He reaches for me and lights a hand on my shoulder. I seize up, fearing he might try to kiss me. The thought alone has the tingling in my lips intensifying. He doesn’t seem to notice my icy response and begins rubbing his hand up and down my arm. “I’m not mad, Pearl. I’m…I’m happy for you. If that’s really what you want.” His words are gentle, but his expression suggests he might not fully mean them. There is something like hurt in his eyes. Or jealousy?
“Thank you for understanding,” I say, keeping my tone formal. “I never meant to lead you on or anything, and this competition…” I hazard a glance at the bar, but it’s too fleeting to tell whether Dorian is looking or if he’s even still there. I take a deep breath and deliver a version of the truth, one that will tell him one thing but mean another to me. “This competition provides me an opportunity to have something I desperately want more than anything in the world.”
Martin’s hand goes still on my arm and tightens a mere fraction. “Something you want more than anything in the world.”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
He releases me with a resigned nod. “All right. I can respect that.”
“Thank you. Now, I…I really should go…” The words dry on my lips as I grow aware of a presence beside us. I don’t need to look to know it’shim. I can sense him. Or perhaps it’s that familiar salt I smelled on his skin this morning.
“Maisie?” Dorian says. “What are you doing here?”
I do my best to look surprised as I turn to face him. The strange sight of him dressed down to his shirtsleeves is enough to trap the words in my throat while I try to compose myself. “Brother Dorian, what a pleasant—”
“Are you following me?” His expression is hard, eyes narrowed with suspicion. It’s such a contrast to the playful smirk I saw on his lips when he caught me under the lyra. The shift is so irritating it sets my teeth on edge, heating my veins with fire.
My mouth falls open with indignation—something that isn’t hard for me to feign in this moment. “Areyoufollowingme?”
Martin rounds on Dorian. “Wait, you’re following her?”
Dorian and I both ignore him as we hold each other’s stare. He opens his mouth but I speak first. “I shouldn’t have to be trapped in the church all week. It’s cruel.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Why didyoucome here?”
“I was here first.”
I cross my arms. “How do you know?” When he doesn’t answer, I add, “Why are you so upset I’m here? Are you afraid you’ll be caught doing something you shouldn’t be?”
“I came for a drink.”
“So did...” I try to say I did too, but it’s too much of a lie for me to believe. Switching my words around, I say, “I’m getting a drink as well. Martin, will you get me one?”
His expression brightens. “Anything in particular—”
“Something strong.”
“You got it,” he says and affectionately squeezes my arm. I clench my jaw to keep from recoiling at his touch.
My eyes remain on Dorian’s, rage boiling my blood. He may be right about me following him, and perhaps I’m just a tad belligerent about getting caught. But mostly I’m aggravated that he has the nerve to act so self-righteous about it.
He takes a step closer. “If you’re trying to get close to me, thinking it will help you win, you’re wrong, temptress.”
If I was angry before, now I’m a vicious sea in a storm. “How dare you insinuate such a thing! I’ve lived in Lumenas for a year, you know. If anyone has a claim on the city’s best establishments, it’s me.”
He scoffs. “This is one of the city’s best establishments?”
“It’s good enough for me. And apparently you too.”
“I’ve been here five days in a row and I’ve never once seen you here.”
“Oh, so now you own the place?”
He rolls his eyes, dark mirth playing over his lips. “I just find it hard to believe that out of all the places you could have gone, you’d come here, to the same place I’ve been going every night to escape—” His words falter.
Was he going to say the church? He couldn’t feel negatively about Saint Lazaro, for his dinnertime talk was that of a zealot. Perhaps he was going to say pageant. I imagine it must be tiresome pretending towanta fae bride.
