Private Bacta and Blood

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Not all treasure's silver and gold.
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

The rain began just before dusk. By the time the candles were lit, it fell in steady sheets against the tall windows of the Rainspire dining room. The chamber was dim and deliberate, all dark furniture and low golden light. Shadows stretched long across the table that could seat twenty, though tonight only two places were set.

Aurelian sat at the head.

He had not changed seats out of habit. He rarely used this room unless something official demanded it. Tonight was neither official nor accidental. The long table felt excessive for two people, but he had arranged it that way on purpose. Silver polished. Crystal placed precisely. Her favorite wine breathing beside his untouched glass.

He rolled the stem of it slowly between his fingers. He told himself he was patient. He was not.

His gaze flicked toward the doorway for the fifth time in as many minutes. He leaned back in his chair, then forward again. Adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Straightened a fork that did not need straightening.

Upstairs, laid carefully across his bed, was the dress. He had kept his word. After spilling liquor across her white beaded gown weeks ago, he had promised to replace it. Not simply replace it. Improve upon it. He had summoned his own tailors the next morning and dismissed every draft that did not meet his standard.

He had been insufferable about it.

Length adjusted twice. The cut altered so it would follow the line of her waist exactly the way he imagined. The beading redone by hand because the first pattern was too delicate. Too soft.

This one was not soft. Black silk. Black beads that caught light like a constellation against midnight. Elegant. Striking. Unmistakably Veruna.

He had stood there while they pinned fabric, describing the way it should move when she walked. How it should rest off her shoulders. How it should command attention without asking for it.

They had exchanged looks when he corrected them. He had not cared. It would fit her perfectly. He had made certain of it.

He lifted his glass and took a slow sip, though he barely tasted it. The storm outside deepened, thunder rolling low across the cliffs. The room felt smaller in the dark, more intimate. The fire near the far wall crackled softly, throwing warm light over the table settings he had arranged himself.

He had dismissed the staff early. No servants hovering. No interruptions. Just the two of them. He glanced again toward the door. He imagined her finding it laid across his bed. The contrast of black against the pale sheets. He imagined the moment she realized it was for tonight. For this.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. Was it truly a surprise for her? Or for him?

He wanted to see her walk into this room wearing it. Wanted to watch the candlelight catch along the beading. Wanted to see the way it changed her posture, the way she would pretend she was unaffected by how bold it was.

It screamed Veruna. There would be no mistaking that. And he wanted the galaxy to associate that image with her.

His fingers drummed lightly against the table. He stilled them immediately, exhaling through his nose. Calm yourself. He was King. He had negotiated treaties without blinking. Faced down senators twice his age. Endured war councils that stretched until dawn.

And yet waiting for her to enter the room in a dress had him restless.

He adjusted his jacket once more. Impatience hummed under his skin. He wanted to see if he had gotten it right.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: The Black Pearl
Aurelian Veruna

The dress was not hard to miss.

The hand that had been gently towel-drying her hair slowed to a stop as Sibylla paused at the foot of the king-sized bed. She had only just finished her shower to get ready for tonight-- at Aurelian's earlier insistence that they dine together. That in itself was hardly unusual.

What was unusual was the location.

Instead of their room or the terrace, he had informed her they would be eating in the formal dining hall.

Sibylla had given him an amused, curious look at that, the delicate arch of her brow rising high. The great dining room? That was typically reserved for state occasions and diplomatic displays, not quiet meals between two people who had long since abandoned all the ceremony in private. Especially the Rainspire's dining room, for it was a stark contrast to the more intimate warmth of the smaller family dining room at the Abrantes estate.

At her query, Aurelian had assured her they would not be hosting guests and that it would just be the two of them. And well, there was a reason for the madness, and if Aurelian so desired to have a formal meal, well, it didn't hurt to humor him. Sibylla was sure he was planning something. He always was.

