But that wasn’t what had upset me—no, I was mourning the loss of the wonder I’d felt only moments before, the sense of magic that had followed me throughout this evening and filled me with such breathless, seductive longing for this strange world. I wanted it back. I didn’t want to think about all the things that could go wrong, all the dangers that lurked at the edges of my vision—I wanted that enchantment back.
If only for a night.
Our feet carried us past someone with a tray full of drinks. I didn’t know where they'd come from or where they were going, but I released Octavian just long enough to reach out and pluck a goblet from the tray.
Nectar.
This time, I felt only the slightest twinge of trepidation before I raised it to my lips. I was desperate to drown the fear, to reclaim the wild openness I’d felt before. I tipped my head back and drank the whole thing at once.
Octavian’s blue eyes had narrowed with concern. “Marigold…”
“Let’s dance.” I abandoned the empty goblet on the grass and pulled him back into the current of dancers, and he caught me by the waist once more and spun me around, even though he still looked at me like I was some sort of soft, sensitive thing who had to be protected from her own impulses.
So what if I make a few bad decisions now and then?I thought as he spun me around.I’m strong enough to deal with the consequences. And in the meantime, at least they’remydecisions. It’s better than sitting home alone in my apartment, being too afraid to live.
My head was starting to feel light and dizzy, but I was pretty sure that was more from all the spinning than from the alcohol. If itwerethe alcohol, I told myself, I would be tripping over my own feet. But Octavian and I were as graceful as before, our bodies perfectly in tune with each other as we twirled to the swelling strains of the strings.
He still looked like he wanted to say something, though, so I cut him off before he could.
“I don’t want to think about anything unpleasant tonight,” I told him. “I don’t care if you think it’s foolish, or careless—I just want to live in the magic for a little while. The rest of it—the curses, and Laitha, and the monsters, and Esmerine—can wait.”
I didn’t realize I’d said her name out loud until Octavian’s nose twitched—but there was no recognition in his eyes when he asked, “Who’s Esmerine? One of Talon’s crew?”
I had no answer for that question. So instead, I said, “Kiss me.”
His eyes widened at my forwardness, but I didn’t let that stop me. The hand I had resting on his shoulder moved to the back of his neck and tugged his face down to mine.
If he was surprised, his body hadn’t gotten the memo. The moment our lips touched, his mouth melted against mine with an urgency that suggested he’d been thinking about this all night. The hand he had on my waist slid around to my lower back, dragging me against him and clasping our bodies together, soft curves against hard muscles.
My lips parted, my tongue flicking out to find his, and he answered with a groan that I couldn’t hear over the music—but I couldfeelvibrate all the way down to my core. His fingers curled against my back, digging into me as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t control himself, wanted to drag me right into his body.
And then he lifted his head, pulling back. “Marigold—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him. We’d stopped moving, but the sea of dancers was parting around us, flowing past without missing a step. “I don’t care if you can’t give me your heart. It’s just a kiss, not a promise.” Tonight was just about holding on to the magic in front of me for as long as I could.
His hand came up, brushed a stray bit of hair away from my cheek. “I wish I could believe that you don’t care.” Even his touch felt like a kiss, the rough pads of his fingers moving across my skin with a tenderness that made my knees go weak.
“And I wish you’d take me at my word.” The Nectar was making me feel bold, so I added, “Even if you do break my heart, that doesn’t mean you’ll breakme.”
That was, apparently, the worst thing I could have said. He peeled his hands away from me, looking at me as if I’d somehow just confirmed all of his worst fears.
And I was back at the bath—naked and hurt and humiliated.
“It’s fine,” I said, taking a step back and nearly colliding with a couple as they twirled past. “I get it.” I took a deep breath, trying to hold in the mad rush of emotions trying to force its way up my throat. “I’m sorry for pressing the issue, and I promise I won’t ever try to kiss you again.”
I spun away from him before I could say anything else—with the buzz of the Nectar coursing through my veins, I would only make this even more humiliating for myself if I kept talking—and quickly slipped through the dancers.
“Marigold!”
He chased me, just like he’d chased me from the bath, but he was blocked by the dancers. It was far easier for me, being smaller, to slip between and around the couples and make it to the edge of the hilltop.
From there, I darted to the steps, then hurried down, my skirts floating out behind me. I felt a bit like Cinderella fleeing the ball—only in most of the stories Cinderella didn’t get rejected by the prince. And I was pretty sure she wasn’t tipsy, either.
Despite my very strong urge to put as much distance between myself and Octavian as possible, I was sober enough to realize that running off on my own in a strange world wasn’t the smartest choice, so when I reached the street below the Hill I made a beeline for a narrow alleyway between two butter-yellow buildings across the street. There, I was out of sight and out of the crowds but still had a good view of the steps so I could keep a lookout for anyone else I knew. Hopefully Ary. Or even Talon.
I slumped against the wall of the nearest building, equal parts embarrassed and ashamed and hurt and—well, too many things to count. Somehow, since crossing into Therador, I’d become the sort of girl who performed dramatic exits. But I needed the space tothink, and to process, and honestly, towallowa little bit, too. Back home, I never put myselfout there, and this—this twisty, vomit-y feeling—was exactly why.
It’s possible this isn’t even about you, I reminded myself, recalling Talon’s theory that Octavian might be punishing himself over Esmerine. But why would he be punishing himself for something he couldn’t even remember? I couldn’t decide whether I should be pissed at him, or pissed atmyself, or if—
