Sorin frantically thought through ideas that he perhaps could pull off and seize attention away from Aric. Idea one was using a dramatic dip—a grand, show-stopping moment where he lowered Celeste nearly to the floor before sweeping her back up. It was flashy, but with his inexperience, the risk of fumbling it was too high. The second idea he imagined was twirling Celeste in rapid succession, spinning her so fast and frequently that it created a dazzling display. But the thought of her getting dizzy or annoyed dissuaded him quickly.

  Finally, his gaze shifted to the weapons strapped to the walls, remnants of the castle's martial history, and an idea clicked. What if he could incorporate his training? Could he blend the structured precision of the Warbringer sword style with the fluidity of dance? His heart quickened at the thought—it was daring, unorthodox, and precisely the kind of statement he needed to make.

  Sorin leaned in slightly, his voice low and firm. “Let me take the lead. I want to try something.”

  Celeste raised an eyebrow, studying him with both skepticism and intrigue. “This better be exciting,” she warned.

  “It will be,” Sorin promised, though he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

  With a deep breath, Sorin adjusted their stance, subtly shifting the rhythm of their steps. At first, the change felt awkward. His movements were hesitant, a blend of calculated precision and improvisation that lacked polish. Celeste followed begrudgingly, her brow furrowing as she tried to anticipate his next move.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her tone laced with doubt.

  “Trust me,” he replied, though the words were more for himself than her.

  Gradually, the movements began to flow. Sorin drew upon his familiarity with the Warbringer style, his steps mimicking the footwork of combat stances and evasive maneuvers. Each turn and flourish gained confidence, the rigid structure of martial technique softening into the fluid grace of a dance. Celeste’s sharp intuition picked up on his rhythm, and soon their movements were harmonious, a seamless blend of elegance and power.

  Sorin spun her, the folds of her gown fanning out in a striking display, before pulling her back into his arms. The crowd around them began to take notice, whispers rippling through the ballroom. The sharp turns and purposeful movements, paired with the undeniable chemistry between Sorin and Celeste, captured attention like wildfire.

  Aric, still dancing with his partner, faltered for just a moment as the shift in focus became apparent. Sorin didn’t miss it, nor did he miss the flash of annoyance in Aric’s eyes as he realized the crowd’s attention was no longer his.

  Celeste’s lips curved into a smile—not the coy smirk she often wore, but something genuine, her earlier irritation replaced with delight. “You’re full of surprises, Sorin,” she said, her voice breathless but pleased.

  “Only when I need to be,” he replied, spinning her once more and dipping her slightly.

  The crowd erupted into applause, and even the musicians seemed emboldened, the tempo of their playing rising to match the energy on the floor. Sorin held Celeste’s gaze, his heart pounding as he realized they had not only reclaimed the spotlight but had stolen the moment entirely.

  “Well, that was a performance,” she said, her voice low and teasing.

  Sorin chuckled, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “It was all you,” he replied, his hand lingering at her waist.

  She tilted her head with a sly smile. “Don’t sell yourself short. You might just be a natural. It was a very unique dance you led me through. Where did you learn it?”

  “Actually, I made it up on the spot while incorporating some of the Warbringer sword style,” Sorin explained.

  “Impressive, but I am not sure how I feel about being spun around in a manner reflecting a sword,” Celeste said while raising an eyebrow. Sorin looked a bit sheepish and raised his hand to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn’t necessarily know how to respond to that. “Relax, I am teasing you, Sorin.”

  They shared a laugh that dissolved into the hum of the room as they stepped off the dance floor. Both were a little breathless after the dancing so they made their way to a nearby table laden with crystal decanters and delicate glasses. Sorin poured two drinks, offering one to Celeste with a slight bow that made her laugh again.

  As they sipped in comfortable silence for a moment, Sorin caught a glimpse of Aric across the room. His rival’s scowl was barely concealed behind a polite expression as he chatted with a group of finely dressed guests, having also left the dance floor. Sorin allowed himself a small, satisfied smile—if nothing else, he had won this particular round.

  Celeste’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We should go see my father.”

  Sorin choked at the surprise and lowered his glass. “Your father?”

  Celeste nodded toward a distant corner of the room where two imposing figures stood. Sorin followed her gaze and froze. The City Overlord himself, clad in his usual aura of authority, stood in quiet conversation with Zane Warbringer. Both men had their eyes fixed on him and Celeste, their expressions inscrutable.

