Back in Soren's chambers, the air was still thick with the scent of wine and something dangerously close to desire.
Soren lay on the bed, still sprawled, still amused. Seraphina was still half on top of him, her limbs tangled with his as her breath tickled the skin beneath his jaw. He was half-drunk, fully entertained, and watching her with an unreadable expression—equal parts curious and intrigued.
Then, Seraphina suddenly uttered, "Ah… it's so hot in here."
She used her hands to fan herself clumsily, like the heat was suffocating her. Her cheeks flushed, her skin already glistening.
Soren blinked, brows furrowing slightly.
He glanced around. The windows were wide open. The chilly night air had been steadily drifting in, brushing against his skin and her bare arms. Yet… she was sweating? Why was she feeling so hot?
Before he could even comment, Seraphina pushed herself off him. She stumbled slightly but caught herself. Then—hastily—she started to peel off her outer garment.
Soren's eyes widened.
Not out of alarm that someone would walk in. Not even because he was worried.
But because this—this—was going to be a damn problem tomorrow morning when the Lady woke up and remembered.
He moved fast.
His hand shot out and caught her wrist before the gown fully slipped off.
"Stop," he said sharply. "What do you think you're doing?"
She hissed. "Let me be. It's hot in here!" Her voice rose in frustration, slurred and careless. "Ugh, how can you even breathe in here? How can you be comfortable when it's so hot?"
Then the gown fell.
Her outer garment slipped down to her feet in a messy pool of silk.
She was left in only a black underdress, thin and scandalous, clinging to her curves and leaving nothing to the imagination.
Soren cursed under his breath. She was still muttering, still flustered, still hot.
She stumbled toward the window, hair swaying, shoulders bare, her voice a low murmur:
"It's so hot… so hot…"
Soren moved.
He pinned her in place before she could do anything else reckless. His arm against her side, his body blocking the cold moonlight that streamed in.
She blinked up at him, her breathing hitched, shallow.
Then she whispered again, eyes glazed, "It's so hot in here…"
Soren stared at her for a long second.
Then, with a sigh of surrender, he muttered, "Okay… let's get you a cold bath."
He scooped her up in his arms, bridal-style, without giving her a chance to protest. She gasped softly but didn't resist. Her hands curled against his chest, her body warm and weak from wine.
Soren carried her through the carved wooden doorway into the adjoining bathing chamber. The bath pool was carved from smooth obsidian stone, deep and wide, fed by crystal-clear mountain water chilled from underground springs.
He lowered her slowly into the water.
As her body slipped beneath the surface, inch by inch, the chill struck her instantly. Her back arched slightly, a tremble ripping through her as the cold licked her skin.
She whimpered softly. "It's… it's too cold…"
He held her steady, one arm around her shoulders. "Too cold?" he asked softly.
She nodded like a scolded child, her bottom lip trembling.
Soren smirked.
He sat at the edge of the bath pool, his legs stretched lazily as he watched her. He reached over, brushing strands of wet hair away from her face, his fingers combing through her locks gently.
"I won't let you stay in too long," he said lowly, voice nearly a purr. "You'll catch a cold."
She just sat there, shivering slightly in the water, watching him.
Watching his mouth.
Watching the way it moved when he spoke.
Her gaze dropped to his lips—so plump, so red.
And without thinking… she licked her own.
Soren's eyes darkened. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled like he was restraining something vicious inside.
"Don't lick your lips like that," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "You don't want to know what comes next after it."
But Seraphina—drunk, unfiltered, unthinking—tilted her head with a teasing smile.
"Maybe I do," she whispered.
Her voice was low. Slurred. Honest in the most dangerous way.
Then, she reached up.
Her fingers gripped the collar of his robe.
She tugged.
Pulled him closer.
And then she kissed him.
No hesitation. No grace. Just lips pressed awkwardly to his, her breath shaky and warm.
The kiss was messy. Untrained.
It was raw.
Soren's eyes widened—not in amusement this time. Not in teasing surprise.
They widened in real shock.
Because he knew—knew—Seraphina was going to regret this tomorrow.
But in that moment… she didn't care.
And maybe, just maybe… he didn't either.