As the figure advanced, Eiravyne instinctively backed away, her heart hammering in her chest.
But as she moved back, Ilkar's hand reached her shoulders, shoving her back onto the bed.
She landed on the mattress, her body bouncing slightly from the impact, and lay there, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
Ilkar loomed over her, his face contorted with anger and frustration.
The shadows cast by the moonlight played across his features, making his expression even more menacing.
He expected her to fight back, to argue, to plead for mercy—anything but the unsettling silence that now filled the room.
Eiravyne's uncharacteristic quiet unsettled him, her lack of resistance more infuriating than any defiance.
She lay still, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. She knew he was furious—not just because she had run away, but because she had tried to manipulate him and lie to him.