That was one of the things she had come to understand more clearly during her recovery. He was thoughtful in ways that ran deeper than most realized. Purposeful. Methodical, even. He did not do things carelessly. And when he orchestrated a surprise, there was that unmistakable light in him -- that mischievous, boyish satisfaction that surfaced when he succeeded in drawing exactly the reaction he had hoped for.

Pleased. Satisfied. Smug, at times surely... but happy.

And she found she truly enjoyed seeing him happy.

So much more than she had expected.

And that was the core of it. And if she were being entirely honest, she had discovered she enjoyed far more than she had once allowed herself to admit. It was all in the subtle shifts, new desires, new comforts, and that ease of sharing the same space. Of being known in small, unguarded moments.

The time had allowed Sibylla to discover that Aurelian's body bore more old scars than she had expected, and that she herself, despite pretending otherwise, harbored a quiet possessiveness. Auerelian discovered that Sibylla liked Tusk-cats but was also afraid of them, and that he rather enjoyed the time he spent lazing in bed with her.

While it seemed natural to learn about the person you shared mornings and nights with, it somehow felt strange to begin discovering truths about yourself that you had never known.

Oh there were certainly aspects of it that frustrated her, but she wasn't sure if Aurelian was doing it merely to get a reaction out of her or because that was just how he was in his own home -- then again, his brazenness was a characteristic that followed him day and night, so she should have known better than that.

Still, it was hard to deny the fact that as much as they were discovering each other, they were also learning new things about themselves.

It was with this thought that Sibylla found the corner of her mouth slowly curve upward, until her bare shoulders under her thick robe began to shake as she gave a soft laugh.

"Of course you would do this," she murmured, stepping forward as her fingers brushed over the beaded strands of black pearls that adorned the dress laid carefully before her. Stark black against a sea of white, the dark iridescence of the pearls caught the soft overhead light and shimmered gently.

The memory of when he had promised to have a new dress made for her returned unbidden, and the faint pink lingering on her cheeks from the hot shower deepened another shade. She could not help recalling the way he had kissed her breathless at the edge of that balcony railing -- the rush of adrenaline, the warmth of his hands, the certainty of them. For several dizzying moments, she had forgotten entirely how to think, left wanting something she had not yet known how to name.

Had she not had to leave to change to go to the next meeting regarding the transition of the Crown...

Sibylla swallowed, drawing in a slow breath before letting it slip from her lips in a soft, measured exhale. A faint shiver chased along her skin, raising goosebumps in its wake as her gaze returned to the dress.

She let her fingers trail lightly over the fabric again, brushing the strands of black pearls that gleamed like drops of midnight against the pale cloth of the bedspread. They were cool beneath her touch, smooth and weighty. She could already imagine how they would feel against her skin -- cool at first, perhaps, before slowly warming with her body, the gentle weight of them settling as the dress drew close along the curve of her waist and hips.

Already, Sibylla understood precisely what Aurelian had intended. The thought brought the faintest curl of a smile to her lips.

With a quiet, knowing chuckle, she let the plush robe slip from her shoulders. The soft fabric slid down her arms and pooled silently at her feet as the warm air of the room brushed across her bare skin.

Her gaze flicked once more to the dress waiting patiently before her.

"Well..." she murmured under her breath, amusement threading through the warmth gathering in her chest.

If Aurelian Veruna wanted his own private fashion show...

She supposed she could indulge him.

​

It was simply a quiet shift of space and air when Sibylla stepped through the arched stone threshold into the dining room.

Rain pelted down beyond the tall windows as the drops traced silver lines down the glass and thunder rolled low over the cliffs... but for a moment it felt as though the entire Rainspire stilled.

Sibylla had never favored black.

Naboo blues. Sunset silks and sage greens. Ivory and gold. Those were hers. Light, warm, full of summer.

This was something else entirely.

The dark inky silk clung to Sibylla like poured shadow, cut to follow the exact line of her waist before sweeping down in a dark, fluid fall to the floor. Each step she took sent the fabric into motion in a deliberate, slow ripple that caught candlelight and returned it in quiet gleams.

And the pearls, Veruna black.

