[Deep Night · Cold Front]
This was the most dangerous hour.
After midnight, damp air pressed in from the river.
The shack offered little resistance.
Moisture crept along the ground, climbed into the straw, clung to skin.
Prince Chen began to shake.
At first, it was subtle.
A tremor in his fingers.
A tightening in his shoulders.
Then his teeth knocked together—sharp, hollow.
"Cold…"
The word barely left his lips.
Iris reached out.
His hand was cold.
Too cold.
There was nothing here to work with.
No blanket. No fire.
Only wet clothes and a body losing heat.
She exhaled once.
"Lucky you," she muttered. "Arrogant bastard."
She moved.
His clothes came off first—heavy with water, stiff and cold.
She stripped them away quickly, exposing skin already drained of warmth.
When she reached the last layer, she stopped.
Only for a moment.
Then she turned to herself.
The knot at her waist loosened. Fabric slid from her shoulders.
Cold bit immediately.
She lay down in the hay, the straw rough against bare skin.
Dry. Better than wet.
She shifted closer.
Paused.
Then pressed herself against him.
The contact wasn't clean.
Her skin didn't settle against his all at once.
There was a brief adjustment—shoulder shifting, ribs brushing, breath stalling halfway.
Cold spread unevenly.
It crept across her chest first, then down her arms, sharp enough to make her fingers curl.
She forced them to relax.
He reacted instantly.
Even unconscious, his body moved.
His arms came up fast, clamping around her with sudden force.
Hard enough to steal her breath.
He dragged her in.
Locked her there.
His face pressed into her neck.
Cold breath brushing warm skin, uneven, searching.
One leg slid over hers, heavy and unthinking. Pinned her thigh.
Cut off her ability to shift away.
No space left between them.
Iris stiffened.
His skin was cold, but the body beneath it was solid—muscle packed tight from years of training, weight settling into her.
Not gentle. Not controlled.
Instinct.
He didn't know what he was holding. Only that it was warm.
His grip tightened.
His arm locked around her back.
Not crushing—but firm enough that she felt it in her ribs.
When she inhaled too deeply, his body responded.
A subtle tightening. A pull.
As if he were unconsciously adjusting her position, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
Her thigh was trapped between his leg and the ground.
The angle left no room to retreat.
Even shifting her knee would force more contact.
She chose stillness.
Every point where they touched sharpened.
Chest. Stomach. Thigh.
Cold resisted at first.
Then warmth began to gather—slow, reluctant.
His breathing changed.
Short gasps evened out. The tremors eased.
Each exhale brushed against her collarbone, lingering a fraction longer than the last.
Heat built where their chests pressed together.
She could feel his heartbeat now.
Heavy.
Steady.
Thud.
Thud.
It pressed against her ribs, close enough that she couldn't ignore it.
After a while, her own heartbeat began to match it.
She stayed where she was.
Pinned.
Necessary.
Time lost its shape.
Night didn't end all at once.
It thinned.
Darkness loosened its grip slowly, like breath easing out of lungs.
At some point, the cold stopped winning.
Warmth spread unevenly between them, settling where skin pressed hardest.
Her chest.
His shoulder.
The space between their thighs.
Iris drifted in and out of shallow sleep.
Each time she surfaced, his arm was still there.
Heavy.
Unmoved.
Once, she tried to adjust her head.
He reacted instantly.
His arm tightened.
His chin dipped, pressing closer to her neck.
Not awake.
Pure instinct.
She froze again.
After that, she didn't try.
[Morning]
Light slipped through the broken boards.
Prince Chen woke abruptly.
The first sensation was warmth.
Not imagined.
Not distant.
Real.
Too close.
His arms tightened before his mind caught up.
Then he felt it.
Softness under his hands.
Warm skin against his chest.
He froze.
His eyes opened.
Bare shoulder.
White skin.
A pale ribbon resting against it.
His gaze lifted.
Su Mo.
She was asleep, breathing slow and even.
Entangled with him.
One leg thrown over his waist without restraint, the weight of it undeniable.
Her body pressed flush against his, leaving no space between them.
And his hands—
One at her back. The other far too low.
His mind went blank.
Twenty years of restraint.
Of distance.
Of never allowing himself to cross certain lines.
And now—
Nearly naked.
Holding a woman.
Worse still—
His body had already reacted.
Heat pooled low in his abdomen, sharp and unmistakable.
It pressed firmly against her thigh.
The contact didn't fade.
It lingered.
A steady pressure that made it impossible to pretend it wasn't there.
Heat radiated through fabric, undeniable in its intent.
He could feel the exact moment her body tensed in response—a sharp inhale, a minute shift of her leg.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence pressed down harder than his grip had.
Move?
He couldn't.
Not move?
He shouldn't.
His eyes fell to her hands.
These were the hands people whispered about.
Hands that cut into flesh without hesitation.
They rested on his waist now.
Loose.
Unaware.
If it were anyone else, he would have killed them.
Without pause.
But now—
What filled his chest wasn't revulsion.
It was something dangerously close to surrender.
She stirred.
Iris rubbed her cheek against his chest, half-asleep.
"Don't move…" she murmured.
Her knee slid upward.
Slow.
Unaware.
His breath hitched hard.
Fire tore through him.
"Su… Su Mo."
Her name scraped out of his throat, rough and strained.
"Wake up."
Her eyes opened.
They were too close.
Breath tangled.
Heat undeniable.
She blinked once.
Then felt it.
Understanding hit instantly.
Her face flushed violently.
She jerked back, movements sharp, grabbing clothes and pulling them around herself.
"Pervert!"
He turned away just as fast, dragging torn fabric over himself.
His ears burned red.
"Who are you calling that?" he snapped.
"You climbed onto me! I haven't even—!"
Footsteps cut him off.
Firm.
Controlled.
"Your Highness! We're late!"
The shadow guard captain.
Prince Chen's expression hardened in a blink.
"No one says a word," he barked toward the door.
The command carried authority.
And something he refused to name.