Kael turned, surprised. “Like what?”
“Happy. Or something close to it.”
He considered her words for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose I am. For tonight, at least.” He looked at her, eyes gold and warm. “This is the world I’m fighting for.”
The statement hung between them, simple but profound.
A group of dancers formed a circle in the middle of the square, beckoning others to join. The two Lissas dragged Alina to her feet, pulling her into the ring. She protested at first, insisting she didn’t know the steps, but the rhythm was infectious and easy to learn. She spun and turned, sometimes clumsy, sometimes graceful, always laughing. Never in her life had she felt freer ormore herself as she did in this moment, giving herself to the music and not caring what she looked like.
Kael watched from the edge, arms folded, expression caught somewhere between amusement and pride, his eyes holding an almost predatory glint. When Alina stumbled out of the circle, flushed and breathless, he caught her by the arm, steadying her.
“Not bad, city girl,” he teased.
She stuck out her tongue, then caught herself. “Thank you for bringing me,” she said, quieter now.
He squeezed gently, the touch lingering. “Thank you for seeing it.”
The festival raged on. Above them, the sky was a velvet black, each star brighter for the lanterns below. Alina found herself standing in the middle of the square, Kael at her side, surrounded by strangers who no longer felt strange.
She looked at Kael, saw the hope in his eyes, and understood—finally, fully—what he meant to build, and what he was willing to risk for it.
The future was uncertain, but Alina found herself wanting to fight for it, too.
The night had thinned the crowd to its truest heart, of those too stubborn to sleep, too lonely to leave, or too happy to let go of the fire and the music and the company. Alina and Kael found themselves on a bench set just beyond the reach of the main circle, the crackling of the largest bonfire drawing every gaze. Above, thestars were scattered and wild, as if the festival had summoned a second, colder sky to match the lanterns below.
Alina’s cheeks ached from smiling. The mug of wine in her hand had been refilled too many times by helpful strangers, and every sip left her a little more herself and a little less the perfect daughter of a vanished palace. She’d lost the habit of watching her posture, of counting every gesture until her elbows were braced on her knees, and once, when Kael told a particularly wicked joke about a king, a goat, and a misplaced crown, she laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
The memory made her snort again, and she stole a look at Kael. He was closer than she remembered, the bench forcing their shoulders to meet. His thigh pressed to hers in a way that felt more like invitation than accident. His own mug sat abandoned at his feet; instead, he had taken to rolling a coin across the backs of his fingers—or trying to, at least. The trick required a little too much concentration for a man as wine-drunk as he now was.
Reaching for the same chunk of bread, their hands met. Instead of letting go, Kael curled his fingers around hers, warm and callused, and squeezed gently. He studied her hand in his and didn’t let go, just stroked her palm with his thumb in slow, absent arcs, as if the touch itself was all that mattered.
“I think the entire village has decided you’re my betrothed,” Kael said, voice roughened by drink and smoke and something else.
Alina’s face turned hot, but she didn’t pull away. “That would be an improvement over my usual reputation,” she said. The truth of it surprised her. His second hand abandoned the coin and came to his first, both of them engulfing hers. He stroked and caressed, alternating between small massages and reverent swipes. It was exhilarating in its novelty, for she’d never experienced such blatant,simple affection from anyone before. His tenderness warmed her heart more than any fire or spiced wine ever could. She had been yearning for his touch, even if she had not wanted to admit it to herself. To finally feel it made her happy beyond words.
It also made her want more.
Kael’s eyes were nearly the same color as the firelight. He leaned in, the warmth of him making her dizzy. His scent of wood and pine and something she could not name was intoxicating, addictive even, making her want to lean in and soak it in.
“You’re better than I thought you’d be,” he admitted. “Braver, smarter, much less of a terror.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’d say the same for you. You hide it well, but you’re almost likable when you want to be.”
He grinned, a lopsided thing that nearly undid her. “Don’t spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain.”
He lifted her hand, still captured in his, and turned it over, almost meditatively inspecting her palm as if reading her future in the creases and whorls. The intimacy of it made her breath catch and her stomach drop, warmth wandering from her heart to somewhere distinctly lower. With a fingertip, he traced the faint scar from where she’d cut herself as a child, a silver thread against her white skin.
He looked so content right now. The captain of the rebels was far away, almost unreal. “Were you ever afraid?” she asked.
Kael considered, still tracing slow lines on her skin. “Terrified, every day. I still am. I just learned to hide it.”
Alina felt a wave of compassion, or maybe longing—or maybe it was just the sweet, drunken knowledge that they understood each other in ways no one else ever had. She leaned her head againsthis shoulder. He went perfectly still, as if afraid the moment might shatter.
“I’m glad you survived,” she said. It wasn’t a compliment; it was a truth.
Kael lifted her hand to his face and, very gently, kissed the inside of her wrist. His lips were soft and unhurried, and the world spun a little faster on its axis.
Before she could say anything, the music changed to a slower song, the sort designed to pull lovers or would-be lovers into the circle under the pretext of tradition or communal joy. Couples drifted to the fire, bodies swaying, arms wrapped loose.
