Bcksheep sat at his desk, his breath coming faster than it should. *Damn it.* He adjusted himself, trying to ease the unbearable tightness in his trousers. Thomas. *God, that body.* Young, strong, built like a statue. And those eyes—earnest, sincere, with that na?ve faith that made Bcksheep want to ruin him.

  He looked up at the rge magic mirror mounted near the door. "Dolly. My office. Now."

  The gss cleared instantly, showing her sitting at her desk just outside the door. She gnced up at her own mirror, arching a brow.

  "On my way, sir."

  A moment ter, the handle turned. Dolly walked in, closing the heavy oak door behind her. She was dressed exactly as he paid her to be—curves in all the right pces, a tool for business. Right now, he needed a different kind of utility.

  She looked him over, reading his tension instantly. "Rough interview?"

  "He's perfect," Bcksheep said, leaning back in his chair. "Strong. Gorgeous. And that innocent act..." He trailed off, the arousal pulsing through him. "I need to get this out of my system."

  Dolly walked closer, stopping in front of the desk. "I can see that."

  Bcksheep didn't ask. He just gave her a look.

  Dolly's voice was matter-of-fact. "Do you want my mouth or ass?"

  "Mouth," he said.

  Faster. Easier.

  Dolly moved around the desk, dropping to her knees without ceremony. She was efficient, practiced, freeing him with quick hands. Bcksheep closed his eyes, tilting his head back as she went to work.

  He let his mind drift immediately to Thomas. He pictured the new hire's broad shoulders filling out that cheap shirt, the way the fabric had strained across his chest. He imagined those thick arms, the strength in them. *He said he's blessed. Religious boy.* Bcksheep wondered if that mouth had ever been used, if those earnest eyes had ever darkened with lust.

  He focused on the fantasy—Thomas on his knees in this very spot, looking up with that same naive devotion, but for a very different reason. The image in his mind was so vivid he could almost feel the difference in the weight of a calloused hand, the scratch of stubble against his thighs.

  The release hit him hard, his body shuddering as he spent himself. He kept his eyes shut, riding the high of the fantasy until the very st second.

  When he opened his eyes, Dolly was standing again, swallowing and smoothing her skirt. She looked down at him, waiting.

  Bcksheep tucked himself away, the frustration ebbing into a cold, sharp crity. Business.

  "I'm hiring him," he said, his voice steady. "Thomas. Run the background check, but I know it's clean. He's got the look."

  "Contract?"

  "Yes. Standard benefits. But pay him well,"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "He’s off limits," he said firmly. "Don’t flirt with him. Keep it strictly professional. I don't want him uncomfortable."

  "Understood," Dolly said, unreadable.

  She turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind her. Bcksheep sat alone in the quiet office, the buzz fading. He wanted Thomas. He wanted to corrupt that sincere faith and see what y underneath. But he wouldn't. He’d be the perfect employer. Thomas would never know that Bcksheep was imagining him on his knees every time he looked at him.

  ---

  The pace was quiet in the way it only got after midnight, when the servants had finished their final rounds and the guards had settled into their posts. Jasmine stood before her mirror, slowly unpinning her hair.

  Addin wouldn't be back for three days. Maybe four, depending on how the consultations went.

  She thought about him as she worked through the eborate braids—standing in some dusty provincial hall right now, probably, listening to wizards and engineers expin their proposals for solving the drought. The kingdom needed water. The wells were running low, the crops struggling. They'd put out a call for anyone with magical or engineering expertise who could help.

  Addin took it seriously. He always did. That's what made him a good sultan, even if the council still sometimes looked at the street rat who'd married into royalty and barely hid their skepticism.

  *One of the applicants is supposed to be particurly impressive,* he'd told her before he left. *A water mage named Marta. The reports say she can do things with water that shouldn't be possible.*

  Jasmine hoped she was real and not just another chartan. They'd seen enough of those.

