Page 52

I should probably take Dad's order the way he meant it, keep my distance, keep it clean, watch from the edges, use my head. Instead, I'm already picturing Rowan at the pool again, all that pretty control straining under the surface while he looked at me like I was the worst thing that's happened to him all week.

My grip tightens around the slate.

Yeah. I can work with that.

"Ciaran," Lucan calls from the kitchen downstairs. "You alive?"

"Yeah."

I lock the screen, tug my sleeve down over my wrist, and head for the stairs.

Lucan is already sitting at the kitchen bar, uniform half on like he got dressed by spite alone. Marius is beside him, tie still untied, one shoulder against the wall, looking annoyingly awake for this hour.

"Good morning." Mariette smiles as she wipes down the stove. "Want some pancakes? I made fresh ones."

I reach over, grab a plate, and help myself, drowning them in maple syrup. "Thanks, doll."

"Did any of you get the wake-up call?"

"Yup." Lucan doesn't look up from his multi-slate. "Mom called about that reception next week."

"Same here."

I lean against the counter and cut into the pancakes. "Dad called at seven. Apparently we're all getting drafted into family service before breakfast."

"Fuck me."

Marius finally looks up from his slate. "Watch the room. Pay attention. Try not to embarrass the bloodline."

"That last part was just for you," I tell Lucan.

"It usually is."

I snort, take another bite, then reach for my coffee. "Well, enjoy your suffering, boys. I'm off."

Lucan lifts his mug in a mock salute. "Try not to start any problems before noon."

"No promises."

The day does its best to become normal after that, which is adorable considering how badly it fails.

I spot Halvern once after lunch, surrounded by academy board members and looking far too satisfied with himself. When his gaze catches mine, I find myself wondering whether he's watching Rowan too.

By evening, I'm too restless for my room, too awake to sit through another lecture file, and too irritated by the fact that Rowan has managed to stay out of sight since morning.

So I go to the pool.

Not because I feel like swimming, and not because I need the water, but because Rowan ignored my message and I've been thinking about him all day, which means I'm in exactly the right mood to go make that his problem.

The natatorium is almost empty at this hour, all gold light and dark water, the big glass panels gone blue-black with evening. Quiet enough that every sound lands hard. The low hum of the filters. The soft slap of water against tile. My own breathing.

I strip down to my swim trunks, drop my clothes on the bench, and slide into the water without hesitation, letting the cold close over my skin.

I swim hard, long enough for my shoulders to burn, for the drag in my lungs to turn clean and sharp, for the water to smooth some of the edge off the thoughts I've been carrying around all damn day.

Not that I'm fooling myself into thinking I'm here for the exercise.

I know exactly whose hour this is, and I know exactly how much it's going to piss him off when he walks in and finds me already in the water, waiting for him.