Heavy enough to be felt with every breath -- deliberate enough to draw the eye. The dark pearls glimmered like drops of midnight against her honey skin. Stark against her warmth. Unapologetic. Intimate. They rested at the curve of her shoulders, traced downward along the soft rise of her chest, and settled at her waist as though marking territory in elegant silence.

Aurelian's version of a brand.

A silent claim that lingered wherever the pearls touched.

Her hair, usually braided or simply worn, had been gathered into soft waves, pinned away from her face just enough to reveal the delicate line of her jaw and the faint scars near her eye -- now kissed by low candlelight rather than hidden. The rest fell in dark lengths down her back, brushing the silk as she moved, the soft clip of her heels echoing gently across the polished stone floor, though beneath it, her heartbeat quickened. It was a quiet staccato that fluttered in her throat, her wrists, and the hollow at her collarbone where pearls rested like cool stars against warming skin.

She was beautiful.

Or at least, the dress made her feel that way, allowing her to forget momentarily about the scars that now traced their way over the left side of her face. So there was subtle confidence in her stride that had been missing the first few days at seeing the results of the bacta and tending of the droids. And while nervousness and anxiety slightly fluttered along her thoughts, tinting the doubts and shadowed the edges of her self-confidence, as soon as she saw him, her breath hitched.

There he was. Seated at the head of the long table -- waiting.

All at once, the space between them seemed to stretch heavy and charged. Candlelight caught in his dark curls, along the sharp line of his jaw, in the reflection of crystal and silver he had arranged with almost obsessive precision.

And Sibylla began to walk toward him slowly.

Each step a whisper of silk.

Each movement a subtle invitation.

The dress shifted against her hips with a sensual fluidity that made her acutely aware of the way it followed her form -- not modestly, not loudly, but confidently. It did not ask permission to be noticed.

Neither did she.

She stopped just short of him, close enough that the warmth of the fire brushed her skin, close enough that she could see the way his fingers had stilled against the stem of his glass.

For a breath, she simply let him look.

Then one brow lifted slightly, the faintest curve of mischief touching her lips even as she felt her heart spike in nervous anticipation.

"Well..." she murmured, the hush of her voice floating over him, "you have been rather exacting with your modiste."

Sibylla shifted her weight, the pearls catching the light again as though answering for her.

"How does it look?"

The question was innocent in phrasing.

It was anything but in intent.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: You look good in Veruna Black
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

He turned the moment she entered. The movement was instinctive, drawn by the shift in air, the soft echo of heels against stone. Whatever thought had occupied him vanished.

And then he saw her. For once, he did not look at her whorishly, the way he so often enjoyed doing when she crossed a room. There was no immediate smirk. No teasing glint. He was spellbound. Completely and utterly spellbound.

The candlelight moved across her like it had been waiting for this. Black silk followed the line of her body with deliberate precision, every step sending a slow ripple through the fabric. The pearls caught fire in the low gold glow, glimmering against her skin in a way that made his pulse throb once, heavy and sure.

She had never favored black. This was something else. This was Veruna. His. The thought came uninvited and settled deep.

He rose slowly from his chair without realizing he had done so. His own attire fell open slightly as he moved, a dark formal jacket cut long and fluid, the front deliberately unfastened to reveal the tanned expanse of his chest beneath. Gold rested at his throat and wrist. The Veruna signet ring caught the light as his hand tightened briefly at his side. Around his neck hung the pendant she had given him on Life Day, resting warm against his skin. He felt almost underdressed in comparison.

She walked toward him as though she understood exactly what she was doing. Each step measured. Controlled. The dress did not beg to be noticed. It assumed it would be. His gaze traced her slowly, reverently. From the curve of her shoulder, down the clean line of her waist, to the fluid fall of silk that kissed the floor. He took his time. He allowed the silence to stretch.

Shiraya herself.

When she stopped just short of him and lifted a brow, asking how it looked, he did not answer immediately. He let his eyes travel down her once more. Then back up. Slow. Thorough.