  “You’re joking,” Sorin said, his voice still hoarse from choking. He glanced toward Celeste, who took a slow, deliberate sip from her glass, her mischievous smile only growing wider.

  “Do I look like I’m joking?” she replied, her tone dripping with feigned innocence. “It’s quite rude, you know, to ignore a lady’s father when courting her. So, maybe you should go say hello to my father, hm?”

  Sorin’s eyes darted between Celeste and the two men across the room. The City Overlord was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit of deep black with silver accents, the design exuding power and authority. Zane, in contrast, still carried his usual air of rugged command, his outfit unchanged from his usual Warbringer uniform tailored in the military style and adorned with certain accents displaying him as the Headmaster. Both men stood tall and imposing.

  “I thought he didn’t attend these things,” Sorin managed, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “Oh, he never misses a ball,” Celeste said lightly, swirling her drink as though she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “But he usually stays in the background—until he doesn’t.” Her tone hinted at some inside joke Sorin wasn’t privy to, but her coy demeanor only made his pulse quicken.

  Sorin groaned internally. This wasn’t part of the plan. He had just wanted to impress Celeste and enjoy the night, not become the focus of her father’s undoubtedly critical scrutiny. “You could have told me sooner,” he said, attempting to regain some composure.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Celeste teased, setting her drink down and leaning closer to him. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Relax, Sorin. He can’t kill you outright—this is a ball, after all. It would ruin the mood.”

  Sorin shot her a sharp look. “Comforting,” he deadpanned, though the tightness in his chest didn’t ease.

  “Now, now,” Celeste said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face and flashing him a dazzling smile. “You’re a follower of Vesperos, aren’t you? Surely a little attention from my father isn’t enough to invoke a little bit of fear in you. Conquering fear is supposed to be a part of your faith.”

  Sorin’s jaw clenched at her words. She always had a way of twisting the knife with that flawless smile. “Fine,” he muttered, his pride winning over his apprehension. “Let’s go say hello.”

  Celeste’s grin widened, a spark of excitement flashing in her eyes. “That’s the spirit.”

  With a deep breath, Sorin straightened his shoulders and followed Celeste across the ballroom floor, weaving through the crowd toward the two men who held both their fates in their hands. As they approached, Sorin could feel the weight of the City Overlord’s gaze pressing down on him, heavy with expectation.

  This was going to be a long night.

  The moment Sorin and Celeste reached the City Overlord and Zane, the weight of the room seemed to shift. The City Overlord, clad in his commanding black-and-silver attire, turned his steely gaze toward Sorin, his presence a thundercloud in human form. Beside him, Zane Warbringer offered a small nod of acknowledgment to Sorin, his expression unreadable beneath his rugged exterior.

  “Father,” Celeste said sweetly, her voice a syrupy contrast to the tension Sorin felt in his chest. “I thought it was only proper to introduce you to Sorin, one of Warbringer Academy’s rising stars.”

  The City Overlord’s sharp silver eyes, so much like Celeste’s but far colder, moved to Sorin with calculated precision. “So,” he said in his deep, resonant voice, “this is the boy I’ve been hearing so much about. Zane’s direct disciple, very impressive.”

  Sorin fought to keep his expression steady under that piercing gaze. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Aldric,” he said, bowing his head respectfully.

  The City Overlord studied him for a moment longer before allowing the faintest curve of amusement to touch his lips. “A bold one, to be sure. And modest. Tell me, Sorin, how do you find your time at Warbringer Academy?”

  “Challenging but rewarding,” Sorin replied carefully. “I’ve learned much under Headmaster Zane’s guidance.”

  Zane gave a faint smirk, raising his glass slightly in acknowledgment. “He’s a fast learner. Hardheaded but resourceful,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “Though, I’ve warned him not to get too tangled up with Celeste here. She’s trouble.”

  Zane may have sounded and looked like he was saying this in jest, but his eyes bored into Sorin, communicating that he was in no way joking. He meant every word he said and was clearly not amused by Sorin disobeying him. Sorin felt a bit of shame but pushed it down. He could deal with his mentor’s displeasure and disapproval later.

  Celeste gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. “Trouble? Zane, you wound me. How could you say such a thing?”

  Zane chuckled dryly, covering his true message to Sorin with humor. “Because it’s true. You’re as cunning as your father, if not more so. Poor Sorin doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.”

  Aldric laughed at that, a low rumble that was equal parts amusement and menace. “Cunning is a virtue in our world, Zane. Though I suppose you are more one for bluntness rather than being conniving.”

