He clinks his glass against mine before I can refuse. The sound hums through my skull like a struck bell.
I take a sip. Sweet. Warming. The edges of the room soften.
Across the floor, Keiren turns Seraphina again—precise and controlled. It shouldn’t look like tenderness, but somehow, it does. Fire prickles beneath my skin.
“You want him to see you,” Cassian murmurs, stepping closer. “So let him.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“My concern,” he replies, “isendingthis tedious little spiral.”
I snort. “Why not set your sights on the witches of the north?” I gesture toward Elena and Seraphina. “They seem eager.”
He laughs, delighted. “Tempting.” Then his grin sharpens. “Come. Dance with me.”
I blink. “What?”
“For pride. Or spite. I’ll accept either.” He extends his hand, gold rings catching the light.
“Does it matter which?”
“Only to him.” He tips his chin toward the dragon mask across the hall. “And isn’t that delicious?”
The wine hums deeper in my veins. The hall brightens, softens, like candlelight through fog. My pulse answers before my mind does.
I place my fingers in his.
Cassian’s hand settles at the small of my back—guiding, practiced. Polite enough to pass. Possessive enough to notice. The mirrors spin with us, fracturing the moment into a hundred versions ofalmost.
“Relax,” he murmurs near my ear. “You’re thinking too much.”
His fingers tilt my chin, lifting my gaze. His eyes are gold—too bright, too warm. I lean despite myself, the room floating, flushed and unsteady.
Then his hand drifts lower.
I falter. “I didn’t give you permission to—”
But the words unravel as his fingertips trace my collarbone, slow and deliberate, before skimming the edge of my mask. The touch burns—not skin-deep, but memory-deep.
My body betrays me. A breath escapes—half defiance, half surrender.
“Better,” he whispers. “You’re doing wonderfully, Fire.”
I should pull away. I should remember myself.
Instead, for one reckless heartbeat, I imagine he is Keiren.
The scent shifts—woodsmoke, storms. The warmth sharpens into something dangerous. My body knows the rhythm, the gravity. Cassian’s mouth is at my ear, but it’s Keiren’s voice I hear when he murmurs, “Fire.”
The mirrors lean closer, hungry.
“Just for a moment,” Cassian murmurs. “Pretend.”
His lips brush my neck. Laughter bubbles up—light, unsteady, not quite mine. I catch it, startled.
Cassian smiles like a man who’s already won.
“See?” he murmurs. “You do know how to have fun.”