He stepped into her space. His hand lifted, brushing a loose wave of hair back over her shoulder. His knuckles grazed her collarbone on the way down, deliberate and light. The contact was charged.

"I told you I would pay you back," he said, voice low, velvet threaded with heat. His gaze dropped to the pearls again, to the way they rested against her skin. "It is well worth the investment."

He shifted closer, standing directly in front of her now, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body. Close enough that the scent of her reached him through the faint smoke of the candles.

He circled her slowly. Not hurried. Not subtle. He moved like a man inspecting something priceless. His ringed fingers hovered near her waist but did not touch. Not yet. He took in the way the silk molded to her hips. The way the back dipped just enough to make his jaw tighten. The way the pearls traced rose and fell with her breath.

She looked stunning. No. More than that. She looked powerful.

He stopped behind her. For a moment he simply stood there, close enough that the front of his jacket brushed lightly against the back of her arm. His hand lifted and skimmed down her bare shoulder, slow, thoughtful. His fingers followed the line of fabric at her waist.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed the shell of her ear. His lips did not touch her. Not yet. His hand slid lower, grazing the curve of her hip before retreating, restraint tightening through him like a pulled wire. He wanted to ruin the careful composure she was wearing. He wanted to see if she felt as bold as she looked.

His voice dropped further. "Because you look," he paused, letting the word form slowly, "dangerous."

His fingers found her waist again, this time firmer, testing the fit he had demanded so precisely from his tailors.

Perfect.

A slow exhale left him. "You were made for this color," he murmured.

And as he stood behind her in the candlelit dark, rain striking the windows like distant applause, Aurelian allowed himself a rare, unguarded truth. He had wanted the galaxy to see her this way.

But in this moment, he was profoundly grateful no one else could.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: Careful what you design, Aurelian.
Aurelian Veruna

For a moment, Sibylla simply breathed.

It was all she could do to keep herself composed because the way Aurelian looked at her was... different.

There was no teasing curve to his mouth, no roguish glint in his eyes ready with some scandalous remark meant to make her blush. Instead, there was something intensely quiet and heavier in his gaze. The sort that sent a slow warming curl low in her chest and made her breath deep.

It only increased when she felt how his gaze moved over her slowly, reverently, and the awareness of it settled along her skin like the first brush of flame. Then when he stepped closer, the warmth of him and the faint brush of his knuckles against her skin made the pearls at her collarbone feel suddenly heavier, shifting with every quickened breath she could not quite hide.

Oh, blast him.

Her lashes lowered just slightly as she watched him, the faintest flicker of challenge returning to her eyes even as warmth crept along the back of her neck. The low heat in the tenor of his voice did nothing to help her composure. Nor did the way his gaze lingered over the pearls.

She swallowed softly.

Then when he began that slow, deliberate circle around her, Sibylla became acutely aware of everything. The glide of silk along her hips as she shifted her weight. The soft whisper of her breath beneath the pearls. The faint movement of air where his hand hovered but did not yet touch. And she realized, with growing frustration, that the absence of contact was worse. The anticipation stretched tight beneath her skin, every nerve waiting.

It made her lift her chin just slightly, gathering what calm confidence she could as her pulse betrayed her with every quiet beat.

That is, until Aurelian stopped behind her.

The slow slide of his fingers across her shoulder raised the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. And when his touch traced the line of the dress at her waist, she inhaled sharply, the pearls shifting softly against her skin. The warmth of him behind her sent a ripple through her she could not quite contain. Her fingers curled faintly at her side as she steadied herself against the growing awareness of him. And when his hand dipped briefly to her hip before retreating, the absence of it felt almost as intense as the touch.

How do you feel? his breath brushed her ear.

Shiraya help her.

Where did she even begin?

The deep amber of Aurelian's gaze had already told her everything. The way he looked at her now made the scar across her face feel irrelevant -- as though it carried no weight at all beside the heat in his eyes. If anything, the intensity of his attention only enhanced the energy humming beneath her skin.

