I clear my throat and temper my maddening pulse. God, Bes frustrates me. Despite the constant brooding Cec claims is all in my name, I have no idea how Bes truly feels about me. Yes, we’ve almost kissed multiple times, and saved each other’s lives just as often. Were those almost-kisses something he only felt in the moment? And why he hasn’t attempted anything since? When we passed that seal, he claimed that, out of all the lies he told, he never pretended to care for me, but what does that mean exactly?
Ever since we discussed the true purpose of the Amulet of Amun, I feel utterly bonded to him. Bonded in secrecy, and something else I can’t put a name to.
I take a quieting breath. “Is there a specific book you wanted to show me?”
“Not in particular. I…” He stops, taking his time before his next words. “The handful of times I’ve come back to the order’s base since taking my oaths, I’ve felt out of place. But your being here has made things easier, somehow.” He gestures around us. “Here, in this place, however, I could always be myself. And I wanted to show youme—who I am without Cec, without the order.”
My body warms and my stomach flutters. That’s not the answer I was expecting, but it takes a direct hit to my heart nonetheless.
Desperate to keep us distracted, I gesture at the books. “Do you at least have a favorite?”
He considers this. “I don’t. It would be no easier task to choose a favorite star in the sky.”
Oh, that’s sappy.And yet, my body betrays me, heating further at his words. In fact, my entire body aches, and not from sparring earlier.
“Why, Bes, that’s practically Shakespearean.”
When I turn to gauge his reaction, I find he’s right beside me and not across the room like I thought. The distance I marked between us has completely evaporated, stealing the breath from my lungs.Those damned long legs of his. I place my hand on the rolling ladder beside me so I don’t flinch back.
He reaches for a book, his chest brushing my shoulder. At the brief contact, my pulse jumps inside my skin.
“If Ansaldo were here, I’d be forced to say my favorite isThe Princeby Nicolo Machiavelli.” He holds it at arm’s length, as if it might bite him.
I fight against rolling my eyes. “I can see why Ansaldo would want you to pick that one, considering the entire book is his mantra.”
Bes sighs. Though not in frustration with me, for once.
“Unfortunately, and much to everyone’s dismay, I’ve fallen prey to the bard’s words.” He places the book back, but doesn’t reach for another. “My actual favorite is Twelfth Night.”
My mouth drops open, though no words come out. I wouldn’t have expected Shakespeare at all, and if I had, I would’ve guessed one of the Histories or King Lear. Maybe even Hamlet or Macbeth. But aromance?
I’m breathless when I utter, “Are you having me on?”
He grins fondly, almost sleepily. “It has one of the greatest lines in all of literature: ‘Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.’”
I raise my brow, unimpressed. “Everyone knows that line. If it’s truly your favorite, you’ll have to do better than that.”
The grin drops from his face, and an air of seriousness envelopes him instead. His hooded gaze flicks to my lips and then captures my eyes once more.
“Perhaps this will satisfy you.”
He slowly shifts into me and my breath hitches in my chest. Surprised by his boldness, even as I welcome it, I press my back up against the shelves, tucking my hands between the wood and my backside. His proximity is not unwelcome—in fact, I’m having trouble keeping myself from putting my hands on him—but the closer he gets, the less I’m able to think straight.
I clench the edges of the bookcase to steady myself. My heart pounds ceaselessly inside my ribcage. His dark gaze pours into mine, holding me captive.
“Make me a willow cabin at your gate,” he begins gently, voice smooth and deep, “And call upon my soul within the house,
Write loyal cantons of contemnèd love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Hallow your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out ‘Olivia!’ O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth
