Elowen stood by the door of her chambers, hands pressed flat against the cool wood, trying to regulate her breathing. Her heart hadn't slowed since she fled from Julian's chambers—from his lap, from that kiss, from the wicked fire in his eyes that lingered longer than it should have.
But none of that prepared her for the sight that had greeted her inside.
Seraphine.
Lounging like a lioness on the velvet chaise, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, a dark book resting on her knee, and the most victorious smirk curving her lips.
Elowen didn't even have time to catch her breath.
"Oh dear," Seraphine drawled, not even glancing up from the page, "you're redder than a summer plum. Do take a breath before you faint."
"I—" Elowen swallowed, then narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
