Page 27

Lucan says something to Rowan’s friend, hand lifting in invitation. I can’t hear him from here, but a second later the guy laughs and lets himself be steered toward the bar.

And just like that, Rowan is left standing there alone and easy to reach.

For a second, I almost regret letting Lucan get there first. Almost. Because he notices it too. I see it in the way he stills, his gaze flicking over the crowd as he realizes, for the first time since he walked through the door, that he’s here by himself.

One of our house guards appears at his side, murmuring something near his ear.

Rowan startles, looking immediately toward the bar where Lucan disappeared with his friend. A second later, he follows the guard toward the hallway, moving with the wariness of someone who already knows this is a bad idea.

At least he’s finally heading in the right direction.

By the time I reach the corridor, they’re disappearing down the private staircase toward the room where I had the Noctis installed earlier.

I wasn’t joking about the private concert.

When I walk into the room, Rowan is standing by the Noctis. He must have heard me arrive, because he jerks his gaze up and sets his jaw, bracing for a fight he knows he can’t win.

“There he is at last. My pretty musician.” I hold out my hand. “Ciaran Virel.”

His mouth tightens on everything he wants to say and won’t.

After a long moment, he finally takes it. His hand is smaller and cold, long fingers tightening around mine for one brief, reluctant second before he pulls away. His lashes flutter before he lifts his head, green eyes still wary, still ready to bolt. “You’re the guy who chased after me. Why?”

My heartbeat kicks harder at the memory, at the shock in his face, at the insane pull to do it again.

“What can I say?” I let one shoulder lift. “You looked like you wanted to get caught. What were you doing at the Black Chapel anyway?”

He looks appalled as his face flushes. “I—I…”

I tilt my head and take him in. The way his long lashes dip when he blinks. The way his flush has spread down to his throat.

“That’s none of your business,” he says, breath unsteady, but there’s a sharp edge under it now.

“Mm, perhaps. Perhaps not.” I turn back to the bar and grab two bottles of beer. “Drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

Removing the cap with my teeth, I hand him the bottle. “You do tonight.”

He takes it anyway.

I consider that my first victory before settling into the only seat in the room, a big armchair meant for only one spectator: me. “Ready when you are.”

Rowan glares at me. “I shouldn’t have come, but Damaris thought it was better to find out what you wanted than keep guessing.”

“Damaris sounds clever.”

He snorts but doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes a nearly violent swig from his drink, sets the bottle down, and reaches for the bow, settling the Noctis against his body with the kind of easy familiarity that changes him the second he touches it. His fingers adjust by instinct, his shoulders easing as he draws the first note across the strings, the sound deep enough to vibrate somewhere beneath my ribs.

His eyes slide closed as the melody unspools between us, and for one stupid second, I almost let mine do the same. The music gets under my skin fast, winding through the silence and making itself impossible to ignore, but it’s him I can’t stop looking at.

The way his shoulders loosen. The way his mouth softens. The way every trace of tension slips away the second he gives in to it.

I close the distance before I can think too hard about it, slow enough that he feels me coming. His eyes open the second he senses me there, the note catching under the bow.

“Keep going,” I murmur. “Don’t stop for me.”

The flush in his face deepens, but he plays on, despite the obvious urge to bolt.