Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HOT WATER LAPS AT my skin, and it feels like heaven.

The water, at least—the three handmaids scrubbing the grime from my skin feel like a punishment. Since we arrived at my guest chambers, I’ve been stripped, scraped, and scrubbed of my dignity.

The water has turned a disgusting shade of brown, the color of snow after a herd of musk ox have trampled through and back.

But at least I’m clean.

One of the handmaids drains the large tub, and I try to rise, but another one guides me back down with a firm hand on my shoulder.

Not clean enough, apparently.

There’s a sudden, loud crack of thunder, its muffled echo rattling the ornate mirror above the sink, and I gasp. The handmaids don’t seem to notice, though. They must be accustomed to unexpected storms—or Zev’s outbursts.

They refill the tub, and this time, perfume it with rose petals. A sweet-smelling oil is massaged into my scalp, and a contented sigh escapes me. One of the handmaids smiles, but none of them will meet my eyes for longer than a fleeting second. The bathwater is clean now, perfumed and rosy, but the unease in my chest lingers.

Do they avoid my gaze because I’m a royal? Or is it because I’m a Tundrayni royal?

I doubt I’ll get an answer out of them, but the women seem pleasant enough, quiet though they may be.

When the longest bath of my life is over, they dress me in an indecently short black nightgown, with nothing but a matching silk robe over it.

I’m practically naked. In Tundrayn, I wore thick wool pajamas to sleep—it was too cold for anything else. Before I can request different sleep attire, the women file out of the large washroom.

I don’t leave right away. The room is elegant—spacious and luxurious. The ornate stone tub sits in the center. The walls are painted a soft, calm lavender, and the white tile is cool beneath my bare feet as I circle the room. My fingers trail against the walls—seamless purple paint, not a single crack marring the finish.

A frown pulls at my lips. On the opposite side of the bathroom is a large mirror, hung over a massive sink. For a heartbeat, I don’t recognize myself in the reflection. My dark hair is longer, curling in loose, damp waves over my shoulders. My once-pale skin has a healthy tan, a light pink flush painted across my cheeks and nose, darkening the light smattering of freckles. I’ve lost weight—my cheeks are hollowed, my collarbones protruding.

My eyes are the same, though—bright blue.

Determined.

Untamed.

With soft steps, I leave the bathroom.

I stop in my tracks.

Zev’s standing in the middle of the bedroom. Waiting for me, apparently. His molten eyes rake over me. Slowly. Deliberately. My skin burns under the heat of his gaze as it lingers on my bare thighs, where the hem of my too-short nightgown brushes my skin.

I cinch my robe tighter around myself.

He doesn’t move, smoldering gaze riveted to the naked expanse of my legs. I shift my weight, and his eyes flick to mine as he rubs his neck.

“Are you all right?” he asks hoarsely. He clears his throat, and his eyes wander to my bare legs again.

“The bath was nice. Aggressive, but nice.”

He frowns. “I can assign you different handmaids, if—”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “They were fine, truly. And so are the guards outside. Thank you.”

Zev chews the inside of his cheek, his heated gaze pinned to my face. Is he waiting for me to say something? My brain is exhausted after the ‘change of plan’ his father announced. His eyes fall to my thighs for a third time, as if he can’t help himself, and a startling thought flits through my mind.

Is he here to…?

“We’re not married yet,” I say, clutching my robe tighter. “So, um…”

His eyes widen, and he takes a half-step back. “I’m not here for that, Mayah.” He clears his throat again, pointedly staring at the wall above my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why are you here, then?” I demand.

“If I know my brother, he’ll pay you a visit tonight.”

“Oh.”

He’s protecting me.

He doesn’t expect me to lie with him. Tonight, at least.

I hate the vulnerability in my voice when I ask, “And tomorrow? Will you expect … that … from me tomorrow?”

His eyes soften, his hand wavering at his side, as though he wants to touch me.

“I’ll never force you to do anything, Mayah,” he murmurs. “I’ll only come to your bed when you invite me.” He gestures to the bed in question. “Throw me a pillow. I’ll find an extra blanket and sleep on the floor.”

And he does exactly that.

