Sweet, fucking Solyrian.That dress.
After the sunset on the mountain, he’dknownshe would be with him today. Instead of finding his bed that night, he’d scribbled a note and shaken a poor messenger awake, urging him to leave for Kohamaia immediately.
Vann’s response to the feverish letter had not disappointed.
Brand only asked him for fabric and, in a fit of madness, had waxed poetic about the Sorcerit he’d just met. About her manner and beauty, the way she’d made him feel. About everything—including her normal garb, apparently.
Vann had drawn his own lines and conclusions, taking it a step further by bringing him a finished gown. It was more than excellent tailoring holding the garment to the perfection of her body, framing her mating marks exactly and fitting her like a second skin—it was magic.
She was temptation incarnate, and he was hanging on by a thread.
Brand didn’t care that she’d run because he understood it all too well. He’d do anything for her. That she would return the sentiment, even in her backwards way, meant something to him.
Fuck, it was all he could do not to drag her to some shadowy corner and make love to her right there.
Vann rose and chucked his leftover stump of rolled herbs to the ground, offering Nyri a hand. The girl turned a stunning shade of pink, rebellion sharp in her eyes, but she took it—declaring she would definitely be stepping on his toes on purpose, just to teach him a lesson. The table roared their laughter in response.
This was the time of the feasts and festivals Brand dreaded most. When the meal was winding down, but there were hours yet of celebrations he was required to attend. He’d gotten away with it this year, bound to more serious duties because of all the shite, but he would have no such reprieve tonight.
Children were being gently laid to sleep beside one another in makeshift beds near the bonfires around the perimeter. Musicians were chatting as they took up their instruments, readying to lure the adult revelers with their own kind of magic.
Hedda gripped Faldir’s arm and pointed across the way. Brand followed the gesture and found another set of twins onthe other side of it—Fae visitors, by the look of them—and his commanders were scrambling up before he could blink.
Thad’s head snapped up to track a Demon strutting by, the warrior’s eyes trailing behind him and giving his cousinthe look.
He already had his legs over the bench, chasing after the male, when Mag called after him, teasing. “A strapping lad tonight, is it?”
Thad turned, walking backwards and grinning. “The night is young, cousin. Who’s to say?” he hollered, arms wide as he disappeared into the crowd.
Brand swallowed, trying to accept that this was the start of it. When the night devolved into something more raw. More basic. Something that had ever eluded him.
Because every celebration always ended the same—with music anddancing.
It was the embarrassment for him. A sense of feeling slightly off kilter, too stiff to pull it off. He had an image to uphold as their Imperial Son, and sullying it with his inability to make his limbs work in that way was something he absolutely tried to avoid.
Knowing Luna, how well her body moved… He’d be watching his mate with pleasure, letting temptation sink deeper and deeper, fueling him until he snapped and claimed the rest of her evening for himself.
Magnus chuckled and pushed himself up from the table. “I think I saw Amun and Lyriat escaping up the high road a while ago. I might go and see what shite they’re getting up to, maybe have a chat with Caius, before I find my own strapping mischief this evening.” He lifted his tankard and downed the rest of his ale before slamming it back to the table.
Luna sat forward. “If you’re going up to the castle, would you mind checking on Fern?”
“Of course,” he answered. “Anything in particular I should look for?”
She shook her head. “I would just feel better knowing someone laid eyes on her again today.”
“Your wish is my command, witchling,” He sketched an exaggerated bow, flourishing his arms. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, aye?”
With that and a wink, he left, Luna’s shouted thanks following after him.
“Why do I have a feeling there’s almost nothing Magnus wouldn’t do?”
“Because there isn’t,” Brand said, laughing.
Luna giggled as she stood and rounded the end of their table, facing out towards the dance floor when she settled in beside him. His hand was instantly drawn to her chin, his thumb brushing the new mark on her lip. Fuck Occurrences and parties. He wanted to get her in front of a mirror, show her before Solyrian rose again tomorrow and erased them for another fifty years.
“Luna—”
“Would you like to dance, Brand?” she breathed at the same time.
