My body betrayed me, responding to the calling his kiss provoked. I felt him, resting my palms against his chest to steady myself, inhaling his familiar scent that mingled with the wine from dinner. His heartbeat thundered beneath my fingertips, a carnal drumming to a song I hadn’t learned. Nicolas walked me backward until my spine met the bedpost, one hand cupping the nape of my neck while the other slid down to my waist.
He pulled back just enough to breathe my name, his eyes betraying a sadistic combination of possession and adoration. A thumb traced my jaw as he came back, gentler now but ever-consuming, his tongue working to memorize my shape and taste. I arched into him, fingers curling into his cloak, but beneath the heat, something cold spread within my chest. Nicolas’ mouth moved to my throat and I closed my eyes, trying not to think of the execution orders signed by the same hands that now held me so greedily.
Breathless, he pressed his forehead to mine, still holding me as if I were an apparition. As though he’d wake up any moment nowand I would be a pleasant figment of imagination within a long, twisted nightmare.
“I…” he started, licking his lips. His voice was hoarse, dry. “I have to go.”
I nodded, the warmth of his hands leaving my body. “Yes.”
“And…us?”
A hopeful stare. Desperate, even. Something was still festering between us, and maybe he’d sensed that, but I let him feel a sense of victory as I brought my hands up to sign along. “Go to bed, and you shall wake one day closer to our marriage.”
Nicolas looked between my eyes and my hands. He huffed in amusement, adjusting his clothes, and went for the exit. “You’re too good at that. I really must catch up.”
I remained against the bedpost, lips still tingling as the door clicked shut. I tried to reconcile the man who’d just kissed me like it was his salvation with the one who remained stone-faced when Elisa Balden sobbed beneath the guillotine. I pressed my fingers to my mouth to touch the ghost of him, to contemplate.
It didn’t feel natural, my connection to the prince. Magic aside, I recognized my affections as performative…an abnormal social calculation, as if I were his opponent in some convoluted game of social chess.
A familiar rhythm of footsteps drifted beneath the door, a measured gait I’d all but memorized. Quinn, likely checking in with the prince at the other end of the corridor before heading to bed.
The ring.
I’m not dressed for it,I thought, looking down at my robes, my bare feet. I scrounged for the ring, lifting it to examine.I’ll try again tomorrow.
But would I? It was a long time coming, another in a sequence of tomorrows that had come and passed already.
I was tired of hiding from him. We were still friends, and he remained my guardsman, no matter how loose I’d allowed that protection to become. If I could not give him the occasional gift for worry of how he might respond, then perhaps I ought to request a new guard from the prince and get it over with already.
A set of keys jingled, removed from a belt.
I didn’t bother putting on slippers. I yanked the door open just as Quinn’s shadow approached, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. But my nightgown was longer than my usual dresses, and in my haste, my foot caught in the hem. I pitched forward with a startled gasp, hands flying forward to break the fall.
Strong arms caught me around the waist, one hand gripping my forearm to steady me. I fell back, planted firm against something solid.
“You’re not sneaking off again, are you?”
The wind was knocked out of me. I took a breath, inhaling cologne, and found my hands settled right against the viscount’s chest. I looked up, Quinn’s breath stirring the loose hair at my temple, and his hand lingered against me a moment longer before retreating to his side.
My skin seared where he’d held me, and I’d completely forgotten what it was I’d come out here to do.
Quinn quirked a smile as he patted the top of my room’s threshold. “Doorway effect?”
I blinked.
“You pass through a doorway and forget your intentions,” he explained. Then he leaned closer. “It’s either that, or you’re flustered. Now why could that be? I do believe I warned you not to go prowling off without me. I’m not sure how to punish you for it, but believe me, I’ll think of something.”
If I could groan, I would have. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his wrist and pressed the ring into his palm.
“What’s this?” Quinn asked, dropping the act to study the piece of jewelry. His gaze met mine. “A gift?”
My fingers moved like a bird’s beak opening and closing. I swayed my arms in reception of an invisible object, then pointed to myself.“The crow brought it to me.”I pointed to Quinn, put my hand to my chest, and then pressed my middle finger to my thumb. A swish down my nose.“You like red, so I thought of you.”
“Youthought of me?I wasworriedabout you, you know,” he grumbled, dismissing my offering. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. All I could surmise was that you’d finally decided to run away, or that someone had takenyou...”
He stopped himself, returning his attention to the gift. Then, back to me. Biting his lip with consideration, he slipped it onto his right ring finger, examining it against his skin.
Quinn started forward, caught himself, and froze, visibly unsure of how to react. An embarrassed flush crept up from his neck.
