Elara's POV
The room was still arguing around me, but I was not listening anymore.
Petrov was still speaking. The council was still murmuring. Voices rose and fell, overlapping, arguing, demanding. But I was somewhere else now. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere the only thing that existed was the man behind the mask and the truth I had just uncovered.
His hands. His stillness. The way he tilted his head when Petrov spoke.
I knew those hands. I had held them in the dark, in my chambers, in the hours when the world fell away and there was nothing but his skin against mine. I knew the weight of them, the warmth of them, the way they felt on my face, in my hair, on my hips.
I knew that stillness. I had watched it from across my chambers for months. The way he stood guard, motionless, present without being present. The way he could be in a room without taking up space, without drawing attention, without anyone noticing that he was watching.
