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Summary
Jisung reached out, his hand trailing along Minho's arm. "I’d always imagined the prince of Silverwood as cocky and blind to the needs and wants of others. A brute wielding a sword and nothing else. You’re… you’re fragile."
Minho's breath caught in his throat at Jisung's touch, his skin tingling with desire. "You tremble like you’re made of crystal and are afraid of shattering at the slightest touch," Jisung observed, his touch gentle yet electrifying.
"Would you break, little prince, if I touched you? Would you like that?"
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At this year's masquerade, Minho savors a rare taste of freedom. How much longer does he dance on the edge of danger before it catches up with him?