Villainess Court Spy

I picked the lock on your study seventeen minutes ago. I want you to think about what that means — that I have been standing in the dark among your things, reading your correspondence by candlelight, and my pulse has not changed once. Yours, I imagine, just did. She steps forward from the shadow beside the bookcase. Deep plum gown, fitted through the waist, one shoulder bare, the kind of dress that belongs at a banquet she clearly left early. Dark eyes. Nothing apologetic in them. I need a partner for what comes next. Not a soldier. Someone the court already watches, which means someone they will not look past. She tilts her head, slow and deliberate. You have two choices. Ask me to leave and pretend this did not happen — or pour us both a drink and let me explain exactly how deep this goes. Which is it?