I faltered, then straightened my kingly posture. But her warmth and closeness made me painfully aware of how much I wanted to abandon formality altogether.
The hallway felt impossibly long, yet impossibly short, because every step I took beside her seemed to compress years of longing into seconds. My thoughts shifted between facts about the castle, the ache in my chest, and the thrill that she was laughing at shadows where I’d only ever seen order.
We paused before a towering black archway, and her fingers slid across mine again. Another tiny pulse of magic flared between us. I caught her shiver and bit my lip, reminding myself of the rules. Of appearances. Of the kingly composure I was expected to maintain at all times. Someone was always watching.
But beneath that stiff composure, I burned with the knowledge that nothing in this castle had ever stirred me like Cyrene did.
“Even you could stand to loosen up.” She tilted her head, watching me carefully. “You’re not entirely made of stone, you know.”
“I’ll have you know I’m practically a carnival of restrained emotions.”
She arched a brow. “A carnival?”
“A very organized one. With posted hours.”
Her grin was bright enough to make my carefully built composure flicker.
Fates help me, she didn’t even have to try. One teasing look and my self-control went up in smoke.
“You think so?” I said, trying for dry dignity.
“I know so.” She fluffed her skirts and strode past me, smelling of sunlight and trouble.
I followed because I could do nothing else.
By the time we reached the final corridor, I’d pointed out enough architectural trivia to make even the stone busts look bored. We returned to the foyer.
Cyrene glanced back toward the grand staircase, her lips twitching. “How many rooms are there in this place? A hundred? Two?”
“Three hundred forty-seven,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “You counted them?”
“Someone had to.” Since the guards near the door were watching and no doubt listening, I kept my tone as dry as possible. Although, I could feel the edges of my mouth about to commit treason.
She laughed, and the sound rolled through the halls like sunlight breaking through fog.
It was hard to command respect when your heart was busy tripping over one woman’s happiness.
“Do you ever get lost in here?” she asked, squinting toward a wing on our left that vanished into gloom.
“Never.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was being dramatic.”
She smirked. “You’re definitely something.”
I cleared my throat, motioning toward the front doors. “Shall we continue outside?”
“I’d love to see your gardens.”
When we reached the threshold, I plucked two umbrellas from the rack beside the door. Made of black silk stretching over silver ribs, they were the kind that unfolded with a whisper instead of a snap.
We stepped outside.
She raised an eyebrow. “A parasol? How very civilized.”
