Page 78

I sent one message last night to check if he made it back to his room in one piece after whatever the fuck that alley was, and what did I get? No reply.

Now, that's a fucking problem.

We cut past the conservatory, its doors open while students pour out between classes, filling the courtyard with noise.

I don't slow. I don't need to, because I know exactly where he is. The reason I had a sleepless fucking night.

Rowan stands inside, not tucked away but out in the open. His music carries cleanly through the room, the low notes pulling at something beneath my ribs. He's focused on the instrument, head bent, shoulders set while the Noctis rests between his knees, answering the slightest movement of his fingers. The light catches in his hair where it falls forward, turning some strands almost gold beneath the glass above. Freckles dust the bridge of his nose, and every now and then his mouth shifts, barely there, like he's reacting to something in the music without meaning to.

Fuck me. No wonder people stare.

Those damn freckles. Those green eyes. That mouth. He's fucking gorgeous and somehow completely unaware of it.

My attention drifts back to his long fingers moving over the strings with a certainty that doesn't match the rest of him. Not after last night, not after the way he felt under me, all tension and resistance and heat he couldn't quite keep contained.

Marius is still talking beside me, something about projections, about case work, but it doesn't land. The words wash over me because I'm already elsewhere.

There's a small change in Rowan before he ever looks up, something in the line of his shoulders, in the way his hands hesitate for half a beat before continuing, like he already knows I'm here.

Then his head lifts. The moment our eyes lock, I catch that same flash of heat again. His mouth parts, color climbing his cheekbones.

He looks away first, giving me all the confirmation I need.

A student carrying a cello case passes us on the way into the conservatory. Marius catches him by the shoulder and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. "I'd rather talk to you. My cousin never listens to me. Damn nuisance."

The guy laughs, but I flip them both off, already moving toward Rowan.

I barely make it two steps before Halvern appears in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, looking far too glad to see me. "Ciaran. What a surprise. I've been trying to reach your father all morning."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Well, I wanted to give him the good news that the Imperial Family of Tempest also confirmed their attendance for the Legacy Gala."

"Well, that's one way to start a day." I glance at my multi-slate. "I'll pass it on. I'm having dinner with my parents tomorrow anyway."

Halvern's mouth twitches. "Please do. He doesn't appear to answer when I call."

"He'll answer mine."

"I'm sure he will." Halvern lowers his voice. "And between you and me, this event is becoming rather larger than I originally intended."

"That's generally what happens when half the Reach decides to show up."

"True." He scans the room. "Interesting timing, though."

"How so?"

"Timing has always fascinated me." His eyes settle on Rowan before returning to me. "How fate so often turns out to be pure planning."

"Well, that's cryptic as fuck."

A laugh slips out of him. "Let's just say I haven't seen this much interest in our music department since your mother and Vera Orlov were both students here." His mouth curves. "Neither of them enjoyed losing."

"That was a long time ago."

"It was. Anyway," Halvern says, stepping back, "I won't keep you any longer. Pass the message on to Christian for me." His gaze shifts toward Rowan. "I suppose you were looking for Ashford?"

I glance to where Rowan has continued playing, the long, tragic sounds of the Noctis resonating through the hall. His cheeks have returned to their normal color, pale and gold beneath those damn little stars scattered across his cheekbones.