The laughter fades.
I feel the steady thrum beneath my hand, heat radiating through my fingers. His gaze drops to where he’s holding me there, then lifts slowly to my face. The space between us tightens, charged and quiet, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
Then—
Light spills through the tall windows.
The storm outside breaks all at once. Clouds part, rain easing to a hush as sunset pours gold across the floor, igniting the dust in the air and catching in his eyes.
Keiren exhales softly. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
I swallow and gently withdraw my hand before I do something reckless. “I never agreed to owing you a favor, Your Highness,” I tease.
“This is one you’ll like. I promise.” His gaze flicks toward the windows, then back to me. “Meet me in the garden in an hour.”
“What?” I blink, still off-balance.
“Just trust me.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”
An hour later, I slip through the arched doors and into the night. The path beyond is lit by low-burning torches, their flames steady despite the breeze, casting warm gold across the neatly trimmed hedges. The stone underfoot is cool and smooth, worn by centuries of quiet footsteps. The garden feels held, protected, like the world beyond the keep has been carefully folded away.
Somewhere ahead, water trickles softly. Leaves rustle. The air smells of crushed herbs and night-blooming flowers.
He’s waiting in a small clearing, coat discarded, sleeves rolled back, silver firelight catching in his hair. For once, he looks unburdened—no crown, no court, no watching mirrors.
He holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”
“With no music?” I ask.
A glimmer of a smile touches his lips. “I’ve never needed music when you’re in my arms.”
My feet are uncertain—left, right, dip—but his grip is steady and sure. I stumble into his toes once, and he catches me with a tilt of his hip and that disarming grin.
“Why do you always ask me to dance?” I gaze up at him curiously.
He doesn’t answer right away. The moonbeam flowers unfurl around us, pale and glowing, their light brushing his face.
Then, “My mother taught me,” he says quietly. “She said dancing can express what words cannot. It’s something I do to keep myself grounded—after all these years.”
He looks at me, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
“Because when I’m holding you like this,” he continues, “the rest of the world stays where it belongs—far away.”
The admission makes my cheeks flush and my heart skip a beat, before I look deep into his eyes and can see the profound sorrow lingering there. Like me, he’s lost so much and yet keeps going, keeps dancing.
“Do you remember how to break the curse? I can’t seem to find anything useful in the library.” My voice trembles with hope against his steady heartbeat. He pauses mid-step, gaze drifting toward the torchlit wall.“Maybe it just hasn’t given you the right book yet,” he quips.
“I’m serious, Keiren. I’ve read everything I can find. Do you remember anything?” The sorrow in his eyes feels older than time.“No,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry—I don’t.”
I press closer, as if my body could lend him strength. He spins me and draws me back in until our chests meet again.
“There must be something you remember,” I insist.
“I remember only that breaking it was meant to be impossible.” His confession chills me, but we keep moving, our feet tracing circles of quiet defiance.
“Is the dragon under your control? And why does he kill some and not others?”
