The music seemed to stumble with my heartbeat. He stood at the edge of the dancers, his red cloak gleaming, firelight carving his features into something both fierce and impossible to look away from. That infuriating grin curled as he extended a hand toward me.
“May I?”
Eira let out a bark of laughter and all but shoved me forward. “Take her before she breaks both our necks. Clumsy little thing.”
I nearly tripped straight into him, heat rushing to my face. His hand caught mine with steady, startling gentleness.
Before I could argue, he was leading me into the rhythm of the music—smooth, deliberate, his hand firm at my waist, his presence a steady anchor in the storm.
Too steady. Too sure. The realization sent a flicker of unease through me—not fear, but the sense of stepping into something already shaped, already decided. I let myself follow anyway, even as my instincts whispered caution.
The music shifted then—drums easing into a slower pulse, flutes softening into something steady and low. The crowd followed, chaos dissolving into rhythm.
Veyrion reeled me in, hand firm at my back, chaos giving way to control. His steps smoothed, assured, guiding mine until I was no longer stumbling—just moving.
“I warned you,” I said quietly, focusing anywhere but his face. “I don’t dance.”
A softer smile this time. “You’re dancing now,” he murmured. “And laughing. Dare I say, you’re having fun?”
The air tightened around us. My pulse stuttered, heat prickling at the back of my neck. Stars, it had to be the mead and the dancing making my head spin. “Fun is a strong word.”
Heat curled low in my stomach. My breath caught as he reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek, tucking a loosestrand of hair behind my ear. The world seemed to shrink to that single touch, the firelight, the music—
“Mind if I cut in?”
I stiffened, the spell shattering.
Alaric. Fury radiated from him in waves, coiled and barely leashed—and beneath it, something deeper, wounded.
Veyrion’s hand lingered against my cheek before he let it fall, his attention sliding to Alaric with infuriating calm.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, though reluctance edged his tone. He placed my hand gently into Alaric’s, his grin curling once more, slow and knowing.
“To be continued,” he murmured. His wink was a spark in the fire before he retreated into the crowd.
Heat roared through me—part fury, part shame, part something I dared not name.
And then Alaric’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer than the music required, his grip taut, possessive. His voice was rough against my ear.
“Enjoying yourself?”
48
Alaric
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
Nerina looked different here. Brighter. Freer. For once there was no shadow in her eyes, no heaviness bending her shoulders. She glowed in the firelight as she laughed with Eira, cheeks pink from drink, hair tumbling loose while she danced.
Gods, I wanted this for her.
I wanted her to be happy.
I couldn’t give it to her. This warmth. This belonging. A hall full of people who embraced her without question—who lifted her into their arms and called her flame. Who made her feel like she was part of something bigger than herself.
All I could offer was salt and blood and a ship that never stopped running from curses. A life that always smelled like storms and death. A deck that creaked with old sins.
I almost left.
