“Yes.” He cracks into a grin. “Several. But I’ve asked all I need to know for now.”
A rogue smile curves my lips as he nuzzles my ear, and warmth blooms in my belly. We laugh when I tease him for stumbling over half the names. He flicks my nose playfully, and words soon give way to feather-light kisses along my neck, fingers tracing my collarbone, then up the back of my neck and into my hair. His warmth sends a shiver spiraling down my spine.
His thumbs find a knot in my shoulder, still tender from morning’s sparring, and coax the ache away. I close my eyes, wondering what regrets live behind those sapphire eyes. His fingers drift into my hair, brushing back loose strands. Each gentle press makes my chest tighten.
“Goodnight, Fire,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead as sleep claims me.
Chapter 33
The Banquet
Ismooth the silk of Cassy’s gown one last time, the fine threads whispering between my fingers as her slender back bows to me. My own dress—emerald silk shot through with molten gold filigree—feels impossibly tight across my ribs, as if it’s cinching in my heart itself. Despite Keiren’s protests at my decision to dress here rather than in his chambers, I insisted on being with my friends. In Mariel and Cassy’s warm and cluttered room, I feel more anchored than in the grand corridors of the king’s wing.
Keiren and I have hardly been apart in a week, from morning training to late-night reading by the hearth to drifting off wrapped in his arms. Whenever the nightmares rear their ugly head— surprisingly less, lately—he makes tea, and we tradestories until his voice lulls me back to sleep. I’m not used to this, someone truly caring about me, least of all a man. My routine has woven itself around him so thoroughly that I could almost forget the world beyond his presence. But tonight is different.
Cassy shivers, her fingers trembling at her throat as she holds her necklace. “There’s a beast,” she whispers, voice so hollow that it echoes in my chest. “Living inside. Clawing at the edges. Hungry.”
Mariel, Vivian, and I exchange a tense glance. In the dim glow of the firelight, Cassy’s eyes look like polished moonstone, distant and unfathomable.
“It’s just nerves,” I say, trying to steel my voice.
“Tonight’s feast… It’ll be a welcome distraction,” Vivian adds.
Cassy’s lips curl into something like a smile, but not quite. “The darkness will devour us,” she breathes, looking from Mariel to Vivian, then directly at me. “You’ll see.”
A bolt of cold runs down my spine. But before I can press her on what she means, a quiet knock comes at the door. We turn to find Arther standing with a silver tray balanced on one forearm.
“His Majesty awaits,” he announces, bowing with measured grace.
We head to the great hall. As we cross its threshold, its magic washes over me. Above us, glowing fae lanterns drift like captive stars. Sprites pirouette on unseen currents, weaving trails of light that shimmer against the marble pillars. Oarks in jeweled armor stand sentinel along the walls, their wide eyes flicking from guest to guest, watchful in a way that makes my skin prickle.
Keiren had told me that the two who attacked me were brothers to the oark who’d whipped Brimstone. It was possible they’d been paid to assassinate me, but more likely, they were avenging their brother, who Keiren had executed.
Every corner of the hall whispers with enchantment… and something darker beneath it.
Seraphina corners me near the edge of the ballroom, her wine-dark gown clinging like a second skin. The music swells, laughter ringing too loudly around us.
“You look nervous,” she says lightly, eyes flicking toward the dais. “Funny thing, nerves.”
I don’t answer.
She leans closer, breath sweet with spiced wine. “You know, I thought you’d be glowing by now. Radiant. Satisfied.” Her smile sharpens. “But you look exactly the same.”
My stomach tightens.
“Did he not touch you?” she murmurs. “Or did you freeze up before he could?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “That’s none of your—”
Her gaze drops—quick, assessing—then lifts again, alight with something cruel.
Understanding dawns.
She laughs. Soft. Disbelieving. “Oh. Oh, stars.” Her voice drops. “You haven’t slept with him.”
The words land like a slap.
“You’re still untouched,” she continues, delight curling every syllable. “All this time. All that opportunity.” Her head tilts. “Tell me—does it frighten you? Facing death without ever knowing what it’s like to be wanted?”
