“Not really.” He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “If anything, it makes us look more convincing. Because if wewereactually together...” His voice drops to something darker as he steps closer, erasing the space I put between us. “…I’d be saying all sorts of things I wouldn't want anyone else to hear. Things that would have you biting your lip, things that would make you beg me not to stop.” He lingers for a second, I swallow hard. Then, as easy as anything, he steps back, voice smooth, like he didn’t just set a match to my bloodstream. “But we’re not real. SoI’m not saying any of that.” The fucking crooked smirk returns. “Unless you want me to?”
I turn away, fast—eyes searching for anything else, anywhere that isn’t him. Change the subject, focus, he’s just trying to get under my skin.Prick. My gaze lands on the bench, where his towel was, a leather-bound journal sits, dark and worn. I turn and reach for it.
“What’s this?” He doesn’t answer, so I flick it open like I’ve got every right, and to my surprise, he doesn't stop me.
The first few pages are rough sketches—charcoal lines, quick and clean. Faces. Mostly girls. All different, but all… intimate. Caught in quiet moments, I pause on one. Scar over her right brow, dark braid, heavy stare. Beth—drawn from a distance, sitting in the courtyard, face half-turned, caught mid-laugh.
“Not sure you want to keep looking,” he warns from behind me.
“Why?” I ask, tone flat, slightly mocking. “You embarrassed?”
“Nope. Just figure you'll get flustered eventually.”
Ignoring him, I keep flipping through. Page after page, more faces, more girls. Then, as I turn the next page, my grip tightens. Beth again, stunning as ever, beautifully drawn—but this time she's naked. Detailed. Precise. Every curve of her body mapped out like he memorised it.
Jealousy punches up, hot and unwelcome. And god, it’ssofucking stupid. I flip the page harder than I mean to. Behind me, Talen watches. I feel it, the weight of his eyes dragging over every little tell.
“She posed for that one,” he notes unbothered.
My mouth twists. “Figures.”
I flick past Beth. And past her again, and again. God, how many angles does one girl need?
“So…” I try and keep my voice neutral. “You and Beth?”
Talen shifts to lean against the bench beside me, arms crossed, still shirtless, still too damn composed.
“Her parents have been trying to arrange a match for years. They want the alliance, status, bloodlines, all that.” He lifts one shoulder, lazy. “We tried it out, had some fun last year. But that’s it.”
I arch a brow. “Fun?”
“We both got what we wanted. Enough to know it won't work. She’s not my type. Beautiful, sure. But she’s...thornyin all the wrong ways.”
My eyes stay locked on the sketchbook, another woman—bare, stretched across the paper in a pose that leaves nothing to the imagination. Not Beth. Still drop dead gorgeous, still detailed enough that my throat tightens.
Around me, the Rec Hall’s packed but no one’s looking, still it doesn’t stop the heat rising up my neck. Talen doesn’t seem to care. He stands next to me, steady as stone, arms folded, like I’m skimming notes from a field report. Not looking at tits and cheekbones.
But then something shifts, on the next page I turn is a landscape, drawn in brutal, aching detail. Jagged mountains rise, snow-dusted and sharp, bleeding into the glass-still surface of a lake so precise it looks like it’s alive. At the edge stands a girl—small, alone, hair whipped by wind, her back to the world, hands loose at her sides.
I pause.This one isn't like the others, no flirtation lines, no seduction. Just silence, longing. It’s... sad, something in my chest goes tight.
“What is this place?”
Talen shifts beside me, quiet. Not grinning now. “Just somewhere I dream about.”
“And the girl?”
“Just another girl.”
I look down at the page again. The cold light, the stillness. “You’re good at this,” I admit before I can stop myself. “Really good.”
Talen doesn’t smirk or gloat. Just watches me. My fingers pause on the edge of the next page, his eyes flick down to them, then back to mine like he’s about to say something. And then?—
Whack.
Strannt slaps him hard across the back, all sweaty palm and smug timing and the bubble of silence around us pops. Noise from the hall rushes in—footsteps, laughter, shouted dares from the sparring mats.
“Showing Bloom your little doodles, are we Veirmont?” Strannt grins like he thinks he’s clever. “So sweet. Nice to see the two of you are still together.”
