Her lips met mine, tentative at first, a feather-light brush that was more question than demand. Her hands found my gorget, and she curled her fingers around the metal until her nails dug into the chain with a claiming grip. She kissed with a tender, wondering reverence, like I was some sacred thing. Maybe I was, to her.

  I could feel the moment she forgot to be careful, the moment her need eclipsed her inexperience. Her lips slanted across mine, hot and heady, a silent plea for surrender. The world narrowed to the silken caress of her mouth, the sweet, intoxicating taste of her, the shudder of her breath as she breathed me in.

  I couldn’t get over the fact that she tasted like oranges. Possibly the very oranges she’d just eaten.

  Does she always eat oranges before kissing? I thought as her tongue pried my lips open.

  She pulled me down, spread her legs until they clamped around my waist, pressing her body against mine. The heat of her seemed to sear through the layers of my armor, branding me with a sort of desire I’d started to get used to.

  Her hands began to roam, exploring the planes and ridges of my armor with a reverent, almost obsessive fascination. She seemed to revel in the contrast between the unyielding metal and the searing heat of her touch, while I could only think of how uncomfortable it must feel sitting atop a heap of steel and silver.

  As she ground her hips against mine, her hands continued their worshipful exploration. By the time we broke the kiss for the first time, it felt as though she’d mapped the contours of my armor in detail so great, she could have recreated every etch and rivet from memory alone.

  She dragged her heat up and down my codpiece as she looked at me, dreamy and unfocused, a small smile playing about her kiss-swollen lips.

  “You will grow cold sitting on metal,” I warned.

  Her smile only widened. “You needn’t worry, Sir,” she purred, her finger stroking a lazy path across my chestplate. “I know just what to do with hard metal.”

  She licked her lips, and I felt a sudden flush of heat, as though the armor had turned to sunshine against my skin. The metal seemed to mold itself to my body, pulsing with a warmth that was almost human. She’d cast some sort of spell, some trick of heat and aether that turned the cold steel to living flesh beneath her touch.

  She leaned in close, her lips brushing my chin as she whispered, “But it shall be my first time tasting human flesh.” It sounded like she was about to sacrifice me to some dark god.

  “Your first?” I growled. “Speak your truth, or I will strangle you with this shackle.”

  “I’ve never desired human flesh until today. Why don’t you find out?” Her words were a sultry purr.

  I felt a surge of heat at her boldness, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was… not right. Saint Merin’s teaching number twenty-seven echoed in my mind: “Let not the strong take advantage of the weak, nor the experienced of the innocent, for it is a sin most grave in the eyes of the Saints.”

  This whole situation felt like a deception, a trap I was willingly walking into. I was agreeing to something I shouldn’t, and she was leading me down a path she herself might not fully comprehend. And here I was, a knight, and she was... well, she was clearly eager, but there was a naivete there that gnawed at me. We should stop.

  “Do not offer what you do not yet comprehend,” I bellowed. “Withdraw your offer, or face the wrath of the Saints. I will not take what you cannot yet name.”

  The heavens, apparently waiting for their cue, obliged with enthusiasm.

  Lightning split the sky like a badly timed exclamation point, followed a heartbeat later by thunder so loud it sounded personally offended. Somewhere far off, a flock of birds launched into the air in panic.

  “Mmmm... what don’t I understand, Sir Knight?” she asked, utterly unrepentant. “Is there something you need to teach me?” Her hands slid up my armor, her fingers tracing the contours of my shoulders. Her lips brushed against my ear. “Maybe you should have a taste for yourself, before you decide.”

  I knew I shouldn’t. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that I was either taking advantage or being taken advantage of. But her words, her touch, the way she looked at me like I was the answer to every question she’d ever had... it was too much.

  With a growl of surrender, I reached up and lifted my visor higher, leaning in and burying my face in the soft skin of her neck. She gasped. I took in the scent of her, and her hands tightened on my shoulder.

  Her hands slid down my arms, guiding my hands to the soft curves of her body. I could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her robe, the rapid thrum of her heartbeat beneath my fingertips as she guided my touch to the pert curves of her breasts. They were well-shaped and perky, if not a bit small for my hands. Her skin was soft, so soft, like warm silk beneath my hands, and the way she kept pressing herself on me made it profoundly difficult to not give in to the urge to explore every inch of her.

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  My lips traced a path down the curve of her neck, following the line of her collarbones. One of her hands clutched at my shoulders as the other slipped her robe open, parting just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her stiff nipples. They were begging for my touch. Begging for a taste.

  I leaned in. But then I halted.

