“Don’t hide yourself anymore, Mira.”
I turned.
Solomon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. I hadn’t heard him approach. The man moved through the world without disturbing a single molecule.
His pale silver eyes held mine. My breath came shorter.
“You have us now,” he said.
The words settled into my chest and took root. Simple, direct. The way Solomon said everything, as if complicated emotions were problems he could solve with the minimum required syllables.
I crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it and wrapped my arms around him. His body went rigid for a beat, then his hands found my waist. Those massive arms folded around me, warm, encompassing, and I rose on my toes to reach his ear.
“Thank you.”
I kissed his cheek. The scarred side. Pressed my lips against the raised line that ran from temple to jaw and felt him inhale, felt his hands tighten on my waist.
When I pulled back, he didn’t fumble this time. Didn’t blush or stumble or flee to the forest. Instead, he turned his head and pointed at the other cheek. A dare disguised as a request.
I grinned. Kissed him there too.
His mouth twitched and for a moment, Solomon looked very soft and happy.
Then his hands found my waist. Both of them.
Firm, deliberate, fingers pressing into the curve above my hips with a grip that said he’d been thinking about doing this for longer than he’d ever admit. He held me there, the softness from two seconds ago felt very far away.
“Get ready,” he said. His hands lingered on my waist. “We leave in an hour.”
He released me and walked out of the room without looking back. I stood there with my skin burning where his fingers had been, trying to remember how breathing worked.
***
An hour later, Ashvale’s town square had transformed into a postcard.
Fairy lights blanketed every surface. The band played a mix of folk and swing that made the whole square feel warm and golden, and the dance floor was already crowded with couples,families, and kids sliding across the polished wood in their socks.
I wore the blue dress. Simple, soft, stopping just above my knees. My hair was down, the copper roots visible now, the dark dye fading in a way I’d stopped trying to fight. It had been a long time since I didn’t feel invisible.
I didn’t want to be.
Lucian was already there when we arrived.
He stood at the edge of the square in dark clothes, arms crossed, scanning the crowd. His eyes found me the moment I stepped into the light, and tracked down my body.
I crossed to him, wanting to get into his nerves as always.
“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, or are you not good at it?”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. A challenge received. He extended his hand, palm up, and I took it.
Much to my annoyance, he was excellent.
Not just good but exceptional. His hand settled on my waist with the confidence of a man who’d been trained to lead, and within four bars of music, he’d spun me across the floor with a precision and grace that made my head swim.
“Where did you learn to dance?” I managed, slightly breathless.
“Court manners.” He guided me through a turn that I almost fumbled and he corrected without missing a beat. “A king who can’t dance is a king who loses diplomatic leverage.”
