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The festival continues around us, bright and loud and alive. We drift from table to booth, making the circuit, watching the entertainers, and enjoying the atmosphere. At least Esme does.

I enjoy watching Esme, the way she sways and dances from booth to table, the way her eyes light up in front of the jugglers, and how she hums along with the musicians. She wanders around like she’s drunk, even though all she’s had is hullberry juice and a single pear ale.

But I get it, because being with her, as man and woman, not as soldiers following orders, I feel more than a bit drunk myself. Especially when she spins around, grabs my arm, and makes sure I’m checking out this amazing new thing she just saw.

Eventually, we head back to the inn, now filled with revelers hunting for a bit of quiet. Knowing our bags are already in our room, we mount the stairs. I unlock the door, revealing a single bed with two pillows and lightweight blue quilts.

Esme hums the song we danced to and sways as she slips around me.

I look at the bed, which is wide enough for two people if they don’t mind being close. If those two people trust each other not to cross lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

I am not that person.

“I’m taking the floor.” I pull out my bedroll and spread it near the window, far enough from the mattress that I won’t be able to reach her without effort. “You take the bed.”

She stops humming. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“I do.” I avoid eye contact for the sake of my own sanity. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Agnar—”

“Goodnight, Esme.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Esme

I continue humming the melody from the dance. For once, I didn’t feel clumsy and awkward. We enjoyed a magical night, even if I did kick off the festivities by creating a mess. I can laugh now, because it seems inconsequential in light of everything else, and Calla isn’t here to scold me for spilling juice on my clothes.

My skin is alive with sensation. Every nerve ending buzzes with leftover energy from the dancing, the spinning, the way Agnar lifted me like I weighed nothing.

I undress down to my undergarments, my hair hanging loose around my shoulders, then realize Agnar is nowhere in sight. I should be tired enough to collapse into that bed and sleep until noon.

Except, I don’t want to. The room seems too small. I have to maneuver around the bed, but I don’t want to lose this joy over dancing without caring who watches.

I search for Agnar to see if he wants to join me.

He’s lying with his back to me on the bedroll he set up beneath the window. His cloak covers him, his form rising and falling in the even rhythm of someone who’s asleep.

Faker.

I know I saw it. The way he looked at me. The same way he looked at me in that alley. With open want. That seems like a lifetime ago. When I was more worried about Veradin’s disapproval and Father’s ire than what I wanted for myself.

I’ve spent my entire life being told who I am. What I can do. What I should want. My father taught me I was a disappointment. My sister showed me I was less than. Even Veradin decided what I could know, what I could handle, and what truths I deserved.

But tonight, I danced without judgment. Relished in and shared food. I spilled a drink and shook it off. I laughed without being hushed.

Tonight, I was someone else. Someone fearless and alive.

And that person wants Agnar.

After the way he held me and looked at me, I’m certain he wants me too. I don’t know why he turned me down over the last few days, but this time, I won’t take no for an answer.

I cross the room on bare feet and tower over Agnar, my hips twisting in a slow, unconscious sway like I’m still dancing. “Agnar.”

My singsong tone as I say his name sounds nothing like how I usually speak. I slide my hands up my sides, over my ribs, and curve them under my breasts. I mime the motion of stripping while also touching myself, savoring the heat of my own skin.

When he doesn’t respond, I gather my courage and sidle closer.