  Sorin shifted uncomfortably under their banter, glancing at Celeste, who simply grinned, clearly enjoying every moment of the exchange.

  “She’s sharp, no denying that,” Zane said, taking a sip of his drink. “But Sorin needs to keep his focus on the competition and his training, not on… distractions.”

  “Distractions?” Celeste echoed, raising an eyebrow at Sorin. “Am I a distraction, Sorin?”

  Sorin hesitated, feeling the weight of all three pairs of eyes on him. “You’re... unforgettable,” he said diplomatically, earning a laugh from Celeste and a subtle smirk from her father.

  “You see?” Celeste said, turning back to her father and Zane. “He can handle himself just fine. Besides, Father, you always say strength isn’t just about power. It’s about wit and charm, too. And I find Sorin to have plenty of both.”

  Aldric hummed, his gaze still fixed on Sorin. “Charm, perhaps. Wit remains to be seen.”

  Sorin clenched his jaw but said nothing, refusing to rise to the bait. It seemed that Alric did not see anything special about Sorin.

  Zane sighed, shaking his head. “You’re playing with fire, Celeste. But if anyone can survive it, it’s this one.” He clapped Sorin on the shoulder, his grip firm and warning. “Keep your head about you, Sorin. You’ll need it.”

  Aldric’s expression grew solemn again as he looked at his daughter. “Don’t let your romantic interests and games interfere with what’s to come, Celeste. The tournament is about more than just entertainment. It determines our future alliances and strength as a city.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes, though there was a flicker of something serious in her gaze. “I know, Father. You’ve only reminded me a thousand times.”

  Satisfied with her answer, Aldric turned back to Sorin. “Good luck in the next stage of the competition. You’ve made quite a name for yourself already. Let’s see if you can live up to it.”

  “I intend to,” Sorin said firmly, meeting the City Overlord’s gaze with as much steel as he could muster.

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  With that, Aldric and Zane resumed their conversation, and Celeste took Sorin’s arm, leading him away from the two men. As they walked back into the crowd, she leaned closer, her voice soft and teasing.

  “Well done,” she said. “Most people crumble under my father’s scrutiny.”

  Sorin exhaled slowly, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Is that your way of saying I passed the test?”

  “For now,” Celeste said, her smile equal parts coy and dangerous. “But don’t get comfortable. There’s always another test.”

  Sorin barely had time to react as the group of young men and women swarmed up, their laughter loud and obnoxious as they surrounded Celeste like a pack of wolves around a prize. One particularly tall and broad-shouldered young man stepped between Sorin and Celeste, practically shoving him back with his chest. Sorin bristled, his eyes narrowing as he tried to maneuver around the wall of muscle blocking his path.

  “Excuse me,” Sorin said coldly, his tone cutting like a blade. “I was in the middle of a conversation.”

  The broad-shouldered man gave him a condescending smile. “Oh, my mistake,” he said, stepping to the side—but just as Sorin tried to move past him, the man’s elbow swung out, catching Sorin in the chest and shoving him back a step. “Clumsy me.”

  Sorin’s jaw tightened, but before he could say anything, another one of the group—a wiry young man with a smug grin plastered on his face—“accidentally” spilled his drink on Sorin. The cold liquid soaked into Sorin’s suit, and the man clicked his tongue, feigning concern.

  “Oh no,” the wiry man said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “How careless of me.”

  “Careless,” Sorin repeated flatly, his fists clenching.

  The wiry man leaned closer, his grin turning malicious as he whispered, “Aric sends his regards. And by the way, Celeste will never be interested in someone like you. You’re just a temporary distraction. A fancy. Nothing else.”

  That was it. Sorin’s patience snapped. Without a word, he drew back his fist and punched the wiry man square in the face. There was a satisfying crack as the man crumpled to the ground, clutching his nose and groaning. For a split second, the entire ballroom seemed to go quiet as everyone processed what had just happened.

  And then chaos erupted.

  The rest of the group turned on Sorin like an angry swarm, fists flying and curses ringing out. Sorin ducked under the first swing and managed to elbow one attacker in the ribs, but another grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him backward. Before Sorin could retaliate, there was a familiar battle cry from across the room.

  “Brothers together!” Tytus roared, charging into the fray like an unstoppable force of nature. He barreled into the group with a wild grin, sending two of them sprawling. “Don’t leave me out of this!”

