“Right.” He shakes his head, his smile slipping away. It’s almost as if he’s disappointed. He straightens his posture and takes my hand in his. Then, like a perfect gentleman, he bends down and presses his lips to the back of my hand. My insides clench during the split-second the kiss lasts. It’s no less fleeting than the one I placed on his cheek, and yet it feels similarly as brave, bold, and intimate. Without another word, he releases my hand and turns away to hurry down the hall. It reminds me of how he tumbled off my balcony after the opera. That night, I was certain he despised me for my dangerous song, but today he confessed he’d been embarrassed. He never did fully explain why that was. And if he’s embarrassed now, is it because he felt like he had to return my kiss? Or is it something else?
I continue to stare after the prince while I gather my composure. Once my breathing has managed to settle, I force a neutral expression and turn to face my stepsisters. That’s when I see Imogen’s stony glare. I purse my lips to keep my smug grin at a minimum.
Kissing the prince’s cheek may have been stupid. It may have been brash. But if it puts Imogen back in her place, then I’ll deem the kiss had been worth it.
That’s what made it worth it?the wild side of me taunts.Not the kiss he delivered in exchange? Not the way my mouth still tingles or how my hand buzzes where his lips were? How my stomach flipped and my heart fluttered like a swarm of butterflies?
No, I think back to the voice.Of course not.
Of. Course. Not.
Lifting my chin, I brush past my stepsisters and march into my room with my head held high.
* * *
FRANCO
As soon as I turn the corner away from Em’s room, I stop and lean against the wall. Thank the All of All there’s no one else in the hall right now, otherwise someone would see me like this. Catching my breath. Acting like a fool.
I bring my hand to my cheek, brushing the place that’s still warm from her lips. My entire being seized up in that moment when she kissed me, sending a ripple of surprise so bright I thought it would knock me off my feet. Warmth unfurled inside me, like how it did when I heard her hummed tune. It spread down my arms and legs, heightening my internal sensations. The light seemed to grow brighter. Sounds became louder.
It’s been like this all week, ever since the night of the opera.
Where normally my own feelings are dulled compared to what I sense from others, this week they’ve become so strong, it’s hard for me to sense anyone else’s energy. Or, more accurately, Em’s energy. Because this has only been happening around her. When she smiles. When she teases. When her lips touch my cheek…
For the love of the night, what’s wrong with me?
I thought avoiding her would help me get my mind straight, sort out how to act around her. But every time I saw her this week, I found myself acting stupid and awkward, just like when I was young. Before I learned to keep others at a distance with charm and humor. Keep them from seeing the real me. From worrying about me. From pitying me.
Then today, when we talked, something shifted again. I managed to break through my own awkwardness and told her things I’ve never told a lover, much less someone I’m only pretending to court. Only those I’m closest to know what happened during that first human social season. Very few know the truth about my reputation. And yet, I told her all about it and she neither judged nor pitied me. I thought it was pity at first, but it was more like…empathy I tasted from her. When she shared her insights about me, gave me a taste of how the humans see my current actions…it was startling. Humbling. Refreshing.
She shared things about herself too, placing new threads in the tapestry that is her mysterious identity. The more I learn about her, the more I see of her. Not with my eyes, but with my senses. That blend of citrus, rose, and wind that makes up her deepest energetic signature, the one I first glimpsed when she hummed. There’s so much more about her that I don’t know, but she’s beginning to become clear in a way I never expected.
I push off from the wall and rub my cheek again, recalling the moment she stood on her toes to reach me. For the briefest moment, I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought, but I thought wrong.
What was that for?
For our audience.
It’s exactly what I asked her to do. Pretend with me.
I relive the stiff response I gave to her hand. That part had been forced, something I figured was the proper reaction our audience would expect. But as my lips brushed her skin, all I wanted to do was linger a little longer, hold her fingertips a little firmer, maybe pull her a little closer…
That hadn’t felt much like pretend at all.
33
EMBER
Ican’t help but notice the way Imogen continues to watch me for the rest of the day. Even when she’s embroiled in gossip with Clara, her eyes continue to flash toward me. Assessing. Calculating. The kiss was meant to disarm her, but I’m starting to wonder if I haven’t given her fuel against me instead. The thought sends a storm wind through my veins. She can try to steal Franco’s attention. After our conversation at the lake, I’m even more convinced he’d never fall for her schemes.
Day turns to evening, and I send my stepsisters to collect my dinner trays. They move toward the door to do my bidding, but Imogen stops before she reaches it. Turning to face me with a poorly veiled sneer, she says, “Odd how you always take dinner alone.”
I cut a glance at her from across the room. “How is that odd?”
She gives an innocent shrug. “It’s just strange that the prince never invites you to dine with him.”
“His Highness never invites anyone to dine with him.” I’m only assuming that’s true. I can’t imagine him hosting lavish dinner parties when it was such a feat to get him to talk with one or two strangers at a time.
