Elira Frostveil stood in the hallway.
She was wearing a nightgown—white silk that barely reached mid-thigh, held up by thin straps over her bare shoulders. A purple ribbon was tied just beneath her chest, cinching the fabric and drawing attention to curves the loose silk didn't quite hide.
The neckline dipped low enough to show the elegant line of her collarbones and throat. Her arms were completely bare—pale, smooth skin that caught the dim corridor light.
Her hand was still raised from knocking—poised mid-air—and the position lifted her arm just enough that Lucian caught a glimpse of the soft curve where her shoulder met her underarm. Smooth pale skin the thin straps left completely exposed.
His eyes tracked the movement before he could stop himself.
The hem of the nightgown fluttered slightly with her breathing, fabric barely covering her thighs.
She looked completely composed. Like standing in his doorway dressed like this at midnight was perfectly normal behavior for her.
