“She went out many times, so maybe she thought the marks enhanced her beauty?”
Our combined laughter echoed in the hall. The strange thrill of the connection left us startled, as if we’d accidentally broken some invisible rule.
Cyrene cocked her head and looked to her left, though there was nothing there.
She nodded. “Cordelia said I need to laugh with you more often, that you need it.”
I frowned. Cyrene wasn’t making this up, which meant there was a ghost haunting my castle. I wasn’t sure what I thought about that.
But she was right. I did need to laugh more often.
“This way.” I waved for us to continue through the portrait hall, where we passed stone statues and more paintings of my ancestors.
At the end, Cyrene jabbed a finger at a towering black cabinet sitting beside a row of equally black tables. “Do you ever get tired of living with all this dark furniture?”
I froze, panic spiking through my strict control. “This is…practical.” I opened the dual doors, showing her the neat arrangement of small figurines inside the cabinet—all made from black stone. “It’s orderly.”
“And soul-sucking.” Tease lurked in her voice. “It’s not just your castle or your furnishings. Even the people living here are dour. Your staff is quite stoic. Have any of them attempted to lighten up?”
“They’ve tried. The last one’s still in recovery.”
Her lips twitched. “From what?”
“Smiling practice.”
“Tragic.”
“We hold an annual memorial.”
Her chuckle came quick and bright, like sunlight daring to exist among all this black stone.
I smiled back. The moment lingered, sweet and dangerous, until I forced my expression into something more kingly.
She wasn’t mocking me. She was only pointing out what I’d stopped seeing long ago. Shadowborne was what I’d needed it to be, steady, orderly, and unchanging. But somewhere along the way, it had hardened into a mausoleum.
Maybe I had, too.
We moved into the main parlor. Our bodies brushed together as she leaned forward to examine a small sculpture perched on a glass table.
I wasn’t looking at her lips. I was just…
Alright, I was looking at her lips.
A spark leapt between us, a pulse skittering up my spine. My jaw clenched, and I forced my body to remain still. But my heart rate betrayed me. Her joy was contagious. Delicious. Distracting.
I bit back a hiss and chastised myself. Her warmth was something my kind was never meant to hold. The castle’s shadows had always felt like home until her laughter touched them, and I realized how long I’d been living half dead.
I caught myself staring at the curve of her wrist, the soft glow of her magic flickering in response to me. I reminded myself I was a king first, a man second. Yet every part of me wanted to close the distance that had stretched for six long years.
We left the parlor and continued down another hall.
Quandary darted ahead, firing a tiny flame at a grim tapestry.
Cyrene swore. “Come back here. Quandary, no!”
“Let’s let him decorate. He may improve things.”
Her eyes met mine.
