By the time steam curled above the marble basin, Lucian had shed the last remnants of the morning's encounter. He lowered himself into the water with languid grace, the lavender scent rising in waves. His skin prickled at the warmth, muscles loosening, yet his mind remained sharp, alive with calculation.
He traced circles along the water's surface with one finger, lips curling faintly. Somewhere across the palace, Alistair was burning with the memory of him. Lucian could feel it as surely as the heat around him.
He closed his eyes, sighing softly, a sound almost indulgent. "He'll rage," Lucian murmured, "and in his rage, he'll move. I wonder what he'll try first?"