  Diego followed close behind, more composed but no less determined. He ducked under a punch aimed at his face and countered with a solid jab to the stomach that left his opponent wheezing. He didn’t say a word as he joined the fray with no hesitation or questions.

  Jackson, meanwhile, stood frozen at the edge of the fight, his eyes wide with horror. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” he muttered under his breath. “Why does this always happen?! I just wanted a quiet night—”

  “Fight!” Torrid bellowed, grabbing Jackson by the back of his shirt and literally hurling him into the melee like a human projectile. Jackson screamed as he soared through the air, flailing wildly before crashing into one of the attackers and knocking them both to the ground.

  “WHY?!” Jackson shouted from the floor, his voice muffled as he tried to wrestle free. “YOU THREW ME?!”

  Torrid didn’t answer—he was too busy tackling two opponents at once, using his sheer size to overwhelm them. One managed to land a punch on his shoulder, but Torrid barely flinched. “Weak punch!” he declared, headbutting the man and sending him staggering back. “Torrid stronger! More fighting!”

  Meanwhile, Sorin was in the thick of it, trading blows with another member of the group. He ducked under a wild swing and countered with an uppercut, sending his opponent stumbling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tytus grappling with the broad-shouldered leader, both of them locked in a comically awkward shoving match as they tried to trip each other.

  Diego climbed onto a nearby table after downing his opponent and started yelling directions. “Sorin, on your left! Torrid, stop throwing people at Jackson—all it's doing is knocking him down again! Tytus, watch the elbows—no, the other elbows!”

  “Diego!” Jackson yelled from the floor, where he was trying to untangle himself from four men that had been thrown at him by Torrid. “Stop narrating and HELP ME!”

  The fight became a ridiculous whirlwind of limbs and chaos. Torrid lifted one opponent clean off the ground and tossed them into a potted plant, roaring with laughter. Tytus managed to knock his opponent into a dessert table, where they landed face-first in a towering cake. Diego was still shouting orders, despite the fact that no one was listening to him.

  The City Overlord's voice boomed across the hall, silencing the lingering murmurs of the crowd and stopping the mass brawlers in their tracks. His fury was palpable, radiating through the room like a physical force.

  “ENOUGH!” Aldric roared, his hand clenched around the hilt of his blade. His sharp gaze swept over the disheveled crowd, landing on every face of those who had participated in the fight. “You disgrace yourselves and the halls of my castle with this barbarism! This is a place of celebration and unity, not a battleground for petty rivalries and schoolyard brawls.”

  The room was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the combatants and the occasional shuffle of feet. Even the music had stopped, the musicians too afraid to pluck a single string. Sorin and his friends stood amidst the chaos, bruised and battered but unyielding, their gazes locked on the furious Overlord.

  Aldric’s glare sharpened as he pointed toward the group. “You and all others involved in this childish display are hereby banished from my halls for the evening. You will leave now, under the watchful eyes of my Enforcers. Consider this mercy, for if I had my way, you would not see the inside of my castle again.”

  The crowd parted as the Enforcers moved forward, ushering the guilty parties toward different exits. Sorin was a bit woozy from several blows to the head, but he still wondered why the Enforcers had not broken up the fight. The fight had gone on for a few minutes, and the Enforcers or The City Overlord could have broken it up within seconds.

  Sorin and his friends began their forced march out and Enforcers surrounded them, Tytus grumbling under his breath about wasted opportunities and Diego shaking his head in disappointment. Sorin glanced back once, catching sight of Celeste standing at the edge of the crowd.

  Her father’s fury didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest; instead, she wore a satisfied, almost gleeful smile. When her eyes met Sorin’s, they were gleaming with amusement and cunning. Sorin briefly thought to himself that maybe she had prevented the fight from being broken up immediately but was distracted when she mouthed two words at him: my room.

  Sorin felt a jolt of understanding, his exhaustion and frustration from the fight melting away. Despite the Overlord’s wrath, Celeste was clearly enjoying the chaos—and the fight had stirred something primal in him. He didn’t need to be told twice; he already knew where he was heading tonight.

  Once outside, the group was deposited unceremoniously on the castle’s grand steps. Tytus turned to Sorin, rubbing the back of his head and giving him an exasperated look. “So, uh… great job, fearless leader. Got us all kicked out of the biggest party in the city.”

