Mikhailis let his head rest against the cool cedar one breath longer, letting the soft hum of the castle settle back into his bones. The locker's cramped darkness still smelled of sweat and old lavender, a mingled perfume of danger narrowly avoided and pleasure thoroughly enjoyed. Serelith's fingers idly carded through his hair as if playing with the idea of letting him go. But when she felt his heartbeat finally slow, her nails gave a teasing rake along his scalp, enough to make him shiver.
Her legs stayed looped around his waist—loose, lazy, almost affectionate. Only when she was sure he couldn't bolt did she tilt her head, violet eye bright. A lock of pink hair slid forward across her cheek, and she blew it away with a huff that was far too mischievous to be a sigh.
"So, naughty prince…" She punctuated each word with a gentle poke to his chest. "Where exactly have you been? And what sort of problem made you sneak off like a cat burglar?"
