She doesn't know. Doesn't care.
The realization settles somewhere deep, and I find myself pulling her closer without thinking. Her hand tightens on my shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and when I slide my palm lower on her back, she doesn't protest. Just melts into the touch like she's been starving for it.
"Lorenth," she repeats, testing the syllables. "It's a strong name."
"It's an old name." I spin her again, slower this time, savoring the way her skirt fans out around her legs before she comes back to me. "My father's. His father's before that. All the way back to when House Varyon was just a collection of farmers pretending to be noble."
She laughs, soft and genuine. "I like farmers. They're honest."
"Then you'd hate my family." The words come out too bitter, and I watch her expression shift—concern, maybe, or curiosity. "We're merchants now. Bakeries and markets. Not exactly the glorious legacy my ancestors dreamed of."
"Bakeries sound nice." Her voice is quiet, but there's sincerity in it that catches me off guard. "Better than swords and bloodshed, anyway."
I study her face, searching for sarcasm or pity, but find neither. She means it. Actually believes that selling bread is better than conquest. The thought is so foreign to everything I was raised to value that I don't know how to respond.
So I don't. I just keep moving with her, letting the music fill the silence while I try to figure out what the hell is happening to me.
The incense grows thicker, wrapping around us like a physical thing. It smells different now—sweeter, richer, with notes of jasmine and something darker underneath. Arousal magic, probably. The Nashai love weaving that into their festivals, pushing people together with spelled smoke and enchanted wine.
But I don't think it's the magic making my pulse race. Don't think it's the incense making me hyperaware of every place our bodies touch, every breath she takes that brushes against my chest.
It's her. Just her.
Senna tilts her head, studying me with those storm-gray eyes that see too much. "You dance well for someone who seems to be against it."
It's not a question. More like an observation stated as fact, and the accuracy of it makes something twist in my chest.
"Forced lessons," I admit, because lying feels wrong when she's looking at me like that. "My sister always thought we should act according to our status." Despite having no one to raise us. "Part of the reason she brought me here tonight to at least try."
"Try what?"
"Finding what everyone else is here for." I gesture vaguely at the couples around us, some already peeling away toward the darker edges of the square. Toward private alcoves and rented rooms. "Soulbonds and destiny and all that romantic shit the Nashai preach."
Her lips curve, but it's not quite a smile. More like understanding tinged with something sad. "You don't believe in it."
"I believe in what I can control." The words come out harder than I mean them, edged with years of disappointment and loss. "Everything else is just chaos pretending to have meaning."
She's quiet for a moment, and I think maybe I've gone too far. Revealed too much of the darkness I usually keep locked down tight. But then she squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and sure, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle.
"Maybe chaos is the point."
I stare at her, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. By the way she says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like accepting the randomness of existence is easier than fighting it.
Maybe it is. Maybe I've been doing this all wrong.
The music swells, and I pull her closer without thinking. Her body fits against mine perfectly, every curve aligning with the hard planes of my frame like we've done this a thousand times before. Her head barely reaches my shoulder, and I have to resist the urge to rest my chin on top of it. To breathe in the scent of her hair and forget about everything waiting for me beyond this moment.
Thaliverns drift around us, their wings leaving trails of pink shimmer that cling to her dress, her exposed skin. She looks ethereal like this—caught between firelight and shadow, her mask glinting silver and her eyes dark with something I can't name.
I'm not counting anymore. Not tracking the minutes until I can leave, not calculating how much longer I have to stay before Lora will accept that I tried. I've forgotten about the promise, about the hour I swore to give this festival.
All I can think about is the woman in my arms and the way she makes everything else fade into background noise.
"Senna." Her name tastes good on my tongue, familiar even though I just learned it. I want to say it again. Want to hear her say mine in that quiet, reverent way that makes heat coil low in my gut.
She looks up at me, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just her face. The curve of her lips, the flutter of her lashes, the way her breath catches when our eyes meet.
I'm so fucked.
