Rhaegar regarded her as she stood poised in wary defense, the silver hairpin gleaming faintly in her trembling grasp. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips as he advanced toward her, unhurried, deliberate.
"What is this?" he murmured. "Do you fear me so, upon sight alone?"
Caelith instinctively retreated a step, her back straight, though her pulse was drumming in her ears.
"My lord's visit at such an hour…" she said, her voice steady but restrained, "is perhaps not entirely proper. I was simply taken aback."
"Not proper?" Rhaegar arched a brow, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his dark gaze. "And yet it was you who sent word, claiming urgent matters and summoning me here. I came without delay—and now you speak of propriety?"
She stepped back once more, seeking distance—but before she could withdraw further, his arm swept around her waist in a single decisive motion, drawing her firmly against him.