Did she feel powerful at his reaction? Yes. Beautiful beneath the hunger of his gaze? Certainly -- but more than that was the intoxicating closeness of him. The slow spark of heat tracing down her spine when his fingers pressed more firmly into her waist. The dangerous awareness of what those hands could do if either of them stopped pretending restraint mattered. The thought slipped through her mind before she could stop it.

What would it feel like if those fingers traced elsewhere?

She swallowed hard.

So when he called her dangerous, a quiet sound escaped her throat, a half-breath, half-laugh at his words. Slowly, Sibylla turned her head just enough to glance back at him over the bare curve of her shoulder.

"Well," she murmured, her voice husky with the effort of keeping it steady, a thread of familiar wit warming the words, "if you designed it to make me dangerous…"

Those deepening hazel eyes dipped briefly to the hand resting at her waist before lifting again to meet his.

"You cannot be terribly surprised if it succeeds," she murmured as the corner of her mouth curved slightly.

"And if I was made for this color…" Her hand lifted then, settling lightly over his where it held her waist. She didn't push it away, didn't quite encourage it either. No, she just acknowledged it because she wanted to see what he would do.

"…you cannot blame me if I begin to enjoy the attention it draws." Her breath brushed the edge of his jaw as she leaned back a fraction closer, the silk whispering softly with the movement. It made her realize why he chose such colors and styles that would carve, impact, and draw the eye. For so long, she had done her best to fit the sort of presentation that would make her fulfill her role of the perfect Daughter of Abrantes.

But now, dressed in the style that she knew Aurelian had poured himself over, imagined again and again, drawn in his mind and had devoted hours to its style... it only made her feel all the more appreciated, loved, and yes, wanted more. She had stood in that three-panel floor-to-ceiling mirror for longer than necessary as she stared at her reflection with breathless wonder.

It was a perfect fit. Enhancing the curves of her body and the color of her skin in a way no other dress had. The iridescence of the pearls granted her the sort of look that said she was more than just a name. No, this was her own power shining through. Her own agency radiating from within.

The realization stirred something bold inside her.

"Though," she added quietly, that teasing spark returning beneath the warmth, her fingers shifting faintly over his knuckles, "I must say…"

A tense pause settled between them, the fire crackling softly as candlelight traced the elegant line of her profile.

"…for someone who went to such trouble with the fit…"

Another heartbeat.

"…you seem remarkably restrained in appreciating it." Her fingers tightened faintly over his hand, her voice dropping just a little lower. "And I cannot decide if that means you are being a perfect gentleman…"

Sibylla flicked toward him again, this time, letting her own appraisal drift down over him before coming back up, slow and knowing. Her attention caught the soft gleam of the pendant she gave him, and her fingers gently rose to trace its shape, feeling the heat radiating from it as it had absorbed from his body.

"…or if you are simply enjoying watching me wonder when you will stop."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Careful what you wish for.
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian felt it the moment she leaned back against him. The tension. It rolled through her in quiet waves, tightening her breath, sharpening the way her shoulders held. He could feel it where his hand rested at her waist. Every small reaction answered him. Every shift of her body.

She wanted this. Maybe not in the same reckless way he did, but the spark was there now. Alive beneath her skin. His touch only fed it.

His eyes followed the small movements of her chest as she breathed, the way the pearls lifted and settled against her skin. The faint hitch when his fingers pressed into the fabric.

Good. A slow grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. She liked it. The dress. The way it shaped her. The way it made her feel. Dangerous. Like a Veruna. The thought pleased him more than he cared to admit.

"I don't mind you enjoying the attention," he said quietly behind her. His voice carried that familiar thread of amusement, but something heavier sat underneath it now. "People know this specific shade of black."

His fingers brushed slowly along the fabric at her waist as he spoke, feeling the weight and smoothness of it beneath his hand. It was true. The color was unmistakable. Deep obsidian. Richer than anything produced on Naboo. The dye came from a rare insect found only along the cliffs and wetlands around Parrlay. It took time to extract, more time to perfect. For generations the Veruna tailors had guarded the process. Across the galaxy it meant only one thing. Veruna Black. If someone saw it, they knew exactly where it came from.

