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Five minutes ago, I wanted nothing more than to step into his arms. I wanted his immense presence around me so I could forget that any of this was supposed to be fake. Now the phrase charity case circles through my thoughts.

His protectiveness suddenly feels different. Maybe I let myself believe the dance meant more because I wanted it to. Maybe Sigurd sees me as another problem he can solve. It doesn’t really matter.

“She was fine, Sigurd.” I set the glass down and wipe my damp palm against the side of my dress. “We were just making small talk about the wedding.”

The defensive edge in my voice brings a crease between his brows. He takes a half step closer and studies me with growing concern.

“Valerie, your hands are trembling.”

He reaches toward my bare arm. I jerk away before his fingers can brush my skin, and the movement stops him immediately. His hand hangs between us for a moment before he lowers it.

The brightness in his eyes dims. The sight sends a painful pull through my chest, but I force myself to hold his gaze.

“I’m just tired, Sigurd. The altitude is catching up with me, and I think I’m going to head back to get some rest.”

Sigurd studies me long enough to make it clear he doesn’t believe the excuse. I reach for my evening bag before he can press me for an answer I’m not ready to give.

“I’ll see you in the suite,” I add. “You should stay for Rakan and Iris.”

His jaw sets, but he gives me a small nod. “All right, I’ll see you soon.”

I turn before my resolve can weaken and make my way through the crowd. By the time I reach the exit, I can no longer remember the dance without hearing Maren’s words.

8

Consider It Done

Sigurd

Incense smoke drifts across the open-air ceremonial courtyard, catching in the breath of the monster elite gathered for the rite. I stand in the front row with my hands at my sides, close enough to Valerie that the fabric of her dress brushes my trousers whenever she shifts.

The mountain air is cold, but heat rolls from the altar ahead. Rakan stands beneath the carved arch with Iris beside him. He looks more at peace than I have seen him in years. Iris never shrinks from his temper or his fire. She meets both on her own terms. Somehow Rakan found exactly what he needed in her.

The djinn officiant steps forward and raises both hands over them. Frankincense and scorched desert sand fill the air with the first pulse of magic. A low vibration travels through the stone beneath my shoes and presses against my eardrums.

Golden embers appear above the altar and drift through the thin mountain air. One passes close to Valerie’s face, catching in the pale strands of her hair before rising out of reach.

She has kept her distance since Maren cornered her yesterday. Valerie is still polite and composed, but the ease between us has disappeared. Standing this close to her without touching her has become increasingly difficult.

The officiant’s voice carries across the courtyard and silences the remaining whispers.

“We bind the fire to the earth. We bind the ancient to the brief. What is spoken here is written into the fabric of the mountain.”

The embers gather over Rakan and Iris, and then spiral around their joined hands in a luminous thread. The bond ties Iris’s human lifespan to Rakan’s, keeping age from taking her centuries before it takes him.

Rakan looks down at his bride. “I give you my fire, Iris. All of it.”

He slides a plain gold band onto her finger. The metal catches the ritual light, and the thread sinks into their joined hands until nothing remains.

I find myself watching Valerie instead. She follows the ritual with quiet concentration. She’s seemingly unaware of how often the edge of her sleeve nearly touches mine. Yesterday, I would have closed that distance without thinking about it.

One of my tentacles curves around her shoulders and draws her gently against my side. Valerie stiffens immediately, though she keeps her attention on the altar.

“Sigurd, people are watching us.” She glances toward the guests nearest us before looking up at me.

I lower my head enough to keep my answer between us. “Let them watch. I’m jealous of my best friend, Valerie. Let me hold you.”

She remains tense beneath the tentacle, so I ease my hold and give her room to move away. For a moment, she stays exactly where she is, caught somewhere between resisting me and accepting the invitation.