Theron's expression hardened the moment he saw Rosalyn standing inside his bedchamber. Every servant in the palace knew better than to cross that threshold uninvited. Even when his mother had sent women to him in the past, few had ever dared to step this far.
But Rosalyn…
She stood there as if she belonged, utterly unbothered.
Her gaze moved over him with quiet, deliberate interest, starting from his disheveled hair, trailing down to his lips, pausing just a fraction too long before drifting lower. Over his chest. Further still… until it lingered.
Theron's grip tightened on his robe, pulling it closed with more force than necessary, concealing the unmistakable evidence of a morning he had no intention of explaining. The way her attention settled there did not escape him.
It seemed nothing escaped her.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the divider, curiosity sharpening, as though she could peel back the space beyond it with sheer will.
