I can say I tasted the legend."
Zephyr’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her tighter. "Then let’s give the bards a new verse."