Struggling to focus, Ravin found it almost impossible to keep his eyes on the High Priestess. Her form seemed too elusive, almost as if his gaze were sliding off an intangible mist. Even though she cradled him in her arms, he could barely discern her features.
It was a stark contrast to their recent escapade, a night when they had roamed the castle's corridors under a sensual spell. They had indulged in an array of earthly and mystical pleasures, finally collapsing in each other's arms, physically exhausted yet spiritually unquenched. During that fateful embrace, he'd pressed his face into the softness of her bosom, while she'd whispered his name intertwined with the incantations of a binding spell.
Never had Ravin questioned her uncanny knowledge of him—how she'd known his name, the contours of his heart, even the depths of his soul. He'd always attributed it to her dark, seductive magic, linked to forbidden spells from the Goddess Hecate herself.
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