Zev takes a bath, too, emerging with damp hair and fresh clothing. After a month of seeing him cloaked in dark leather and armor, the soft shirt and sleep trousers look strange on his large, muscular frame. He settles on the floor beside the bed as he promised.

Even in the dark, I’m aware of his presence. After all the nights spent in his arms, my body has grown attuned to his—from the steady hum of his breathing to the emotion driving every twitch of his lips.

“This is stupid, Zev,” I mutter, cocooned in soft blankets, staring at the dark ceiling.

“Hmm?”

“We’ve slept beside each other for weeks. You can come up onto the bed.”

A beat passes.

“Are you inviting me into your bed, Mayah?” His gravelly voice is sinfully low, and it sends a rush of warmth pulsing through my core.

“To sleep! I’m inviting you into my bed to sleep. Nothing else.”

“Noted,” he says with a chuckle. The mattress dips as he settles beside me, and I hate the rush of contentment that warms my chest.

My body wants to be near him—wants him close.

It’s because we’ve spent so much time together. I’ve grown accustomed to his presence, to sleeping in his arms. But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want to—

“Mayah,” Zev murmurs. “Stop thinking. Go to sleep.”

“Stay on your side,” I warn, keeping my back to him. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, and the soft mattress cradles me—a luxury I’ve nearly forgotten after weeks of sleeping on cold, hard earth.

I fall asleep before he replies.

A crack of thunder jolts me awake. The bed beside me is empty but still warm. A thin sliver of light slices through the room, illuminating Zev’s broad silhouette, partially concealed by the door. He’s speaking to someone in the hall. His words are muffled, but he sounds pissed.

Another boom of thunder echoes, and I yelp, barely managing to suppress the sound. Zev must hear anyway because he glances back at me for a heartbeat, before exchanging a few more heated words, his voice tight with unbridled anger.

A bolt of lightning flashes, brightening the room for half a second, but it’s enough to set my heart ablaze. My breath escapes in short pants. My lungs constrict.

I gasp weakly. I can’t get enough air.

He slams the door shut. His hands crackle with residual energy when he returns to bed. Zev doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just pulls me against his chest—he knows it’s what I need.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “No one angers me like my half-brother. He came to ‘take liberties’ with you. I knew the guards wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

“Will he come back?” I ask, the words muffled against his chest.

“No.” He sounds certain. “And tomorrow you’ll move to my chambers. Our chambers. You’ll be safe.” He runs a large hand down my back. “Sleep now, Mayah. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Right. I should sleep.

Tomorrow, I will be someone’s wife.

Tomorrow, my life changes forever.

But all I can hear is the thunder in my chest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

IT’S MY WEDDING DAY, and I’m alone.

Zev was gone before I woke, but I expected nothing different.

Now, no fewer than eleven handmaids crowd around me, fussing and fastening, yet their presence does nothing to ease the loneliness.

The hollow in my stomach has a different name—I know it well.

Since we were children, Sura and I had imagined our weddings—grand and opulent and perfect. I’d swear my groom would be a dashing prince from some far-off land, while she swore it’d be Tumaas.

I always gave in to her, and Tumaas would stand awkwardly at our makeshift snow altar as Sura walked me down the aisle. I’d always imagined it would be the happiest day of my life.

But the dreams of children are often unanswered.

I have no words to express the strange, conflicting feelings warring within my chest. There’s a cutting sense of loss, but also a promise of hope. But strongest of all is resignation.

I chose this.

I came here willingly for my people.

I’m ensuring a better future for this realm. I must never forget that.

And I can’t deny the potent relief in my chest knowing Zev will be my husband and not cold, snickering Faramir. It took only minutes in his presence to recognize the type of man he is—power-hungry and cruel.

And he will be king.

The thought twists my lips with displeasure, and a handmaiden tsks. I straighten my mouth so she can continue dotting my lips with rouge.

I awoke to sharp raps on the door, then a never-ending line of handmaids filing into my chambers. Last night’s prolonged bath wasn’t enough—they subjected me to another equally long bath, except this time, they also plucked every single hair from my body. With pursed lips, I bear it all. I’ll play the part they expect—beautiful, demure princess.

When the handmaids finish with me, I definitely look the part. My wedding gown is pure white, with glittering gray gems sewn into the bodice in intricate, swirling patterns. The skirt flares at my hips and trails several feet behind me.

