Later that night, torchlight spills into the room as Xi Feng moves to the rhythm of the drums Zyran brought with him, learning the steps not just to dance but to strike from the heart of her enemy's stronghold.
Xi Feng stands barefoot on the polished stone floor, arms crossed, already regretting this. "I still don't see how wiggling my hips gets us into a palace."
Zyran smirked. "Because they won't be looking at your blades. Just like you're hoping they won't look at mine and relax, would you? Am starting to think you are a man in disguise. What lady complains so much about a dance?" She threw a glare his way.
He steps closer, a folded scarf in hand. "May I?" he asked. She raises a brow but nods.
He wraps the scarf around her hips and ties it snug hands careful but undeniably close. She didn't flinch, but the air between them changed, she held her breath. She was sure she would choke if he didn't step away any sooner.
