I scoff. “Attracting his attention? What the fuck is that meant to mean?” I lean in close. “Are you scared he’ll trade you in for a newer model?”
Marco’s eyes blaze. He grabs fistfuls of my robe, shoving me back against the ornate black railing.
“Shut your mouth. You know what I mean. So unless you’re desperate for his dick up your ass—”
“You seemed pretty damn desperate to fuck him a moment ago,” I spit, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I’m as sure of that as the moon in the night sky. But I want to hear him say it.Needto hear him say it. “Though the old man didn’t last very long, did he?”
“I suppose I must be just that good,” Marco says coolly.
The words seep through me, freezing my blood solid. I hadn’t wanted to believe, not really. “So you did, then?” I whisper. “Fuck him, just now?”
“No,” Marco snarls, dropping his hold on me and stepping back. “I didn’t. His son interrupted him.” Interruptedhim.As if Marco’s just a passive participant in his own violation. “But I’m sorry for stepping in.Next time, I’ll leave the two of you to it. You can see for yourself how long the Emperor lasts.”
“Marco,” I say softly, reaching for him.
But he’s already moving to the other side of the balcony, putting as much distance between us as the small space allows.
I know I shouldn’t.
We’ve been so careful over the last two months. So good at staying away from each other, letting our eyes slide past one another, never lingering. It’s not that I haven’t caught him staring at me—quick glances during training that he cuts short the moment I notice, his gaze tracking my movements across the gym before he forces himself to look away. We’ve become experts at this dance of avoidance, speaking only when necessary, keeping our voices neutral, professional. Even when we spar, he’s careful not to touch me any longer than required, pulling back from pins the second I tap out.
But the careful distance we’ve maintained feels meaningless now, watching him lean against the balcony railing like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I should leave. Go back into the ballroom where Cas is probably wondering where I disappeared to, where sponsors still wait to be charmed and impressed. Where I can pretend I don’t notice the way Marco’s emerald gown drapes across one shoulder, leaving the other bare, the golden sash catching moonlight as it falls in soft folds across his torso. The laurel crown woven through his dark hair has shifted slightly, a few loose curls escaping to frame his face.
The truth of it all seeps through me like a warm Atrean sunrise. After all that careful distance, all the looking through me like I was invisible to the point I’d convinced myself he didn’t care for me, that what we had was a fever dream…
I’d been too blind by rage to see it. Marco’s face when he crossed the room to the Emperor and me. The way he stepped in without hesitation. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He cares too much.
I glance toward the balcony door. The sensible choice. The survivor’s choice. Yet I find my legs crossing the space between us. Find my arms sliding around Marco from behind.
Marco’s entire body goes rigid. His eyes sparkle in the light. “What are you doing?”
“I know what you did down there,” I say. “I know what you did. For me.”
His voice drops low. “Robin—”
“Don’t pretend.” It comes out almost as a plea. “You almost had me convinced I meant nothing to you.” I rest my chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—leather and lavender and something deliciously dark. The familiar smell makes my chest impossibly tight. “You couldn’t stand the thought of him touching me, could you?”
Marco tries to pull away, but I tighten my arms around him. “That’s not—”
“You still want me,” I whisper against his ear, and feel him shiver. “You still want me.”
I press my lips to his cheek, a gentle kiss. A ghost of a kiss. A kiss that I hope says: I see you. Iseeyou.
Marco goes completely still, and I’m not surprised. This is the most tender I’ve ever been with him. But right now, standing here with moonlight painting silver across his skin, he seems like something truly precious. Fragile, even. Like a piece of art I’m afraid to touch too hard for fear it might shatter.
I kiss his other cheek, just as softly.
He twists in my arms. Places a hand on my chest. “Robin…”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge, my lips barely an inch from his. “Tell me you don’t want this. That this is not all you think about.”
Marco’s breath hitches. His hand fists in the fabric of my gown. “You don’t understand—”
“Then make me understand.” Marco groans as I move down to his neck, my lips seeking his pulse point. I suck gently at the skin there until hisheartbeat accelerates under my mouth. His hands still grip the railing, every muscle of his body tensed. But he doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t tell me to stop.
“Robin,” he breathes, and there’s something desperate in his voice. Something hungry. “We can’t—”
