We reached a hall.
The translucent ceiling revealed the ocean—dark water, drifting shadows, the faint shimmer of the distant surface. Long tables stretched along the sides of the chamber, laid with platters of roasted fish, bowls of crushed ice cradling shellfish, and pitchers of blue wine that nymphs poured into goblets. Rheya would be darting between the dishes already, sampling everything.
Gods, I missed her.
Every day in Sanguir was another day she was out there alone.
Music drifted through the air, thrumming from pipes. Naiads lounged in shallow pools. Courtiers mingled nearby, watching our entrance with wry grins, and Soren reclined on a chair made of coral.
Kairos wheeled me toward a table, his touch sliding to my back. “Breathe.”
“I’m trying.”
He pulled out a chair for me. As I sat, his hand lifted to my shoulder, then down my arm.
A female in a luxurious purple dress beamed at me. Beside her sat a haughty-looking male with massive, powdery-white wings. His robes were white silk with gold embroidery, and hair like burnished gold spilled down his neck. His face was beautiful and cold, and his gaze didn't waver from Kairos.
Kairos leaned in. “That’s the Lunir queen, Taressa. And the asshole next to her is Lysander, the king of Caelir.”
“The one who sent the assassin?” I hissed.
“Mm.”
Lysander spoke to a courtier at his side, head tilted like he was listening. But his pale eyes never left Kairos. He laughed softly, nodded, even touched the courtier's arm. All while watching Kairos like a hawk tracking wounded prey.
My skin prickled. “I don’t like the way he’s staring at you.”
“He wants me dead,” Kairos grunted.
My heart clenched. “Why?”
“We have a history,” Kairos muttered. “The assassin was his latest attempt at being petty. He’ll smile at me tonight, make pleasant conversation, and the moment he sees an opening, he’ll try again.”
Lysander’s wings shifted, and the scars on Kairos’s back—those parallel slashes where wings should have been—flashed in my head. Questions burned on my tongue, but now wasn’t the time.
I swallowed hard. “Then why is he still breathing?”
Kairos’s mouth twitched. “Because killing him would start a war.”
“That hasn’t stopped you before.”
He leaned over, his eyes glittering. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like you want blood.”
Heat crept up my neck.Right. The role.
I softened my expression, leaning into his side as I wrapped my arm around his. “I don't like anyone who wants to hurt you. Is that so terrible?”
His gaze dipped to my neckline, and a slow smile curved his lips.
Slowly, his hand settled on my thigh. I stopped breathing. His palm was warm and heavy. He didn’t grip me, just palmed my naked skin like he'd done it many times.
His fingers drifted inward, brushing my inner thigh, and my body clenched. I couldn't breathe. His thumb stroked slow circles as his other hand lifted, curving around the back of my neck.
Then his mouth sealed over mine. Hot and demanding. His lips slanted against mine, swallowing my gasp, and heat flooded my veins like wildfire. His hand tightened on my nape, angling me deeper, and I grabbed his arm just to stay upright.
His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and when I opened for him, he licked into my mouth. The room disappeared. The music, the watching courts, the weight of Lysander's stare—all of it dissolved into the taste of him, the heat of him, the way his fingers slowly inched higher.
When he finally pulled back, I was panting.
