We tore apart like we’d been struck.
I stumbled back a step, breathless, lips tingling, heart thundering in my chest. Varyth didn’t look away from me. But his body tensed, his jaw locked as though barely containing a growl of frustration.
Slowly, we turned.
Darian stood with his arms crossed, a shit-eating grin tugging at his mouth, the very picture of smug satisfaction. His eyes danced with laughter, and I had absolutely no doubt that he was the one who’d cleared his throat. Beside him, Shaelith looked as though she was strongly considering requesting a court transfer. Possibly to another realm. Possibly into a volcano.
Fenric and Lincatheron were both doing their best impressions of stone statues. Their expressions were the kind of blank that only came from people who’d seen everything and were desperately pretending they hadn’t.
Cindrissian hadn’t even blinked. He looked vaguely bored, as though catching the High Lord with his tongue down someone’s throat was a regular inconvenience. Which, to be fair, was quickly becoming true.
I took a step back, straightening my dress with what little dignity I could salvage, trying not to visibly combust.
Varyth hadn’t looked away from me, even as the group observed the very public collapse of our willpower.
“You’re early.” His fingers twitched at his sides.
“Actually,” Darian drawled, his grin widening impossibly, “I believe we’re right on time.” His russet eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked between us. “Though I can’t say I blame you, Varyth. After all, that dress is?—”
Varyth’s head snapped toward him, a sound tearing from his throat that didn’t belong in any court. A low, rumbling snarl, feral and cold and ancient. It rolled through the space like thunder promising a storm, a predator’s warning that needed no translation.
Darian’s grin vanished. Wiped clean in an instant.
“Finish that sentence,” Varyth said, his voice deadly quiet, “and I’ll rip your tongue from your throat.”
Darian’s jaw snapped shut and he actually took a step back. “Easy,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Just a joke.”
The temperature dropped. Mist stirred around Varyth’s boots. His jaw clenched once, then again, and the cords in his neck shifted as he forced a breath through his nose.
Shaelith angled herself half a step between Varyth and Darian.
“Varyth,” I said quietly.
“Anyone who speaks of her that way answers to me.” He growled, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I stepped closer to him, placing my hand against his chest. The thrum of his heart beneath my palm was almost violent. “Varyth,” I said again, calm despite the heat lingering in my veins. “It’s just a dress.”
His nostrils flared as he looked down at me. “It’s not just a dress. It’s you in it. And no one gets to comment on how you look. Not in my presence.”
I pressed my fingers more firmly against him, a silent plea for restraint. “Breathe,” I whispered, just for him. “This isn’t the time.”
Something in my tone must have reached him. The High Lord’s shoulders rolled back, his spine going rigid as he reined himself in inch by inch. Varyth’s hand found mine, his touch both protective and reassuring.
Darian cleared his throat again, this time much less theatrical. “Right,” he muttered. “Noted.”
I swallowed hard, still tasting him on my lips, my pulse a mess.
Varyth’s arm slipped around my waist in a movement so smooth it might’ve looked effortless, if it hadn’t been for the way his fingers tightened.
The intensity of the moment lingered in the air like smoke. As Varyth’s hand tensed around me, my gut twisted with feeling I couldn’t quite place.
But before I could dwell on it, he tugged me flush against his side. “We should go.”
A tingle of magic danced across my skin, and the world blurred around us. When it snapped back into focus, we stood outside a tower, its looming spire a stark silhouette against the pale morning sky. The stone beneath our feet thrummed with ancient magic, a low, constant pulse that resonated through the soles of my shoes.
Varyth didn’t hesitate, leading me inside with purposeful strides. The heavy wooden doors swung open at our approach, revealing a vast circular chamber bathed in an ethereal, silvery light. Gossamer curtains drifted lazily through the air.
Nyxaria’s delegation weren’t here yet, so we moved to settle into the room.
