Emery keeps a length of silk in the archive drawer. Idris knows what it means when she draws it out. He waits in silence, the ritual scar across his forearms bared. His obedience is a dangerous temptation against the isolation she fights.
Every rite begins the same way, his wrists corded to the table and the blindfold lowered over his eyes. Her command promises the sensory deprivation that leaves him at her mercy and risks everything she holds.
Beneath the approaching Blood Moon, the sacred rite and their private bond collide. She must choose how far to take his surrender before the court discovers the dominance that could cost her the throne.
