“Everything.” The word came out breathless. Hungry. “Make me forget everything.”
We spun through the crowd. Other dancers parted for us, the king and his strange bride, the center of every whispered conversation.
All I cared about was the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the way his hand rested on the small of my back like he was claiming me.
Like I was his.
Maybe I was. For tonight, at least. For as long as the petal lasted.
The song ended. Another began. We didn’t stop.
“You’re trembling,” he said against my hair.
“I’m excited.”
“You’re shaking.”
His hand slid up my back, rested against my racing pulse. “Your heart is beating frantically. What happened in the last ten minutes to change you so completely?”
I looked up at him. Met his gaze.
“Take me somewhere private,” I said. “Please.”
OLWEN
He didn’t hesitate.
One moment we were on the dance floor, surrounded by watching eyes and whispered gossip, the music swelling around us.
The next, his hand was locked around my wrist, pulling me through the crowd past the long tables laden with untouched food, past the clusters of curious shifters who fell silent as we passed.
We exited through a door half-hidden behind a carved pillar, and the noise of the great hall faded behind us.
The corridor beyond was dark and disused, with no torches or candles to break the gloom. Shadows pooled in the corners and the distant flicker of light from somewhere deeper in the castle.
He turned left. Right. Left again. I lost track of where we were going, lost track of everything except the iron grip of his fingers around my wrist and the heat of his body moving ahead of me through the darkness.
An alcove opened in the wall.
He pulled me into it.
Stone walls pressed close on three sides, rough-hewn and cold against my fingertips. The air was stale, thick with dust and the metallic scent of old iron.
A single torch burned in a sconce above our heads, its flame small and guttering, casting dancing shadows across the sharp planes of his face.
The space was barely large enough for both of us, perhaps an arrow slit widened into a lovers’ nook or an abandoned guard post.
He pushed me against the wall, the stone cold against my back, even though the heavy fabric and the petal’s artificial warmth.
But his body against my front was heat. Pure, overwhelming heat.
His chest crushed mine, his thighs bracketing my hips, his hands braced on the wall on either side of my head.
He caged me, claiming me.
“You were cold ice this morning.” His voice was low. Rough.
He leaned close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath touching my skin, a damp, living warmth that made my own coldness feel absolute.
