His gaze swept over me, taking in details I couldn’t see, the flush in my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes, the way my chest was rising and falling with real breath now instead of the shallow pantomime I usually performed.
“You’ve changed,” he said.
“Have I?”
“Your cheeks are pink. Your eyes are bright.”
He reached out, touched my bare arm. His fingers were warm, or maybe I was finally warm enough to feel them properly.
“You’re flushed. Almost feverish.”
“It’s hot in here. All these bodies, the fire…”
“It’s freezing. The hall is always cold. The servants complain about it constantly.”
I laughed.
The sound came out too loud, too sharp, too wild, the laugh of a woman leaning out over the precipice, daring gravity to do its worst.
The petal was surging in my blood, screaming at me to move, to dance, to run, to do anything except stand still.
“Then I must be burning from the inside out.”
I grabbed his hand. His fingers were long, strong, calloused in places that spoke of sword work. “Dance with me, husband.”
I pulled him toward the center of the hall before he could respond.
The crowd unsurprisingly parted for us. He was their king, and I was the strange human bride everyone was whispering about. Let them whisper. Let them watch.
The petal was burning through me, and I didn’t care about their gossip, their suspicion, their sharp raven eyes.
The musicians sat on a raised platform at the far end of the hall, strings and drums and a strange instrument that looked like a harp made of bones.
They played a haunting melody, mournful and lovely, a waltz for the dead.
I pulled him onto the floor. Pressed my body against his, my flushed cheek against the fine wool of his coat.
His arm wrapped around my waist. The heat of him was overwhelming. On the ride to the castle it had been agony, but here, with the music pounding, it felt like power. It felt like fuel.
Intoxicating.
I moved closer.
We began to move. Slow circles at first, finding the rhythm. His hand rested against the small of my back, warm even through the velvet, and I could feel each of his fingers like brands against my spine.
Every point of contact was sensation. Every touch was life.
I wanted more.
I leaned in. Stole his warmth through the fabric of his coat, through the velvet of my gown. The petal was screaming at me to take more, feel more, be more.
I was a starving thing at a banquet, and he was the only dish that could satisfy.
“Dance with me,” I said again, though we were already dancing. “Make me spin until I’m dizzy. Make me forget.”
I stopped. I’d almost said too much.
His arm tightened around my waist. “Forget what?”
