Lucian's giggle still lingered in the air, sharp as broken glass yet sweet as honey. Alistair's glare burned into him, but Lucian didn't look away. If anything, he leaned in closer, his bare chest brushing against the stiff line of Alistair's uniform. The heat of the contact was deliberate, a provocation that shimmered between them like fire catching kindling.
"Your eyes," Lucian whispered, his breath ghosting across the prince's cheek, "they look at me as though you'd burn me alive… and yet you cannot look away."
Alistair's jaw tightened. His hand shot up, intent on shoving Lucian away, but Lucian was quicker. He caught the wrist mid-motion, twisting it gently, almost lazily, until Alistair's arm was forced aside. His grip was deceptively soft, yet unyielding.
