The quiet that followed their intimate moment was almost comical in contrast to the firestorm of passion that had just consumed them.
River sat back on the carriage bench, hastily smoothing down her dress, her face a vivid shade of crimson. She was quiet—too quiet. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her eyes cast downward, fixed on some invisible spot on the floor, as if it held the answers to all her turmoil.
Heiko, relaxed now and leaning back across from her with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, watched her with quiet amusement. But when the silence stretched and she still refused to look at him, the amusement shifted into something else—concern.
“River,” he said, voice low but firm. “Look at me.”
She hesitated. Her hands tightened around the fabric of her skirt, but her head sl
