He lifted his mug slightly, and soon, beautiful blue birds flew down, eager for the food. Tavia lifted her mug while bright blue finches fought over Lucius’s seeds. A large, white bird with a stunning plume landed on her mug, dipping into the seeds.
Tavia smiled.
He didn’t need to share this with her. It wasn’t part of their agreement or plan. Yet, here he was, spending the day with her as if he cared.
She ignored the uneasiness creeping in and focused on the birds, the flowers, and the beauty surrounding her.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But for today, she would enjoy every moment, even if it was their last together.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When they returned to Lucius' apartment, he needed distance between himself and his beautiful counterpart.
Every moment in that carriage and in the gardens had only deepened his fascination with her—the way she smiled at every beautiful thing, experiencing it all as though the world was new.
He would have loved to spend the rest of his existence showing her all the beauty Saol had to offer, and he knew she would soak it up with endless wonder.
But he didn’t want tomorrow to come.
He would be putting her in danger tomorrow, and suddenly, he wondered if his artifact was worth the risk. The fae sitting before him was becomingincreasingly precious to him.
She sat on the sofa, eating chocolate.
Her boots were off, and she sat cross-legged, her dress bunched up in her lap, while her trusty squirrel companion slept in front of the fire.
He sat on the other sofa, needing to keep some distance. It was getting harder and harder to control his feelings. Every time she was close, he found excuses to touch her—a slight brush on her arm or a fleeting touch of her hand.
“The masquerade's tomorrow,” Tavia said between bites of chocolate.
Lucius nodded, tapping his fingers along the armrest of the sofa. “Yes.”
“Now would be a great time to fill me in on what we will be doing.”
Lucius hesitated, reluctant to continue down this path. The artifact wasn’t just sentimental; it was powerful, capable of protecting anyone he cared about, including her. But he struggled with the thought of bringing her into the masquerade and exposing her to all the risks inherent in his plan.
“Lucius,” she said, tilting her head at him. “What'swrong?”
He couldn’t admit his feelings.
They felt foolish, and he still wasn’t sure if his infatuation stemmed from his long confinement in a coffin. But an invisible thread was binding him to her, and the more time he spent with her, the tighter that pull became. It was becoming difficult even to sit this far away. He wondered if she felt the same inexplicable connection.
As if answering the question in his mind, she stood up, box of chocolates in hand, and walked over to his sofa. She sat beside him, too close, tucking her legs beneath her.
“What is it? Are you worried about tomorrow?”
He scoffed, more at his own vulnerability than her perceptiveness.
“I am, too,” she said softly, her tone free of annoyance. Instead, it was understanding, as though she could sense his inner turmoil.
The fire crackled.
“Yes, well . . . it isn’t too dangerous,” Lucius said carefully. “But there will be some acting required.”
“Acting?” she asked, her brow arching.
Finally summoning the courage to outline his plan, Lucius explained, even as doubt crept into his mind about the whole idea.