  “I was this close,” Tytus continued, holding up two fingers, “to convincing that girl from Darkplight to dance with me, maybe more. She had huge breasts, Sorin. Massive! And you—” he gestured dramatically—“had to go and punch someone!”

  “Aric’s lackeys deserved it. You didn’t have to come to help me,” Sorin said unapologetically, though he smirked at Tytus’s theatrics. “And let’s be honest, you’re more about quantity than quality, anyway.”

  “Rude,” Tytus gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “And we did have to come to help you; we are brothers, after all.”

  Diego sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “What are we supposed to do now? Just go back to the dorms and sulk? This was the ball, Sorin. The highlight of the tournament. The highlight.”

  Jackson, his jacket still askew from being thrown into the fight, looked like he couldn’t be happier to leave. “Dorms sound fine. Maybe sleep. Maybe no more fights. You guys drag me into enough chaos already.”

  “Torrid enjoyed fight. Better than ball,” Torrid nodded sagely.

  “Of course, you enjoyed it, you big lug,” Jackson rolled his eyes.

  Sorin laughed, his grin splitting wide. “You all do what you want,” he said, brushing off his sleeves and smoothing out his shirt. “I’ve got a midnight tryst to get to.”

  The group erupted in laughter, even Diego managing a grin. “Of course you do,” Tytus said, clapping Sorin on the shoulder. “Go on then, lover boy. We’ll just try to survive this crushing disappointment without you.”

  Sorin tipped an imaginary hat to them before slipping away from his friends. He made his way down the steps of the castle and began to circle his way around the courtyard, surveying the castle for a new entry point that was unguarded. He stepped into the shadows cast by the towering structures of the castle. The laughter and music of the ball faded behind him as he activated the Shroud of Shadows. Darkness folded around him like a second skin, muffling his steps and cloaking his presence from the eyes of the lingering partygoers.

  Sorin continued to move until he saw a window that was open on the second story of the castle. He approached it and looked down at his hands. He spit on them and rubbed them together before grabbing ahold of the stone wall in front of him. He then began to scale the side of the castle until he managed to reach the open window. He slipped inside and found an empty sitting room that was dark and silent. He went to the door and opened it, slipping into the hallway.

  The halls of the castle were a labyrinth of opulence. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering light that danced over the intricately carved stonework and gilded moldings. Sorin moved silently, his movements calculated and precise. He avoided the groups of nobles and followers milling about in the corridors, their laughter and chatter giving away their position so Sorin could avoid them.

  As he turned a corner, his heart jolted—two Enforcers were patrolling the hallway ahead, their armor glinting in the torchlight. Sorin pressed himself into the deepest pocket of shadow he could find, his breath shallow as the Enforcers turned down another hallway. Their heavy boots echoed down the corridor. Sorin breathed a sigh of relief. The Enforcers would have easily sensed him or spotted him with their superior Rank if they had chosen to stay on their path that would have passed by his hiding spot.

  He finally reached the wing that contained Celeste’s room. The air was quieter here, the hum of the ball distant and muted. Her door was at the end of the hallway, a sturdy wooden frame with elegant carvings inlaid with silver accents. Sorin approached cautiously, his Shroud of Shadows still active, and reached for the handle. It didn’t budge. He frowned, trying again, but the door remained immovable. There was no visible lock or mechanism, just smooth wood beneath his fingertips.

  Sorin stepped back, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. An enchantment, he realized. The door must have been warded to only open for Celeste. Frustrated but determined, he melted back into the shadows near the wall and settled in to wait.

  Minutes turned to hours, and Sorin began to wonder if she would ever come. He shifted uncomfortably, his legs stiff from standing still for so long. Just as he was about to give up, he heard the soft echo of footsteps approaching. His heart quickened as Celeste came into view, her lithe form illuminated by the faint torchlight. She looked radiant, her gown swaying with each step, though her expression was one of mild confusion as she neared the door and glanced around, perhaps wondering why she did not see Sorin waiting for her.

  The second she stepped closer, Sorin released his Shroud of Shadows. The dark veil dissipated, and he appeared before her like a ghost emerging from the void. Celeste jumped, a startled gasp escaping her lips as her hand instinctively flew to her chest.

  "Vesperos’s shadows, Sorin!" she hissed, glaring at him. "Do you make it a habit of skulking around like a lurking predator?"

  Sorin smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "Only for you."

  Sorin’s frown deepened slightly as he crossed his arms. “You took your time,” he said, his tone only half-joking.

