I inhale slowly, the words sitting heavily in my chest. “Could you… hold me?”
At that, Dante reaches for me, his fingers curling around my wrist as he pulls me gently to my feet.
He doesn’t say anything.
He just holds me.
I exhale against his shoulder, my fingers hesitating for only a second before I grip the back of his tunic, letting his warmth sink into me. His arms tighten around me—not desperate, not demanding. Just there.
“I’ll help you,” he murmurs into my hair. “We will figure this out.”
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead to the curve of his neck. “I know.”
Dante shifts slightly, his hands sliding up my back, and when I pull back just enough to look at him, he kisses me.
It’s slow, deep, not rushed. A reassurance.
My fingers tighten against his chest, my breath tangling with his as he lingers, as if neither of us wants to step away first.
When we do part, he studies me for a moment longer before murmuring, “You look exhausted.”
I let out a breathless laugh. “That’s because Iamexhausted.”
His lips twitch. “Stay.”
I blink up at him.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to go anywhere tonight.”
And gods, I want to stay.
But I shake my head gently. “I think I need to find Nadya.” My throat tightens slightly. “She’s my best friend. I need to tell her what I found out.”
Dante exhales, nodding once in understanding.
He walks me to the door, lingering there as if reluctant to let me go. I glance up at him, and just before I step away, he cups my face, kissing me again—soft and slow, like a tether, like a reason to come back.
When he pulls away, his thumb grazes my cheek.
“I’m here if you need me,” he murmurs.
I nod.
With the ghost of his touch still warm on my skin, I slip into the corridor to find Nadya.
ChApter
Forty-Two
Ezra’s lesson room is warm when Nadya and I arrive, the scent of old paper and melted candlewax thick in the air. The temperature is a welcome change from the chill that lingers around the castle grounds. The days are getting shorter and colder, and Nadya and I have had to grab our shawls more often.
Ezra looks up from his desk as we enter, his expression alert, as though he’s been waiting for us all morning. “You’re just in time,” he says, standing. A thick, worn book rests in his hands, the leather cover cracked and faded, like it’s been passed through too many hands to count. “The Magister of Podrosa came through for me.”
I eye the book. “He sent you something?”
Ezra nods. “He said he would send anything he came across that might prove useful. This arrived yesterday morning by horse messenger. I spent most of the night reading it.”
Nadya steps beside me, leaning closer to the desk. “What is it?”
