The moment the heavy oak doors of the Banquet Hall closed behind them, the silence of the corridor fell like a guillotine.
Aeron didn't let go of her hand.
If anything, his grip tightened. He didn't pull her, exactly—that would be unseemly for a Crown Prince—but he set a pace that forced Kaia to hustle in her satin slippers just to keep from being dragged.
"You are walking very fast for a man concerned about my corset," Kaia breathless, trying to retrieve her hand. It was like trying to pry a gemstone from a dragon.
"I am merely concerned for your health," Aeron said smoothly, not looking at her. "You said you needed air. The air in the East Wing is notoriously fresher."
"The East Wing? My chambers are in the West Wing."
"Are they?" Aeron turned a corner sharply. "My mistake. Geography was never my strong suit."
"You are the future ruler of this geography!"
He ignored her, his boots clicking rhythmically against the marble. They passed a pair of guards who snapped to attention. Aeron nodded to them with the benevolent, distant grace of a statue, all while his thumb stroked the sensitive pulse point of Kaia's inner wrist with devastating precision.
It was maddening. It was terrifying.
"Where are we going?" Kaia hissed as they passed the portrait gallery.
Aeron stopped.
They were standing in front of a set of double doors carved with intricate vines and owls. He turned to her, his silver eyes catching the torchlight.
"You told the table you found gardens 'messy,'" he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, rough register that made her knees weak. "You said you preferred the library."
Kaia's stomach dropped. "That was a lie. To stop you from looking at me like I was a cut of prime rib."
"I know." Aeron smirked. It was a wicked, sharp thing. "But as your host, I feel obligated to indulge your preferences. Let us see if the library lives up to your high standards."
He pushed the doors open.
The Royal Library was a cavernous cathedral of books. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stretched up into the shadows, smelling of old paper, leather bindings, and dust. It was silent. Painfully, beautifully silent.
Aeron pulled her inside.
The moment the doors clicked shut, the "Saint" vanished.
He didn't step away. He stepped in. He crowded her against the nearest bookshelf, his body a wall of heat and velvet. He didn't kiss her. He just loomed, his white-gloved hands planting themselves on the shelf on either side of her head, trapping her.
"Do you know why I love this room, Kaia?" he whispered.
She shook her head, unable to speak. His face was inches from hers. She could see the gold flecks in his silver eyes.
"It has an architectural quirk," he explained, his voice a soft caress against her cheek. "The domed ceiling creates a perfect acoustic curve. A whisper spoken in this alcove can be heard clearly at the entrance."
Kaia's eyes widened. "Then... we shouldn't be talking."
"No," Aeron agreed. "We shouldn't. And you certainly shouldn't be making any other noises."
He moved his right hand.
Slowly, deliberately, he brought his gloved fingers to the bodice of her dress. He slid his hand down the front, tracing the curve of her breast through the fabric.
Kaia gasped.
"Shh," Aeron commanded. "The acoustics."
"You're insane," she whispered, her hands gripping his biceps to steady herself. "If Caspian isn't outside—"
"Caspian is always outside," Aeron murmured, his hand moving lower, past her waist, bunching the aggressive pink skirt in his fist. "He is very efficient. Are you?"
He lifted the skirt.
The cool air of the library hit her bare legs, followed immediately by the warmth of his hand. He wasn't wearing the glove on his right hand anymore. She hadn't even seen him take it off.
His palm slid up her thigh, rough and calloused against her silk stocking. He found the sensitive skin above the garter and squeezed.
"Aeron," she breathed, her head falling back against the books. "We can't. Not here."
"You wore the stockings," he accused softly, his thumb tracing the lace band. "Did you think I wouldn't check?"
"I didn't—I forgot—"
"Liar."
His hand moved higher. He found the slit in her drawers.
He didn't enter her. He just touched. A light, teasing brush against her center that made her hips buck involuntarily.
"Quiet," he warned, his eyes dark. "If you scream, the guards at the door will hear it as if you were standing next to them. Do you want the Captain of the Guard to find the Duke's daughter with her skirts up?"
"Then stop," she choked out.
"Make me."
He replaced his hand with his mouth.
He dropped to his knees so fast it made her dizzy. One moment he was looming over her, the next his face was buried between her legs.
He didn't give her time to adjust. He used his tongue with a ruthless, rhythmic precision that stole the air from her lungs. He found the bundle of nerves he had tormented in the garden and treated it like a personal project.
Kaia bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.
It was overwhelming. The smell of old books, the fear of discovery, the relentless, expert motion of his tongue. He was drinking her in, tasting her desire.
She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan.
Aeron paused. He looked up, his lips wet, his eyes gleaming in the dark. He reached up and gently pulled her hand away from her mouth.
"No," he whispered. "I want to see you try to hold it in."
He went back to work.
Kaia squeezed her eyes shut. She grabbed a handful of his hair—that perfect, saintly halo—and pulled, trying to anchor herself to the earth. The pressure built in her belly, a coil winding tighter and tighter.
She was going to break. She was going to scream, and the acoustics would carry it to the Emperor's bedroom, and they would both be executed at dawn.
"Aeron," she pleaded, her voice a broken whimper.
He didn't stop. He sped up.
Just as the edge of the cliff appeared, just as the wave was about to crash—
CRASH.
A massive, echoing clatter sounded from the hallway. It sounded like a suit of armor falling down a flight of stairs.
"OH DEAR!" Caspian's voice boomed through the door, unnaturally loud. "MY APOLOGIES! THE FLOOR IS... AGGRESSIVELY SLIPPERY! DO MIND YOUR STEP, CAPTAIN THORNE!"
Aeron froze.
He pulled back, breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against Kaia's stomach for a second, a growl rumbling in his chest.
"Caspian," Aeron muttered, "lacks subtlety."
He stood up, smoothing his hair back with a jerky motion. He looked at Kaia. Her dress was bunched at her waist, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were blown wide with unspent adrenaline.
"Fix your dress," he commanded, his voice tight.
Kaia shoved her skirts down, her hands trembling. "You are a monster."
Aeron pulled his white glove back onto his right hand. He snapped the silk into place, transforming back into the Paragon before her eyes.
He offered her his arm, his face a mask of perfect, cool indifference.
"Shall we rejoin the party, Lady Kaia? I believe we have a reputation to maintain."