His ears went red again, deeper this time. The blush spread down his neck and he looked away, and the sight of Solomon, the most controlled man I’d ever met, blushing because I’d called his scar beautiful, made my chest crack open.
“Thank you,” I said. “For the dress. For remembering.”
“You deserve to be seen, Mira.” His voice was low. Barely audible above the music. “That’s all.”
He held me closer, more certain. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat against mine. Faster than he’d ever let his face betray.
The fairy lights caught his face. His pale eyes turned silver-gold in the glow, and the scar I’d just traced looked almost elegant.
It wasn’t just a wound anymore but a testament. To loyalty, to duty, to the man who’d thrown himself between a cursed bladeand his king without hesitation and would do it again every single time.
My heart pounded so hard I knew he could hear it.
His thumb pressed against the small of my back, tracing circles through the fabric of the dress, and each rotation sent electricity down my spine and pooling low in my stomach. My thighs pressed together on instinct, and his hand tightened against my back as if he’d sensed the response and was holding himself together because of it.
I gave in.
I rose on my toes. My hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the short hair at his nape. His breath caught, and for one second his entire body went rigid, every muscle locked.
Then I kissed him.
His lips were warm, firm. And for two heartbeats, he didn’t move or breathe. The same frozen shock from the journal moment, from every time I touched him and his body short-circuited.
Then his hand gripped my waist and pulled me flush against him, and the restraint he’d been building for weeks collapsed in a single breath.
Solomon kissed me back with all of his patience breaking at once.
His mouth moved against mine, desperate and reverent at the same time, his hand splayed across my lower back pressing me into him until his body heat bled through the dress and sank intomy skin. His other hand came up and cupped the side of my face, tilting my head, deepening the angle.
I opened for him and he groaned, the sound vibrating against my lips as his tongue found mine. My fingers tightened in his hair and I pulled. His hips jerked forward against me, involuntary, sending a bolt of heat through my core that nearly buckled my knees.
The music played, people danced. The fairy lights blurred into streaks of gold.
I didn’t care about any of it.
When we pulled apart, both of us were breathing hard. His forehead pressed against mine, his hand still cradling my jaw, and his eyes were molten silver, blown wide, wrecked.
“You don’t have to hold back anymore.” My voice came out rough. I traced his scar with my fingertip one more time, following the line from temple to jaw. “I’m not scared of you.”
His eyes closed and his forehead stayed against mine. For a moment, Solomon, the King’s Blade, the man who’d carried a scar for centuries as punishment, held perfectly still and let himself be touched by the woman he’d been waiting his whole life to find.
The night wound down slowly after that.
The band switched to quieter songs. The crowd thinned as families headed home and the younger people migrated toward the bar at the edge of the square.
Lucian kept a perimeter, positioned at the edge of every room I entered. Percy charmed the bartender into giving us free dessert. Solomon stayed close, his hand finding the small of my back every few minutes.
I didn’t want it to end.
But some things needed finishing.
“Bathroom,” I announced, pushing back from the table. “Be right back.”
Three sets of eyes locked onto me.
“It’s the women’s restroom.” I held up a hand. “You can’t follow me there.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “We’ll wait outside.”
