Because I can’t stop wondering what might’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up. If the song had stretched just one verse longer.
If I’d kissed her.
If she’d kissed me back.
Tamsin findsme near the edge of the courtyard, two fizzy green drinks in hand. She shoves one toward me and mutters, “You’re gonna need this.”
I barely manage to grip it before I see why.
Auron’s cutting through the crowd like he owns it. All poise and polished charm, like every spotlight knows how to find him.
He stops in front of Lindsay, and she turns to face him. Even from this far, I see the way they look at each other.
Her dress looks like it was stitched out of secrets and spun shadow. And him, with his stupid perfect posture and that molten-gold confidence of a Bloodborn radiating off him as though he actually does own the whole world.
Together, they look like they belong. A queen and her matching king.
And God, it hurts.
“She’s just being polite,” Tamsin says, low and fierce. “She would rather dance with you. This is just…courtesy.”
But I can’t tear my eyes away. Not as Auron bows—actually bows—and holds out a hand like he knows she’ll take it.
She hesitates. Only for a second. But then she does.
Slips her fingers into his like they were always meant to fit.
My chest tightens.
“They look…” I don’t finish the thought. Can’t.
Tamsin does it for me. “Yeah. Regal. Disgusting, right? And all wrong.”
He twirls her onto the floor, and the courtyard parts for them like a page in a storybook. Magic flickers along the stone, catching the thread in her dress, and she glows. Not literally, but—she glows.
And he looks at her like she’s what he's always wanted made flesh.
“They don’t belong together,” Tamsin adds quickly. “He looks at her like she’s his ticket to a throne. You look at her like she’s home.”
My fingers tighten around the drink I haven’t touched. I can’t look away.
Because even if she’s only dancing with him out of obligation—just a promise she’s keeping…
It doesn’t stop how badly I want to be the one still holding her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
LINDSAY
Auron’s handrests lightly against my waist, his other clasping mine as we move across the open dance floor. He’s confident. Every step precise. Every turn smooth. Like he’s done this a thousand times and never doubted he’d lead.
I let him. Let the music carry us to the middle of the grass clearing the dance floor makes up.
Let the gathered crowd pretend we’re carved from the same marble. Regal. Impossibly matched. As if just days ago they all weren't whispering behind their hands about me or sneering down their noses at me because I'm not like them, because I'm human. Or I thought I was.
But the longer I dance, the heavier I feel.
His fingers tighten just slightly when I glance away—toward the edge of the courtyard. Toward Nolan. I'd rather be dancing with him.
