When he was at the door, she called out to him one last time.
“Arawn?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”
She did not smile.
“The gods gave us this night as a precious gift,” Izill said gently. “And... forgive me for speaking too plainly but...” A sad smile came across her face. “I think it’s high time you dance with someone whose heart isn’t tied to his.”
He nodded, then made the long march towards the training room, his heart beating strangely in his chest.
He felt as if he was headed for war...instead of the Absolution dance.
Perhaps war would have been better for him, because the moment Arawn Laroux laid eyes on Ezer, he was defeated.
Gods have mercyon my soul,he thought.
Because the moment he saw her...
He’d practically guzzled a goblet of winterwine down in one desperate sip. He hadn’t started drinking it until recent months...when it felt like a relief to have his mind melt.
When he remembered a voice that screamed Avane’s name, a wall of furious wind and a puddle of black blood on churned up snow.
He blinked...
And Ezer was a vision in all white and silver sparkles, her raven-black hair in ringlets that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall. So soft, he felt the urge to run his hands through the stands.
And the dress?
Oh, the damned dress. It had been spun just to torture him.
She’d been nearly covered up by the dancers, but as she stepped into a beam of torchlight, his eyes widened.
He glanced over his shoulder, daring another man to look upon her the same ashedid.
Because he could see every curve, every dip, every perfectly crafted part of her that had his thoughts spiraling right back to that night in the bathing chambers, the steam kissing every part of her bare skin like a promise.
It was an effort not to let his jaw drop.
And perhaps it was the winterwine already swimming through his system, but he felt that hunger from earlier return.
It was an appetite that would no longer be sated by hushed whispers through the speaking stone, by stolen glances in the Citadel’s halls. Not even by the press of her body against his, when they trained together in this very room each night.
Run,his mind whispered.Run, before you do something you’ll regret.
There was no room for a woman in his heart.
Not anymore.
He’d decided that, months ago on the battlefield, when his magic left him. And then, in the months after it, when he saw how much of his kingdom was decimated.
He would give all of himself to his crown, his mission.
He wouldneverfail again.
He wouldneverdeviate.
He was about to turn and leave, to rid himself of the pressure he felt in his veins—damn the winterwine, he’d made a colossal mistake, and hadn’t he learned from what the poison did to Kinlear? —when the crowd suddenly shifted again.
