Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “You’re gorgeous too,” she whispers, making my cheeks heat.
Then she kisses me again, and this time there’s more heat to it. Her fingers slide up into my hair, loosening my topknot, and I groan against her mouth as her nails scrape lightly against my scalp. My hands drift down either side of her waist to rest on her hips, and for a moment, I wonder if I could tear this dress off her, if I could take her right here.
Then I remind myself that we’re in the castle and two armored knights are standing on the other side of that door. That realization tempers me, just slightly.
When we finally break apart, Poppy’s brown cheeks are flushed, and we’re both breathing hard.
“We should...” She pauses, biting her lip. “We should probably get back to the ball. Before someone wonders where we are.”
“One more kiss?” I ask, my hands still resting on her hips, thumbs brushing along the silken fabric. “Then we’ll go.”
“Just one?”
“Well, maybe two.”
“Three,” she counters, her eyes sparkling.
“Deal.”
I kiss her once, twice, three times, each one slower and sweeter than the last. And when I finally, reluctantly step back, I take her hand in mine and lace our fingers together.
“Ready?” I ask.
She looks at our joined hands, then up at me, and the smile she gives me is worth every terrible moment of the last week, even if I wish I could erase all that pain from her memory. I’d bear it all if I could.
“Ready.”
Hand in hand, we walk toward the doors of the solarium, then back down the hallway to the ballroom, back to the music and the dancing and the beginning of something new—a second chance after everything we almost lost.
Chapter 55
Poppy
WHEN WE STEP BACK INTO the ballroom, still holding hands, I feel different, lighter, like something that’s been coiled tight in my chest has finally loosened.
The music washes over us—a sweeping waltz played by the orchestra arranged on the raised platform—and the memory mist still swirls through the air, catching candlelight and moonlight as it drifts around the guests. Students dance and laugh and drink, and the whole scene feels like something out of a storybook.
I’m amazed that Professor Silvermoon and I were able to pull this off.
Maeve spots us from across the ballroom. She’s standing near one of the refreshment tables, sipping from a wineglass, and when her eyes land on our joined hands, a slow smile spreads across her face. She raises her glass in a silent toast, and I can’t help but smile back, leaning slightly into Aric so I can feel his warmth against my bare arm.
“Dance with me?” Aric says, tugging gently on my hand, trying to coax me onto the dance floor as the orchestra finishes their song and prepares for the next one.
I look up at him, at the hopeful expression on his face, and my stomach does a nervous flip. “I’ve never been good at formal dancing. I don’t really know how to—”
“I’ll lead you,” he says, then flashes me a tusk-filled smile. “Trust me?”
His hazel eyes meet mine, and my trepidation falls away.
Of course I trust him.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He tightens his fingers around mine, then leads me onto the dance floor.
Other couples move around us, some leaving while others take to the floor for the next dance, and I’m suddenly very aware of how many people are here, how many curious eyes turn our way.
Aric’s hand settles on my waist, warm and sure, and his other hand clasps mine. He pulls me close, and I tip my head back to look into his eyes. When the music begins, he starts to move.