My dark hair has been heated and brushed painfully straight. Half of it is braided into an elegant crown, while the rest cascades over my shoulders, brushing the tops of my breasts.

I stare in the mirror. What is Father doing this very minute?

Is he proud?

Is he worried?

Have I crossed his mind at all?

“Come, princess,” one of the handmaids murmurs. Ten guards flank me instead of six, escorting me to the ceremony outside.

My lips part in surprise.

Even with only a day’s notice, the palace staff created something magical. The ceremony is in a vast garden, bursting with more blooms and trees than I’ve ever seen. They arch around the space like living walls, framing a petal-strewn path that cuts the garden in two. Sofas and chairs flank either side, shaded by a canopy of braided roots draped with cascading white blossoms.

At the front, a beautiful arch of roses and ivy stands ready.

And Zev stands ready before it.

My lungs forget how to work.

He’s dressed in a dark formal tunic and trousers, his black hair slightly tamed today. He hasn’t shaved—I prefer him this way, with rugged stubble shadowing his strong jawline. His throat bobs as he takes me in, and a sudden, fierce wave of happiness warms my chest. I’m glad he’s the one waiting at the altar.

With steady footsteps, I march down the aisle.

Alone.

The gazes of the assembled nobles and advisers pierce me like sharp needles—some appraising, others cold. A man with golden epaulets narrows his eyes, gaze crawling up my gown. A woman in violet whispers behind her gloved hand.

But I focus on the man before me—my only constant in weeks of uncertainty.

His steel-gray eyes trail over me as I reach the altar, and a genuine smile curves his full lips as our gazes lock.

My heart stutters.

He’s not the dashing prince from a far-off land I’d imagined, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find him utterly breathtaking. The wind plays with his dark locks, dappled sunlight glinting off his sharp cheekbones.

But the hush that falls over the audience isn’t reverent.

It’s watchful.

Their judgment hums beneath the cordial surface, masked by polite smiles and glittering jewels.

The officiant clears his throat—some senior adviser on Varad’s council. “Today marks a new beginning!” he declares, sweeping his arms in a wide arc. “The union between Prince Zevayr and Princess Mayah will usher in an era of peace between Arbinj and Tundrayn.”

I tune out the rest of his stuffy speech about diplomacy and happiness. As if any of the simpering nobles truly care about Tundrayn—they’d rejoice if the ocean swallowed my homeland tomorrow.

“…a demonstration of powers.”

My attention snaps back to the officiant. I need to prove I’m a capable wielder again? My lips purse with displeasure, and Zev’s eyes light with apology. Similar to the betrothal, he cuts a deep gash into his palm, and I heal it within seconds. The assembled guests clap politely.

“Now, Prince Zevayr will show us the might of Arbinj!”

My heart stops.

Tides suffocate me.

He’s going to summon a storm? Now?

I can’t crumple into a trembling ball in front of all these hateful nobles.

A heavy weight compresses my lungs.

The sky darkens, ominous clouds blotting out the bright sunlight. Wide-eyed, I tilt my face, watching my greatest fear churn above me.

“Hey,” Zev murmurs, his voice pitched low. “Eyes on me.”

I obey, flicking my gaze to his. He clasps my hand and splays it over his heart, its steady beat thudding against my palm. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, Zev raises a hand overhead. Thunder rumbles, and I stiffen. He clenches my hand tighter. I anchor myself to him, to the steady thrum of his heart.

In his eyes, there is no judgment.

Only care.

Only affection.

Only him.

The rise and fall of his chest is measured, and I match my breaths to his.

Deep. Deliberate.

“Brace now, baby,” he whispers, but the words barely register. I’m lost in the molten steel of his eyes, gazing at me with so much tidescursed affection, that I want to shuck my armored exterior and hide away inside him.

A modest bolt of lightning flashes and strikes a large spire at the top of one of the palace towers.

There’s a beat of silence. Of waiting.

Then, thunderous applause rings out. The guests stand and clap for their prince in a way they will never clap for me. Faramir slouches in the front row, his smirk stretched wide enough to reach me at the altar.

He isn’t clapping.

The crowd is still cheering, but the sound is muffled. My pulse still beats in my ears. I blink hard. The storm is over. It’s over. It was only Zevayr. Safe. I am safe.

