“That depends.”
“Well, either way, I doubt this one has a happy ending.”
“Oh, I don’t know,darling,” he says. “This feels like a fairytale to me.”
“You mean the kind where the cursed prince sacrifices the damsels to the dragon instead of slaying it?”
Keiren tenses. “I swear to you, if I could have destroyed the beast, I would have done it long ago.” His tone is firm and serious. “But I’m no prince, and you’re no damsel.”
“Then rewrite the ending,” I say.
His voice lowers. “Gladly.”
I try to copy his steps. “Like this?”
“Better,” he says, smile softening. “Eyes up, Fire.” His hand lifts my chin, gently guiding my gaze to his. “Dance isn’t about perfection. It’s about connection.”
I nod slowly, trying to keep my breath from catching. I hate the effect he has on me, even after his betrayal.
He pivots and sends me into another spin, precise and controlled, the way only he can. My gown swirls around my legs, and the room seems to fade until it’s only us. Step by step, turn by turn, we fly across the floor.
Then his hand slides down my arm and entwines with mine again. He dips me low and holds me steady, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Meet me in the garden. Tomorrow at dawn,” he whispers. “There’s more I want to show you.”
My breath catches, and my skin prickles where his fingers brush my waist. He spins me back to him, our bodies nearly touching. As the final note of music fades, applause rises around us, and I pull back, trembling.
“I’m tired,” I whisper. “I’d like to retire.”
The king nods, just as breathless. “Of course. Ather will escort you.”
“Arther? But Cassian is my mentor,” I say, surprised he’d offer someone else.
“Yes, but Cassian is no doubt drunk by now. Or off bedding some poor unfortunate soul.”
I look around. Cassian is indeed nowhere to be found.
The king gestures to Arther and tells him to escort me back to my chambers. Then he leans in again and catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
“Until tomorrow … Fire.”
We walk the dim corridor in silence until we reach my room. Arther lingers near the threshold, his pale hair catching the soft glow of torchlight.
“Is there anything else you require?” he asks, voice low.
I hesitate. “Has anyone ever survived the Trials?”
His breath stills.
Slowly, he meets my eyes. “Once,” he says.
My pulse stutters. “Once? What happened to her?”
His mouth tightens. “She came close.”
A chill creeps down my spine. “And?”
His jaw tenses. His gaze flicks down the corridor, then back to me—heavy with warning.