  She set the st pin aside and shook her hair loose, running her fingers through it. In the mirror, she caught sight of the bed behind her—fresh silk sheets, pillows arranged just so. The servants knew her preferences by now. Knew what it meant when she asked them to prepare her private chambers this way.

  Addin knew too. They'd had the conversation years ago, after enough meaningful looks and careful distance that they'd both realized something needed to be said.

  *I love you,* she'd told him. *But I also want—*

  *I know,* he'd said, and he'd smiled with that crooked grin that had first made her fall for him. *I'm not enough on my own. That's okay. I'm not insulted.*

  *You're everything,* she'd insisted. *This is just—*

  *Different,* he'd finished. *I understand. I do.* Then he'd kissed her forehead. *Just... be discreet. And be safe. And maybe don't tell me details I don't need to know.*

  It had worked. For five years now, it had worked.

  Jasmine moved to her vanity and selected a small crystal bottle—amber gss with a silver stopper. The perfume inside was something special, imported from the eastern provinces. Jasmine oil, ironically. She dabbed it at her wrists, her throat, behind her ears.

  Her hands were steady, but her pulse was quick.

  She thought about Roslyn Red at the party several nights ago. The way the mercenary had looked at her—surprised, uncertain, wanting. The way her breath had caught when Jasmine asked if she could kiss her.

  *I haven't been with anyone, actually.*

  The admission had been startling. A woman like that—beautiful, competent, clearly comfortable in her own skin—and she'd never...

  Jasmine had wanted to kiss her even more after that. Wanted to be the one to show her what it could be like.

  But Roslyn had left the next morning with her crew, off to their next job. And Jasmine had other interests to attend to.

  She stood and untied her robe, checking her reflection one st time. Beneath the silk, she wore nothing. She'd bathed earlier, oiled her skin until it gleamed in the mplight. She pulled the robe closed again and tied the sash loosely.

  The knock came right on time.

  Three soft taps, hesitant.

  "Come in," Jasmine called.

  The door opened slowly, and Seraphine stepped inside.

  She was a faun—delicate curved horns rising from her temples, a tail that she kept carefully still when she was nervous. Her legs ended in small hooves that clicked softly against the marble floor. But from the waist up, she was all graceful curves and smooth skin, honey-colored and warm. She worked in the pace gardens, tending the more exotic pnts that required careful attention.

  Jasmine had noticed her months ago. The way she moved among the flowers, gentle and patient. The way she'd looked up once when Jasmine was walking the garden paths, and their eyes had met, and something had passed between them.

  The way she'd flushed—the color rising beautifully across her cheeks and down her throat—when Jasmine had stopped to ask her about the roses.

  Last week, Jasmine had sent a private message. An invitation. Not a command—never that. Just an offer, if Seraphine was interested.

  Apparently, she was.

  "Sultana," Seraphine said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wore a simple dress in soft green, modest and clean, and her hands twisted together nervously. Her tail flicked once, betraying her anxiety.

  "Jasmine," she corrected gently. "Just Jasmine. Not here."

  Seraphine nodded, but didn't move from the doorway.

  Jasmine smiled and crossed to her, closing the distance. "You don't have to be nervous."

  "I've never—" Seraphine swallowed, her dark eyes wide. "I've never been with anyone like you before."

  "Like me?"

  "Royalty." Seraphine's eyes darted to Jasmine's face, then away. "A woman."

  "Ah." Jasmine reached out and took one of Seraphine's hands, stilling the anxious movement. Her fingers were warm, slightly calloused from garden work. "Then we have that in common. I've never been with you before either."

  That startled a small ugh out of Seraphine, and some of the tension left her shoulders. Her tail rexed, swaying slightly.

  "Better?" Jasmine asked.

  "A little."

  Jasmine stepped closer, bringing them nearly chest to chest. She could feel Seraphine's breath quicken. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. If you want to leave, you can leave. No consequences, no anger. I promise."

