“Where are the stairs again?” Karis asks innocently.
Ronan turns his back on Evain’s leer and grabs Karis by the arm. He’s only wearing a thin blue shirt, and his skin is warm through the fabric. “There.”
The stairs open directly onto the parlor. They’re impossible to miss. But Karis tilts his head up, eyes wide and guileless. “I don’t see them. You need to show me.”
Ronan remembers his words to Evain.He’s not here by choice.And it’s definitely guilt and obligation—not the heat building beneath his heart—that makes Ronan determined to get Karis safely into bed. “You really can’t hold your liquor.”
“I can.” Karis leans against Ronan’s body. “I really can.”
The laughter behind them fades as they progress slowly up the stairs. Very slowly. Karis carefully inspects every step before he lifts his feet, and Ronan releases his arm to support his narrow waist instead. Karis leans into the touch. The gesture is almost an embrace. Karis’s light breathing is the only sound in the stairwell, until he opens his lips and asks lightly, “Is there a basement?”
“That’s none of your business,” Ronan answers calmly. His arm tightens when Karis stumbles, and a bony shoulder jabs into him.
Karis’s head tilts back to press on his shoulder. His gaze is unreadable in the darkness. “I think it’s my business. Dansa said I should ask you questions.”
They’re at the top of the stairs. A single silvery lamp lights the loft area. Ronan’s pulse picks up, as if he’s climbed an entire mountain. “Did she.”
“Yeah.” Karis twists out of Ronan’s arm, then floats closer and pats Ronan’s cheek. His fingertips trace downwards to Ronan’s jaw. “Don’t worry. ‘m not asking tonight.”
Ronan grabs his wrist, harder than he intends, but all Karis does is smile.
“That’s what I like about you,” Karis breathes. His wrist is so fragile in Ronan’s grip, but his smile is bright in the shadows. “You’re so honest.”
“Nobody’s ever accused me of that before,” Ronan says, and pulls Karis down the hall.
Maybe some of Evain’s magic is affecting him, because his blood feels hotter than usual, and he can’t stop thinking about the angle of Karis’s jaw. The firm feel of his waist. The light, wine-hoarse timbre of his voice.
Or maybe it’s Karis’s own magic, glowing inherently through every fiber of his body.
“You’re handsome, too,” Karis says, and now it’s Ronan’s turn to stumble on the wooden floor. “Has anyone accused you of that?”
Ronan lets go of his arm. They stop in the hallway, right outside Ronan’s room. The door is open, revealing the single bed with rumpled blankets.Karis has been sleeping here, Ronan remembers with a sudden surge of heat. He can’t keep pretending his reaction is due to magic anymore.
“Plenty of people,” he says, with a calm he doesn’t feel.
“That’s fine.” Karis leans closer. The hallway is dark. “They don’t matter. They’re not here right now.”
The responsible thing would be to move. Ronan is far stronger and quicker than the young squire in front of him. He could move away when Karis rests one hand on his chest, fingertips brushing the skin inside his collar, and the other hand on his jaw. Each touch burning, yet light as a feather. He could turn aside as Karis lifts up on his toes, eyes hooded in the darkness, wine and laughter on his breath.
But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t turn aside, as wine-sweet lips slide onto his. A whispered caress of a kiss that carves out Ronan’s heart and leaves him hollow. A promise to fill that hollow space with light.
His hands rise on instinct to settle on Karis’s hips. He pulls him closer for one moment of weakness—
Then pushes him back.
Karis’s lips shine wet in the dim light, and he looks just as dazed as Ronan feels. A thousand thoughts run through Ronan’s head.He’s too drunk—even if he wasn’t drunk, he’s too young. He’s too naive.
He’s too dangerous.If they stay here any longer, Ronan’s afraid he’ll take the risk.
“Sleep,” he says hoarsely.
He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when Karis tilts his head and says, “Okay.” And Karis stays put and doesn’t follow as Ronan retreats to the attic.
Ronan flings open a window and breathes in the night. Stars above and streetlamps below illuminate the neighborhood, and there are enough people still on the street that Ronan shouldn’t hang out the window for long. But he needs the fresh air to clear his head.
Not that it’s working. Avoiding Karis isn’t working; keeping him prisoner isn’t working. Ronan would prefer to stay in this limbo forever, unwilling to kill the brat or recruit him. But Karis has made it abundantly clear that he won’t tolerate the status quo. The lingering taste of his lips is proof of that. Ronan doesn’t want to know what stupid thing Karis will do next, if Ronan keeps him in the dark.
Certainty cools the heat in his veins. Something has to give. Evain was right, as much as Ronan hates to admit it.
