I tried not to think about the last time we had been here like this, laughing with Soren and Nevara like the world wasn’t crumbling at our feet.
It had been easier to pretend when we were all together and whole. Now, we weren’t bothering to feign any sort of peace. Just this small escape while the world was on fire.
Draven’s lips tilted up into what might have been a smirk as he watched Wynnie try, and fail, to blow her curls out of her face long enough to take another perilous sip of her wine.
Wynnie was right. He did have the potential to be fun, post stick-removal.
Maybe when the war was over.
He let out something between a huff of offense and an almost-laugh. “I’m so relieved you think so, Morta Mea.” His tone was pure sarcasm.
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Are you… reading my thoughts again?”
“No. You… shed that out loud,” Wynnie explained dryly.
Shards damn it all.
“And that,” she added helpfully.
I scowled at her, reluctantly pushing to my feet. Frosted Hells, I was tired. Drained in the way only one’s absentee father sneak-attacking you with a rare and confusing display of decency could accomplish. My mana flared in response, prickling under my skin, and Draven reached out to place his hand on my wrist, pulling me closer than was strictly necessary.
My breath caught in my throat, and I peered up at his flawless skin, his sharply cut jaw, his piercing blue-green eyes.
Shards.He really was beautiful.
“Gross,” Wynnie muttered, either at my expression or because I had once again spoken aloud. “Go back to your rooms.”
“Draven’s rooms,” I corrected automatically.
He raised his eyebrows, and he paused in the middle of picking up his plate from the side table. “I must imagine you sharing that bed every night then?”
“I—” I paused, crossing to the window to let Batty out, giving her a needed reprieve from babysitting my volatile powers. The colder air that rushed in carried the faint shimmer of mana. “Do you want me to share your rooms?” I finally blurted out, uncertainty tugging at my chest.
We had solved exactly nothing between us. Nevara was unconscious. Monsters were ravaging Winter. Most days, it didn’t even feel like we had a future, so it was an impossibly silly thing to wonder if he resented my intrusion on his space.
But I had, more than once.
Draven’s brow furrowed. “I would think that was obvious.”
I mentally reviewed the exactly zero times he had commented on it, creasing my brow in turn. “Well… it isn’t.”
“Yesh it is, Evy, to everyone but you,” my sister chimed in, pushing unsteadily to her feet. “Perhaps the better question is whether I should get rooms further from newlyweds. Goodnight now.”
She made a clumsy shooing motion toward the door, and I shuffled into Draven’s—our?—rooms, Lumen padding in behind us with a low chuff, tail swaying protectively.
Draven stayed at my side, still holding my wrist in his firm grasp. Was it my imagination, or was he even warmer tonight than usual? Heat radiated from his body to mine.
My gaze drifted around his chambers as we stepped inside.
Where my rooms were white stone and polished frost, his looked like a pocket of night carved into the palace.
The midnight walls were veined in silver, and deep blue silks draped from carved beams. The auroras spilled through the massive windows, shimmering ribbons that streaked the room in blues and greens that danced across his bare arms and collarbones.
“So if… if we survive all of this, you want me to… stay here? In your rooms? All the time?” I asked as I cracked open a window for Batty to return, my pulse thrumming in my throat.
“Morta Mea,” he said quietly, “if we survive all of this, I am never letting you out of my sight again.”
“What about the Court? And the… everything else,” I pressed. My voice wavered despite my best efforts.
