Talking to Kenna about Rhyan, about escaping, about anything not related to dresses and parties had been taken off the table. But Imperator Hart had never forbidden me from this line of questioning.
“The Senator from Hartavia,” I hissed in Kenna’s ear.
Her brown eyes widened, searching the room. “Where?” she asked.
I shook my head. The music changed and we released each other’s arms, turning to link hands, our circular walk moving counterclockwise now. “No. I don’t know what he looks like. Is he here?”
Her brows furrowed, but her walk slowed, her free hand going to her belly as if in preparation for anyone asking her why she wasn’t dancing harder. Quietly she scannedthe room, her eyes searching through the different couples across the dance floor.
At last, she gave me a satisfied shake of her head, relief clear in her relaxed expression. “No. No sign of him.”
I exhaled sharply. “Good.” Because if he was here …
The notes changed again, returning to the song’s start signaling it was time to remake the laurels. This time the circles were mixed and my hand was seized by Kane. He pulled me into the smaller dance when it came again, while Kenna had found a noble woman I thought I’d seen with her a few times before.
When the song ended, the instruments slowed and Kane dragged me against him.
Bile rose in my throat, but I was suddenly dancing close to him, our bodies pressed together, his hand sliding down the curve of my ass. I leaned into the touch, unable to stop myself, even as tears burned behind my eyes. Even as across the room Rhyan’s face paled. If I tried to pull away, my stomach hurt, my blood heated.
Soon, the formal dancing ended, and the Hartavian Arkturion pulled Kane aside for some drinks. The night had disintegrated into something more casual, something I used to see at the clubs in the city, when Jules and I would sneak out. It made my heart pang, missing her, wishing I could simply be in the moment, enjoy the music and the dancing. Things I used to love. And I wasn’t the only one affected by the festivities. The soturi on guard even seemed to relax, some lowering their weapons, or abandoning their posts as the wine, mead and beer flowed freely.
As I looked around, I realized there was no sign of Imperator Hart. No sign of Kenna. And no nahashim. Dario was even distracted, momentarily talking to a mage he’d danced with earlier. Meera was dancing, still rather formally, with Aiden. And Rhyan? He was dancing with Amalthea.
I saw my opening. I rushed from the room down to a spare hall, my chest heaving. I didn’t care if I was punished. I didn’t care if disobeying the Imperator’s commands caused me physical pain. My stomach lurched the second I stepped foot outside, there was a sharp sting shooting through my guts, and out to my arms. But I couldn’t take another second back there—couldn’t stand to see Rhyan with someone else. Couldn’t stand to feel my own skin knowing it had been touched by Kane’s disgusting hands all night. Finally, the emotional and psychological pain of it all hurt worse than Imperator Hart’s commands.
Footsteps sounded down the hall, coming closer and closer. I ran without thinking, dashing behind a corner, desperately trying to control my breathing, to silence my emotions, and pull back my aura. The person kept coming, walking faster. From the echo of their gait, I knew they were wearing soturion boots. Probably Dario, realizing I’d left. But I wasn’t ready to face him, to face anyone. I needed a moment to be alone, to fall apart. To breathe. I turned around, moving deeper into the corner I’d found, leaning against the wall.
Then all at once, pine and musk filled my senses.
“Lyr? I saw you run out. You okay?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, my stomach twisting. “You shouldn’t be here. Your father—”
“You think I fucking care? Tell me. What’s wrong?”
I turned, coming face to face with Rhyan. And despite all of my orders, despite the pain reverberating inside of me, I didn’t think. I stepped forward, wrapping him in my arms.
He made a muffled noise of surprise, his body still. I pressed my fingers into his back, feeling the sturdy muscles, savoring the feel of this part of him I’d been denied. My hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. We were both still, just breathing, just holding each other after being denied doing so for weeks.
And then, without warning, something was unleashed. With a growl low in his throat, his hips pressed against mine, pushing me back into the wall. He hardened against me. A gasp escaped my lips. My chest began to heave, my breaths coming short. After so much deprivation, being unable to talk to him, to look at him, to feel him like this, all of him against me, it was almost too much.
Too dangerous.
His father was down the hall. Arkturion Kane. Lady Amalthea.
Rhyan cupped the nape of my neck, as his other hand slid down my back. It was such an innocent touch, and still I moaned, wanting to cry at how starved and untouched I’d been by him. His eyes flashed, desperate, and filled with hunger. His hand moved even lower, squeezing my waist, and hip, until his palm settled against my ass, pulling me closer, lifting me toward him.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.” He rolled his hips, pushing against me. “But I can’t stop.”
I was already seeking out his length, trying to pull him closer even as my stomach twisted, even as I cried out, “We have to. We have to stop.”
Rhyan hissed through his teeth practically panting. But he stilled at once, his neck red. “Did Kane do anything to you?”
I closed my eyes, squeezing his arms, trying to pull him closer. “Nothing you didn’t see. I just—” I winced. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get away. Just for a minute.”
“Partner,” he breathed against my neck, his voice shaking with emotion.
