He finally found her in the ballroom.
She stood at the far side, silhouetted against the frosted window—small and solitary amid the cold grandeur of the empty space. Her dark gown hugged her torso before flaring out at her waist, layers of floating chiffon surrounding her like shadows. Her loose hair cascaded down her bare back, its deep burgundy and violet a spot of color in the cold lifelessness of the room.
“Not exactly what I expected to find in your dreams,” Loren said, his voice carrying across the empty floor as he strode toward her.
Araya turned sharply, her silver eyes widening. But the flicker of emotion vanished almost as quickly as it came, her polished mask snapping back into place.
"Loren,” she said without warmth. She studied him, her brow furrowing slightly. "What are you wearing?"
Loren glanced down, taking in the deep green silk and elegant cut of his jacket, both too familiar and completely alien all at the same time. A white sash stretched across his chest, and Loren didn’t need to look closely to know it bore his family crest. He’d worn variations of this outfit to every formal event he had ever attended as crown prince.
“It’s your dream,” he muttered. “You tell me.”
“My dream—” understanding dawned across her face as she gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth, “My tea.”
Loren frowned. “Tea?”
“For dreamless sleep.” She crossed her arms, glaring at him like it washisfault they were here.
Loren reeled back, indignation flaring hot in his gut. She’d beendruggingherself just to avoid him? Part of him admired her for finding a way to keep him out, carving a boundary between them that he hadn’t even known was possible. But another part of him—a selfish part—raged at the idea. It wanted to reach for her. To pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair. It didn’t care that she was safer without him.
But she’d given her name to Jaxon. Not him.
So Loren shoved that part down, swallowing back his ire until he was able to force his voice into something neutral. “Where are we?”
Araya’s gaze flicked around the ballroom, as though seeing it properly for the first time. "This…we’re at Garrick’s house. For his birthday. We stayed here, so I didn’t have my tea…” she trailed off, watching him warily.
“Garrick’s birthday,” Loren repeated, the words settling bitter on his tongue. He swept his gaze around the grand room, taking in the opulence with new eyes. He laughed, soft and bitter. “They really have taken everything, haven’t they?”
The Garrick he’d known had lived in one of the hastily built neighborhoods meant to house the ever-growing human population. Cramped rows of identical, flimsy homes, built for function, not comfort.
But this? This wasn’t the home of a man merely surviving. These were the spoils of a war that had taken everything from Loren—and handed Garrick everything he’d ever wanted.
Araya opened her mouth, but Loren plunged on before she could speak. “And I suppose bywe, you mean Jaxon.” Loren’s lip curled, his voice dripping with venom. “Are you sleeping next to him in a feather bed right now?”
Araya stiffened, her pale skin flushing, anger staining her cheeks as red as her hair.
“He’s my bond,” she said, her voice cutting. “So yes, I sleep beside himeverynight. And I won’t apologize to you for it.”
Loren scoffed. “And what, exactly, has Jaxon ever done to earn that kind of loyalty?”
Araya’s silver eyes flashed, her fury dark and unrelenting. “What has he done?” she repeated, disbelief tightening her voice. “You mean besides saving my life? Besides being the only one who saw me—whobelievedin me?”
Loren opened his mouth, but she talked over him, her voice rising. “Do you think the Arcanum wanted me? Do you think they looked at the little halfblood orphan and thoughtyes, let’s change the rules forher?”
She laughed in his face, shaking her head. “If Jaxon hadn’t stuck his neck out to sponsor me, I’d be rotting in the slums with the other breeding-age females.”
“And you think he did that for you?” Loren demanded, his bitterness twisting his voice into something cruel. “Jaxon didn’t see you as worth saving—he saw you as worthowning. And one day, when it serves him, he’ll remind you of that.” Loren held her gaze, green meeting silver. “I only hope he doesn’t break you when he does.”
“Hate him all you want, Loren.” She shook her head, turning away from him. “Gods know, he deserves it. But Jaxon would never hurt me.”
She believed it. Goddess help him, she believed—truly believed—that she was safe with Jaxon Shaw. Loren’s jaw tightened, the anger in him threatening to boil over. But what good did his anger do her? What hadheever done to protect her?
Not nearly as much as Jaxon Shaw had.
The thought sat unpleasantly in his mind, ugly and undeniable. She’d had to survive without him, carve out a place for herself in a world that would have happily destroyed her. And it wasn’t over—she would have to keep surviving, while he rotted in his cell for the next two hundred years, doing nothing to help her.
Loren sighed deeply. How could he judge her for what she did to keep herself safe?
