His thumbs rub soothing patterns into my shoulders. My gown is loose. All I can think about is what would happen if he nudged my sleeve. If the dress slipped from my shoulder—dipped the smallest fraction down my arm—his thumb would graze my skin.
“Of course,” I say softly. “We’re friends.”
I’m surprised to see something like guilt flicker in his eyes.
Stars in hell, is Kaidren starting to feel shame for manipulating his gullible, trusting friend?
The flash of empathy is gone before I have time to question it further.
Kaidren leans toward me. “I need a favor. Your brother works closely with the decurio, and I was hoping you might keep me apprised of their investigation into my father’s death.”
“You want me to tell you what the decurio find?”
“Yes. Anything that will help me clear my name. I intendto win the Tournament and rule the Republic—I can’t have the people thinking I’m a murderer. Someone is spreading lies to the Shadow Queen.” Kaidren casts a nervous look around the room, as though we might be overheard by the chandelier. “How close are you with your brother?”
Realization hits me, and I feel foolish for not seeing it sooner.Thisis why he’s here. He wants to know if Luc is the one accusing him of killing Arliss.
I hush my tone in a mimic of his. “You don’t think Luc had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Who else would benefit?” Kaidren’s chest expands with a heavy breath. “First, there was the rumor that I lied about being an isha. Now I’m accused of murder. I’m not saying it was definitely your brother, but someone wants to ruin my reputation. Do you think Lucien is capable of something so heinous?”
“I—I’m not sure.”
Kaidren’s eyes blaze. It wasn’t a direct confirmation, but it was close enough. “Remira, someone is spreading lies about me. I’m going to find them and prove it to the world.”
I’m scrambling for a response, but I must take too long, because he drops his voice even further. “I appreciate you.” His eyes are surprisingly gentle. “More than you’ll ever know. You are kind and funny and brave—”
“I’m hardly brave.”
“Kindness in a place like thisisbrave. I’ve never met anyone as sweet as you. No matter what happens with the Tournament and your brother, I hope there are no hard feelings between us.”
I’m floored with the realization that he means it. He’s been lying to me from the moment he arrived, but somehow, in spite of all that, he genuinely thinks he likes me. He thinks I’msweet.
I’ve never been called sweet before. I can’t say I like it, buthe’s offering me his version of a meaningful compliment and I’m meant to be grateful, so I smile. “Thank you.”
His thumbs slow, and his expression is thoughtful as he takes me in. He raises a hand—I think to brush hair back from my face—and all I see is that he isn’t wearing gloves. All I think is how easy it would be for him to ruin me.
I hurl words to stop him from making contact. “I’ve been so lonely here. I’m glad we found each other.”
As I hoped, the hand stops its approach. That glimmer of guilt returns.
I take advantage of his stillness to back away. I rest against the table, relieved at the newfound distance between us.
Kaidren’s eyes track me. “As a friend, can you do something for me?”
“What do you need?”
“Tell your brother my suspicions. And when you do . . .” He speaks slowly, advancing deliberately with each step. “Give him a message from me. Tell him I know what he’s doing, and it won’t work. He can throw all the accusations at me he wants—I’m not backing down. If he wants war, I will gladly give it to him.”
His every step is heavy with meaning, until I’m trapped against the table, his stare boring into mine. In the depths of his gaze is a fierceness that wasn’t there before. Or perhaps it was, but it was hiding behind a veil of pretense.
I’ve always known Kaidren is attractive. He is sculpted perfection who draws appreciative looks wherever he goes—it’s impossible to miss. Until now, he was crafted from fake smiles and feigned charm. Now he appears born from fury. His eyes reflect a desperate kind of rage that is as raw as it is familiar.
It transforms his face. He’s no longer merely good-looking in the obvious way, dripping with the shallow ornaments ofcharisma. In this moment, he is truly magnetic. His brown eyes are intent and harsh and filled with malice.
I can’t look away.
Fury shouldn’t call to me. His sings my name. Spite shouldn’t entice me. His draws me in like a pulled sledge.
