The room was silent. The delegates. The guards. The king with his sword. The merchants. The diplomats. Every person in the tavern was frozen. The words — "entered my cave" — hung in the air.
Raven leaned back.
His feet on the table. His hands in his pockets. His violet eyes — bright, glowing, calm — held her sea-green ones.
"Your cave was poorly guarded," he said.
The Empress's jaw clenched.
Her hand — the hand that was at her side — went to her crotch. Not to cover. To hold. The gesture of a woman who is remembering. The pain. The violation. The sensation. The place between her legs that still ached. That still throbbed. That still — remembered.
"You..." she hissed. "How dare you—"
Her eyes widened.
The realization. The thing that she had not considered. The thing that she had not thought of. The thing that was — obvious. The mana. The resonance. The dragon mana that he carried. The signature. The bloodline.