His hand slid around her stomach and pulled her back firmly against him. "If they are looking at you in this attire," he murmured, his mouth near her ear, "at least they know…" His grip tightened slightly as he finished the thought. "…you are mine." There it was. Possession, plain and unhidden.

She fit against him easily, her back resting against his chest. He felt the warmth of her through the silk, the soft rise and fall of her breathing. For all the quiet meetings and stolen glances across crowded rooms, he was starting to run out of patience for pretending otherwise. Too many eyes followed her. Too many men believed she was still available to admire. This dress solved that problem. There was no mistaking it.

And if she had stepped out of that room wearing it, after seeing herself in that mirror, after knowing how long he had spent making sure every detail was right, then she understood what it meant. He imagined her there earlier. Standing in front of the tall mirror in his chambers, studying the way the silk clung to her hips, the way the pearls traced her skin. She had known. She had chosen to wear it anyway.

His mouth brushed her cheek. The kiss lingered there for a quiet second before he pulled back. His hand began to move slowly upward, fingers tracing across the strands of pearls.They shifted beneath his touch, cool and smooth.

Her voice carried that teasing edge again, questioning his restraint. Perfect gentleman. He almost laughed. For a brief moment he had been.

Then his composure cracked.

His hands moved before he could stop them. One sliding along her waist, the other drifting over the curve of the dress, feeling the silk stretch across her hip. He let himself appreciate it openly now.

Shiraya, she looked incredible.

She turned her head enough that their eyes met. He held her gaze. "I do enjoy making you guess," he said. His voice had dropped lower now, rougher at the edges. He let the silence sit between them for a few seconds after that. Let her feel the weight of the words. Whether tonight would be the night he stopped holding back.

His hands tightened on her waist. In one smooth motion he turned her to face him. The silk of the dress shifted and flowed with the movement, catching candlelight as it settled again around her legs.

Now she stood directly in front of him. Close enough that he could see the slight flush warming her cheeks. Close enough that if either of them moved even an inch, their bodies would meet. He looked down at her slowly. His gaze lingered on the pearls she had just touched, then moved back up to her eyes. For a moment he said nothing.

The fire cracked quietly across the room. Rain tapped against the tall windows behind them. Aurelian's hand lifted again and rested lightly at her waist. His thumb traced once along the seam of the dress.

"You ask dangerous questions," he said quietly. His eyes darkened slightly as he studied her face. "And you are starting to enjoy the answers."

His fingers curled into the silk at her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer. Not enough to close the space between them. Just enough that she would feel how easily he could.

He tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. Then his voice lowered to a near whisper. "Careful, Sibylla." The tension between them pulled tight, humming in the candlelit room. "Eventually I might decide to stop behaving."

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: I do not want careful. I want you.
Aurelian Veruna

People know this specific shade of black.

Of course they did.

Sibylla's gaze dropped briefly to the hand resting at her waist as his fingers traced the silk, the fabric he had chosen so deliberately clinging with every breath. The pearls shifted softly against her skin -- a quiet reminder that whenever she wore it, she would think of Aurelian here beside her, their weight echoing the memory of his hands.

The thought seared through her even as his arm slid around her and he pulled her firmly back against him, the sensation of his chest at her back sending a sudden, traitorous rush of warmth through her.

At least they know you are mine.

The words settled between them like a spark catching dry tinder.

And for a heartbeat Sibylla didn't move.

The possessiveness in Aurelian's voice should have startled her. But it didn't. It only sent another quiet shiver down her spine. Not because it felt like a claim she had not chosen, but because she had.

She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing behind her. The warmth of him through the silk. The quiet strength in the arm that held her there, her breath faltering with every glide of his palm over the curve of her hip in open appreciation as the silk stirred with the motion, catching the candlelight as though it had been made for this moment.

Perhaps it had.