  Stop, Henry. A knight must know self-restraint.

  I gripped her shoulders and pulled back to look into her eyes. I could see the haze of desire clouding her gaze, the way her lips were parted and trembling, but I steeled myself against the urge to claim them again.

  “I will not allow this until I know of your true intentions,” I said. “I will not be played a fool.”

  She stared at me for a long moment, her breath coming quick and shallow, and I could see the struggle behind her eyes as she fought to clear her thoughts. When she didn’t respond, I intoned again, my voice a deep enough rumble to shake the very air around us. “You will tell me now,” I demanded. “Is this just some game of lust? Speak your truth, before I call the Saints to witness what you dare place in my hands. I shall strip this moment of all pretense.”

  “Ah,” she said at last.

  Her eyes cleared just enough for the hurt to show; a glassy sheen, like something fragile had cracked and she didn’t yet know how badly. Her lips parted, then pressed together, as if she were choosing her words with care.

  “I was not pretending, Sir Knight,” she murmured.

  She slid off my lap and pulled her robe closed again. The sudden absence of her warmth was more jarring than I expected. “I may have… overstepped,” she added. “My apologies.”

  The restraint in her voice stung more than defiance would have.

  “What do you mean you were not pretending when you did anything but speak plain truth?”

  Her gaze drifted to the ceiling beams, then the door, then the narrow slice of window—anywhere but my face. When she finally spoke, it was softer, stripped of the teasing lilt she’d worn. “I simply believed that I was deepening our connection. I should’ve realized a righteous man like yourself would name it a crime.”

  “No,” I said, and the word was meant to soothe. It did not. “I do not name desire a crime. I name claiming a sacrament.” Lightning crackled beyond the window. “And you will never lay claim to me unless you are prepared to stand before the Saints and let them weigh your soul.”

  “You and your Saints,” her breath puffed out in a wounded huff.

  Then—unexpectedly—she stepped back. The movement was abrupt enough to draw my eye. She gathered her robe, hesitated only a heartbeat, and then went down on one knee before me. The gesture was stiff and more will than ritual—but no less deliberate for it.

  “Very well,” she said, lifting her chin even as thunder rolled low and distant. “Then let it be heard.”

  Lightning flared beyond the window.

  “I, Anabeth of Aurelienth,” she said clearly, the name ringing with old weight, “do swear—not in haste, nor in hunger, but in full knowledge of myself—that I will court you justly.” Her hands curled at her sides, but her voice did not waver. “I will offer no false desire, no borrowed heat, no games of confusion dressed as longing. I will come to you with open eyes and an unhidden heart, or not at all.” She met my gaze at last. “Let it be known that I am capable of devotion, Sir Knight. No less than any other soul the Saints have ever weighed.”

  Ah.

  So she did come from Aurelienth.

  For a long, treacherous moment, I simply stared at her.

  This was... this was not what I had meant.

  The thunder was still rolling, obligingly dramatic, the air was consecrated with oath-weight and implication, and she was kneeling—Saints preserve me—like I had intended any of this to escalate into something remotely formal, let alone… that.

  “You will stand now.” I dragged a hand down over my visor, dropping it back down. “This is not a tribunal.”

  By the simmering appendix of the Saints, and whatever poor saint was responsible for administrative oversights. Why?

  Was this...

  Was this an actual tribunal?

  I had not convened a hearing. I had not invoked Rite, nor rung bell, nor called witness. I had said stop, and the world had apparently heard proceed under formal doctrine—

  I swallowed the rest of the thought and looked up just in time to see her rise.

  Anabeth clasped both hands neatly behind her back and leaned toward me, just enough to reclaim the space between us. The stormlight caught the curve of her mouth as it moved. There was an edge to it now, bright and dangerous.

  “When you desire,” she sang, “you reach for law.”

  I couldn’t find a retort in me.

  “Very well, then,” she said. “Let your law bind us both. You shall find that my sincerity will not disappoint you, Sir.”

  There was nothing I could say. Maybe Aurelienth nobles treated courtship like a legally binding sport; I didn’t know.

  I looked again at the bond. Provisional, it said. It would be foolish to pretend this had not already taken root.

  I met her eyes. “Very well,” I said. Ceralis decided to add the rest without my permission. “Do not mistake this for leniency. This is a binding entered with eyes open and exits few. The moment your intent falters, by all the will of the Saints, you will learn, very precisely, what you agreed to.”

  Her smile cut her eyes small and bright as she edged nearer. “Does that mean we’re allowed to kiss again?”

  I sighed.