Her lips parted, but the protest died before it could fully form.
Rosaline's breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves beneath that fitted uniform jacket.
The battlefield still hummed with the aftershocks of my victory, scorched grass, the faint ozone bite of spent lightning, the distant murmur of retreating boots.
But not all the soldiers had gone. A small cluster lingered on the low ridge maybe two hundred paces away, their silhouettes sharp against the dying sun.
Helmets tilted, spears planted like idle sentinels. I could feel their eyes like faint, curious fingers brushing over us.
Not close enough to hear every word or see us clearly, but close enough to wonder.
I didn't repeat myself. I simply held her gaze, one brow arched in that lazy, commanding way I knew unraveled her.
My voice dropped lower, velvet over steel. "Knees, Rosaline. Now. Show me exactly what kind of woman you are when no one's pretending."
