"I have no interest in passing time," Cassian said, tossing his heavy fur-lined cloak onto the floor. "I prefer to use it."
Elian swallowed hard, his back pressing against the rough-hewn wooden table in the center of the lodge. "That sounds... ominous, Sire."
"Watch me."
Cassian stalked forward. He looked like a storm contained in skin—dark hair falling over his eyes, chest heaving slightly, the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal the pulse point Elian wanted to bite.
He stopped inches from Elian, trapping him between the table and the royal body.
"So," Cassian murmured, his hands resting on the table on either side of Elian's hips. "We are stranded. No guards. No duties. Just a bridge that conveniently collapsed."
He leaned down, his nose brushing Elian's neck.
"It seems the gods favor me today," Cassian whispered. "They have gifted me twenty-four hours of silence."