Sibylla turned her head slightly when Aurelian spoke again, their eyes meeting as he admitted he enjoyed making her guess. But it was the look in his eyes that sent another pulse of heat through her.

It was the look of the man she had fallen in love with -- familiar, certain, deeply attentive -- yet edged now with the strain of restraint he had been holding carefully in check.

He had always enjoyed her reactions. Her blushes. The quiet triumph when she gathered enough courage to answer his teasing with boldness of her own. The game between them had grown sharper, richer, charged with a heat neither of them pretended not to feel.

But the restraint had never been about the game.

It had always been about her.

About her choosing it. About her knowing the moment when curiosity turned into certainty. When she no longer followed his lead, but stepped toward him of her own will.

Toward him.

Because she wanted him.

Yet before Sibylla could even think, Aurelian spun her, and she stood before him, close enough that the warmth of him seemed to wrap around her like the lingering heat of the fire across the room, and the scent of his cologne and his skin that had become so dearly familiar tickled her senses.

Too close...and yet not close enough.

Hazel orbs lifted slowly to meet his as his hand returned to her waist, feeling the way his thumb traced a distracting trail that was quickly making her lose her focus.

You ask dangerous questions... and you are starting to enjoy the answers.

Sibylla felt her pulse answer that quiet accusation with a beat, stirring the words to an even bolder boldness inside her.

She could feel the tension coiled in his hand where it held the silk at her waist, the subtle pull that drew her just a fraction closer. Enough that she could feel the promise of how easily the distance between them could vanish.

Careful, Sibylla....eventually I might decide to stop behaving.

For a moment Sibylla simply looked up at him.

And there, in those achingly tense, heated moments that followed, Sibylla took mental pictures of what she saw, searing them into her memory. She didn't want to forget.

No, she wanted to remember how the firelight traced the sharp planes of his face, catching along his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. His amber eyes held hers, dark and steady in the glow, while his dark curls caught the light like embers stirred by the fire.

He stood very still before her, dangerous in that unmistakable Veruna way. Yet beneath that calm she could see the tension in him -- quiet, coiled, barely held energy that was visible in the subtle tightening of his shoulders, in the careful stillness of his hands -- fierce, thoughtful, and dangerously attentive all at once.

Sibylla let herself take it in, knowing with sudden certainty that this was a moment she would return to again and again: the candlelight, the storm against the windows, and Aurelian Veruna standing before her like something carved from shadow and flame.

Shiraya help her… how she loved him.

Wanted him.

And something in her decided she had no intention of retreating.

Slowly, Sibylla stepped that final inch closer.

She lifted her hands and settled them lightly against the deep bronze of his chest, where the fabric of his jacket parted. She could feel the strength of him beneath her palms, the faint rise and fall of his breathing, the way his heart answered in kind, quickening its beat.

Sibylla tilted her head slightly as she looked up at him, the soft glow of the candles catching in her hazel-green eyes.

"Well," she murmured, her husky voice low and warm with quiet amusement, "If I am meant to be careful…"

The pads of her fingers sailed faintly against the warmth of his chest, tracing the edge of the soft, rich fabric there, the pendant she made him hanging over his heart.

In Any Lifetime.

She meant those then as felt them now.

"…you are making a remarkably poor argument for it," Sibylla murmured, the corner of her mouth curving faintly.

"And it has never been a matter of behaving…" Those eyes flickered briefly to Aurelian's lips before returning to his.

"…I told you before...I did not fall in love with the perfect gentleman...I fell in love with you. All of you." The words hung between them for a breath, remembering vividly what had transpired afterward. Her breath hitched for a moment, and her eyes darkened in remembrance as much as what thrummed between them now. Then she leaned in closer just slightly, her voice softening as the teasing warmth returned to it.

"Though I should warn you, Aurelian Veruna…" her breath fanned over the line of his jaw as her fingers tightened gently over the fabric at his chest.

"…you may find I am far more curious than you realize….and once you stop pretending behaving matters…" this time it was she who gave him a small, daring smile.

"…I suspect neither of us will want it back."