  Celeste raised a delicate brow and gave him a small, amused smirk. “Just because you got yourself kicked out of the party doesn’t mean I had to abandon my duties. I am the City Overlord’s daughter, after all. People expect my attention.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a practiced, graceful motion.

  Sorin grumbled something under his breath, clearly displeased, but Celeste merely tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Oh, don’t pout. It doesn’t suit you,” she teased before placing her hand on the door and murmuring a quiet incantation. The soft glow of magic illuminated the carvings for a brief moment before the door clicked open.

  Sorin followed her inside, his irritation fading the moment he crossed the threshold. Celeste shook out her hair as she stepped into the room, her inky-black locks cascading over her shoulders in a wave of dark shadow. The gesture was so casual, so effortless, yet Sorin found it captivating, his earlier frustration dissolving completely.

  Before he could second-guess himself, Sorin stepped forward, his boots silent on the plush carpet. Celeste turned, her eyes widening slightly as he reached for her. He spun her around with confident ease, his hands firm but not forceful, and caught her lips with his own in a bold kiss.

  Celeste responded instantly, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed herself against him. The kiss was electric, a mix of passion and playfulness, as if each of them were testing the other’s limits. Sorin’s hands slid down her back, tracing the curve of her waist as her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him breathe a soft, surprised groan against her lips.

  “You’re impatient tonight,” Celeste murmured when they finally broke apart for air, her voice low and teasing. Her lips were slightly swollen from the kiss, and her eyes gleamed with mischief. “Couldn’t wait another minute, could you?”

  “Not after waiting for hours,” Sorin shot back, his tone just as teasing. He leaned in again, brushing his lips over her jawline and down the column of her neck, feeling her shiver slightly under his touch.

  Celeste tilted her head back, giving him better access, her fingers sliding down his chest as they explored the firm lines of his body. “I suppose I can forgive you,” she said breathlessly, her voice carrying a hint of mock superiority. “If you make it worth my while.”

  Sorin chuckled low in his throat, his hands roaming her sides, feeling the soft fabric of her gown beneath his fingers. “Oh, I plan to,” he said, his voice a confident murmur. He pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers once more in a kiss that was slower this time, more deliberate, but no less intense.

  Celeste matched him move for move, her hands gliding down his back before slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to press against his bare skin. The heat of her touch sent a thrill through him, and he couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, his fingers tracing the elegant line of her spine.

  For a moment, the world outside her room ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, a tangled mix of passion and power, both vying for control in their own subtle ways. Celeste’s playful dominance clashed perfectly with Sorin’s newfound confidence, creating a spark that neither seemed eager to extinguish.

  When they finally pulled apart again, both breathing heavily, Celeste’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “You’re improving,” she said, her voice a soft purr. “Perhaps you’ll keep me entertained after all.”

  Sorin grinned, his confidence surging. “I’ll do more than that.”

  Sorin's hands lingered at Celeste’s waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress as their kiss deepened. Celeste leaned into him, her fingers weaving through his hair, tugging slightly, drawing a low growl from him. She pulled back just enough to smirk at him, her lips tantalizingly close to his.

  "You're getting bold," she teased, her voice low and teasing. "I thought you were supposed to be a disciplined warrior."

  Sorin tilted his head, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Discipline is for the training ground," he murmured, his voice rich with confidence. "This... this is entirely different."

  Her laugh was soft and melodic, but her eyes gleamed with fire. "Is that so?" she whispered, tracing her fingers lightly down the front of his shirt, her nails leaving faint trails that sent shivers through him. "You better show me, then, Sorin."

  Without hesitation, he pulled her closer, his hands now firmly planted at the small of her back, guiding her against him. Their lips met again with renewed intensity, and Sorin felt Celeste’s smile against his as her hands slid down his arms, teasing at his strength. She let out a breathless laugh when he suddenly lifted her by the waist, setting her on the edge of a nearby table, her dress pooling elegantly around her.

  "You're full of surprises," she purred, her legs brushing against his. She traced his jaw with her fingers, her touch both playful and commanding. "But don't think for a second that I’ll let you have all the control."

  "Wouldn't dream of it," Sorin replied smoothly, leaning in again, his breath brushing against her lips as his hands traced her sides. The teasing back-and-forth continued a game of wit and will as much as it was one of passion.

  “Let's take this to the next step,” Celeste said huskily as she reached down Sorin’s pant leg.

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” Sorin replied, reaching down and grabbing her waist.