  "I don't want to leave," Seraphine said quickly. "I just—I don't know what to do."

  "Then let me show you."

  Jasmine cupped Seraphine's face with both hands, careful of her horns, and leaned in, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.

  She didn't.

  The kiss was soft at first, tentative. Seraphine made a small sound in the back of her throat—surprise or pleasure or both—and then her hands came up to rest on Jasmine's waist, light and uncertain.

  Jasmine deepened the kiss slowly, coaxing rather than demanding, until Seraphine rexed into it, until her grip tightened and she kissed back with more confidence.

  When they finally broke apart, Seraphine was breathing hard, her eyes dark and unfocused.

  "Oh," she whispered.

  Jasmine smiled and took her hand, drawing her toward the bed. "Come here."

  Seraphine followed, her hooves clicking softly against the floor, then muffled as they reached the thick carpet beside the bed.

  Jasmine turned to face her, reaching for the ties at the shoulders of Seraphine's dress. "May I?"

  Seraphine nodded, not trusting her voice.

  Jasmine worked the fastenings slowly, deliberately. The dress was simple—meant to be practical for working in the gardens—but there was still care in how she undid each tie, each button. The fabric parted and slipped down Seraphine's shoulders.

  Seraphine shivered, though the room wasn't cold.

  "You're beautiful," Jasmine murmured, and meant it. She eased the dress down further, over Seraphine's breasts, her waist, her hips. The faun wore simple undergarments beneath, and Jasmine removed those too, taking her time, making sure Seraphine felt seen. Wanted.

  When Seraphine stood naked before her—skin flushed, breathing quick, tail swishing nervously—Jasmine stepped back just enough to let her see that she was looking. Appreciating.

  "Your turn," Seraphine said, her voice barely audible.

  Jasmine smiled and untied the sash at her waist. The robe fell open, then slipped from her shoulders to pool at her feet.

  Seraphine's breath caught. Her eyes went wide, traveling over Jasmine's body with something close to awe.

  "You're..." She trailed off, seemingly unable to find words.

  "So are you," Jasmine said softly.

  She took Seraphine's hand again and drew her down onto the bed. The silk was cool against their skin, a pleasant contrast to the warmth building between them.

  Seraphine y back against the pillows, and Jasmine stretched out beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body.

  "I've thought about this," Seraphine admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "About you. For months."

  "I know," Jasmine said. "I've thought about it too."

  She leaned in to kiss her again—slower this time, deeper. Her hand traced patterns along Seraphine's side, her hip, her thigh. Learning the shape of her. Feeling her respond.

  Seraphine's hands found Jasmine's hair, her back, pulling her closer with growing confidence.

  Jasmine thought briefly of Addin in his provincial hall, listening to proposals about water and drought and magic. She hoped Marta the water mage was everything the reports cimed. They needed solutions. The kingdom needed hope.

  But right now, in this moment, Jasmine let herself focus on something else entirely.

  On the woman beside her, nervous and wanting and beautiful.

  I asked On the way Seraphine gasped when Jasmine kissed her throat, her colrbone, lower.

  On the warmth of skin and silk and mplight, and the hours stretching ahead of them until dawn.

  Jasmine shifted her weight, moving over Seraphine, settling between her legs. The faun's tail caressed Jasmine's back, an unconscious gesture of intimacy that made Jasmine smile against her skin.

  "Tell me what you want," Jasmine whispered.

  "You," Seraphine breathed. "Just you."

  And Jasmine gave her exactly that, taking her time, showing her pleasure in all the ways she knew how, until Seraphine was trembling beneath her, crying out softly, gripping the silk sheets like they were the only solid thing in the world.

  Later—much ter—they y tangled together, Seraphine's head on Jasmine's shoulder, both of them catching their breath.

  "Stay," Jasmine murmured. "Until morning, if you want."

  "I do," Seraphine said, and pressed a kiss to Jasmine's shoulder.