Between one breath and the next, the sky clears.

My shoulders drop slightly, and Zev presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles, grounding me once more. The officiant completes the ceremony with a few more words.

The audience rises to their feet.

It’s done. I am Zev’s wife.

Princess of Tundrayn and Arbinj.

Zev cups my face, slanting his lips over mine and coaxing my mouth open with a bold flick of his tongue. It’s not a chaste kiss by any means, but I can taste restraint in every brush of his lips. For a second, I’m grateful our first kiss occurred behind closed doors, where he didn’t hold himself back.

His eyes burn with want when he pulls away, and I’m certain the same heat is mirrored in my own.

I tear my gaze away, afraid of what he’ll see.

It’s dangerous for me to want.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MY TURQUOISE GOWN SWISHES around my ankles as I shift my weight. After the ceremony, the handmaids swept me away and dressed me for the reception. To my surprise, they draped me in Tundrayni colors. I’d braced myself for black or brown or green—the classic hues of Arbinji colors—but instead, the gown gleams like a shard of home.

The door before me opens, and a servant peeks into the secluded side hallway where I stand for a second time. When he sees I’m still alone, he disappears again, the dark wood door shutting behind him with a disappointed click.

The lighting is dim in this small corridor, and I study the smooth, seamless walls with a frown as I wait for Zev—my husband. We’re meant to make our grand entrance together, yet I haven’t seen him since the ceremony. A large painting of a lake, encased in an intricate gold frame, hangs on the wall, angry swipes of moss green and dark blue cutting through muddy blacks and browns.

The shade of blue is the same color as Daak’s eyes—depthless like an angry, cold tide.

Daak.

Guilt washes over me in a fierce wave of self-loathing. I can’t remember the last time I thought of him. Quiet shame seeps through me, slow at first, then rushing fast, like groundwater breaking free. Daak loved—loves—me, and I never gave him a reason not to. I promised him nothing—and still, I’ve given Zev what I had previously granted only to him: my heart’s attention.

Rationally, there’s no reason for guilt. Daak and I both knew my path led here—to marry another man.

I just never expected to like my husband.

That is the betrayal.

I can admit it to myself now, here alone. I do like Zev.

He’s kind and warm. And a good man.

It’s the last thing I would’ve expected from the Dark Commander, but it’s true, nonetheless.

Rapid footsteps echo down the hall, pulling me from the undertow of thoughts, and I turn toward the sound. Zev rushes toward me. He’s changed into a dark tunic with swirling turquoise embroidery at the collars and sleeves, reminiscent of gentle waves.

“You’re late.” I give him a teasing smile, even as my heart beats faster in my chest at the sight of him.

“Sorry,” he says with a grin, though there’s a faint crease between his brows. “I had some security matters to attend.” He casts an appreciative glance over me, lingering on my mother’s necklace. “Though nothing as important as my wife.” He says my wife slowly, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

I flush. He looks ready to say something else, when the door swings open, and the servant’s head pops out once more. Seeing both of us together, a look of stark relief crosses his youthful face. Just as quickly, the door closes.

A muffled announcement echoes through the door. Zev offers me his arm as he leads me into a massive hall. A large chandelier hangs overhead, white and purple flowers wrapped around its crystal branches. Tables frame a large marble dance floor, and in the corner, a host of musicians play an upbeat melody.

My breath hitches. By the Tides—the ballroom dance.

Zev’s hand settles at the small of my back, anchoring me as we descend the wide staircase. Below, the vast room stills—every gaze fastened on us. Arbinji nobles may dress differently than Tundraynis, but the cunning in their eyes is the same—always calculating, always angling for a way to gain favor.

They surround us like squawking gulls, offering congratulations and false platitudes, simpering smiles concealing cold hearts and colder intentions.

I hate them all.

“The ceremony was lovely,” one noblewoman exclaims, brown eyes heavily lined with kohl, as if someone smeared soot over her wrinkly eyelids. “King Varad has quite the challenge ahead with the Equinox Festival—this will be hard to top.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zayrna! There will be no more planning for our king,” her companion replies, a red-cheeked woman with perfectly coiffed dark hair. “He has a daughter now. Princess Mayah will be the one planning all our celebrations.”

