Page 96 of The Witch They Fear

The crowd absorbs back into its earlier shape—clusters and conversations, the strings starting up again—and I exhale a breath into the thick heat. Nellie tightens her grip on my elbow once and lets it go.

"Drink the cider. Just a sip. Color back into your face."

"I'm fine."

"You look a little pale. Sip."

I sip. The cider is fine. Apple. Cinnamon. Something in it that bites the back of my tongue and does not, as far as I can tell, alter my consciousness. I keep the glass.

"Calypso."

I freeze.

"Hi, Nellie." Leopold has crossed the quad. He is standing at my left shoulder with the warm smile still on his face and his hands still in the pockets of his white coat. "Forgive me. May I borrow her for one moment?"

Nellie looks at me. Both of us spend the next three seconds trying to think of something, anything, that gets me out of a conversation with the Academy’s golden boy. Neither of us says anything.

I tip my head a centimeter. Yes.

"Thank you." Leopold's smile does not slip. "I won't keep her long."

He steps half a pace away from us, gesturing toward the edge of the firelight, and I follow because the alternative is to refuse him in a place where two dozen people are pretending not to listen. I wonder what kind of supernatural faux pas it would be to refuse the prince? Two paces. Three. The music covers what we say next.

"You came," he says.

"Mandatory attendance."

"Mm." His brown eyes are warm. They hold the firelight. "You look well. Considering."

"Considering."

"The library. I was—" he pauses, regretful, like a man choosing his words "—relieved to hear you survived. Truly, Calypso. Devenir would not be the same without you."

My free hand tightens around the glass. I don’t say anything. He is too good at this, and the only safe move is to let the silence carry the weight of what he just chose to say to me.

"I have a request," he goes on.

"No."

"You haven't heard it."

"I don't need to."

He laughs. Soft. Genuine-sounding. His index finger taps his thigh once, twice, three times. What the fuck does that mean?

"I would like you to consider being my partner for the season."

"No."

"I would like you to consider being my partner for the season, with the partnership announced at the Revel, on the night of."

"No."

"As my date. As the witch I have invited to walk in beside me when the Revel opens. The unveiling, as it were, of a renewed academic and ceremonial pairing." He tilts his head, his lashes fluttering firelit shadows onto his high cheeks. The motion is almost charming. "Calypso. Listen to what I am saying. The Revel is a place where people choose their footing for the next year. I am offering you mine."

"I have a footing."

"Do you?"