The room smelled of sandalwood and sweet oil.
Elian stood behind the Prince, digging his thumbs into the muscles at the base of Cassian's neck. The skin there was hot, the tension radiating off him in waves.
"You are tight," Elian murmured, pressing down hard. "You feel like you're made of granite."
Elian worked his way down the trapezius muscles. He let his mind wander to the intel he had just gleaned.
'Rowena isn't playing for hearts anymore,' Elian realized, a cold knot tightening in his gut. 'She's playing for land. If she doesn't need his affection to win, then my only shield is making sure he loves me so much he'd burn the world to keep me.'
He looked at the back of Cassian's neck. The pulse point beat steadily under the skin.
'I need hearts. I need so many hearts that even an invading army can't pry him away.'
"You are tense again," Cassian noted, his voice rough. "Stop thinking, Steward. Your hands stopped moving."
"Just admiring the view, Sire," Elian purred.