The first woman casts me a skeptical glance, one thin eyebrow arched high. She’s shorter than me, yet somehow manages to peer down her nose like I’m something she stepped on. “Do you throw balls in Tundrayn?”

I plaster a bright, practiced smile on my lips—the one usually reserved for Father. “You mean snowballs? We throw those every day! My aim is impeccable.” The women look thoroughly scandalized, but Zev only chuckles, low and deep.

Suddenly, he stiffens, his gaze fixed somewhere over my head. “Excuse us,” he says abruptly, a crease between his brows. “It’s time for our dance.” With a reassuring smile, he leads me toward the center of the gleaming dance floor as the music transitions into a soft, intimate melody.

But my anxious heart ignores the gentle strains and beats to its own lightning-fast rhythm.

Zev studies me, his gray eyes soft, like silvery moonlight cutting through haze.

“Just like we practiced, wife.”

Before I can respond, his large hands bracket my waist and lift me until my feet rest atop his. A surprised gasp escapes me, and I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck.

We sway with the music. Zev holds me close, the entire length of his body pressed against mine, his large hands stretched across my lower back. His gray eyes smolder as he watches me.

The rest of the hall vanishes like smoke.

It’s just me and him.

Like it has been for weeks. Somehow, it feels much longer than that.

“I meant to tell you earlier,” he murmurs, his deep, gravelly voice pitched even lower. “Skies help me, you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re lying.” I’ve seen the gorgeous Arbinji noblewomen flitting gracefully around the ballroom with bare shoulders and backs, faces ethereal and glowing. I don’t compare to them.

Zev’s voice drops impossibly lower, his warm breath caressing my ear. “I would never. There’s nothing I hate more than a liar.” His hand travels up the length of my spine, fingers tracing tantalizing lines on the back of my neck. My chest is pressed against his as he moves us in time with the music.

A pleasant shiver ripples through me, my mouth suddenly dry. “Did you pick our outfits?” I blurt out, playing with the collar of his tunic. The turquoise embroidery glints beneath the chandelier light. “I thought I’d be wearing the color of frozen mud.”

He hums, flashing me a playful grin. “I might have had some input. Do you like them?” He brushes an errant curl from my face, his thumb lingering on my cheek. Tides, there’s so much softness in his eyes, I don’t know what to do with it. He’s dragging me into uncharted depths along with him, a persistent, dangerous undercurrent that’ll swallow me whole if I’m not careful.

“I like the blue.” My voice is stiff, unconvincing. I wrench my gaze away, but not quickly enough to miss the confusion shadowing his eyes.

“Mayah, what’s—” he starts, but the song ends, and the thundering applause swallows any other words he might have said.

Zev cuts me a concerned glance as we move toward the long banquet table where King Varad lounges, surrounded by nobles draped in finery and thinly veiled disdain. My heart slams against my ribs, each beat a warning drum, but Zev’s hand—broad and unyielding at the small of my back—steadies me against the weight of their eyes.

Nearly every inch of the long table is weighed down with food—platters of roasted meat glistening with sauce, mounds of roasted vegetables I can’t name, baskets overflowing with bread. It’s an obscene display, more food than I’ve ever seen in one place.

In Tundrayn, we had feasts, but they were measured. Never in excess. Nothing wasted.

The sight churns my stomach.

Zev’s brow remains creased with concern as he guides me forward to stand before the king.

Varad rises with grace. His eyes—sharp and calculating—soften when they settle on Zev. There’s actual warmth there, perhaps even pride, hidden between layers of iron-hard authority. Bitterness churns in my gut—Father has never once gazed at me with such affection.

But Zev doesn’t return the sentiment. He dips his head in a formal nod, jaw tight, avoiding the king’s gaze entirely.

We’re scarcely there a moment before my husband leads us to a small round table reserved for the two of us.

“What’s wrong?” Zev asks as soon as we’re seated, the words finally spilling over.

I jerk my head toward the banquet tables laden with food. “What happens to the leftovers?”

Understanding dawns on my husband’s face. His lips press into a thin line. “They’re thrown away.”

Disgust crawls up my throat. “In Tundrayn, nonwielding children often go to bed hungry,” I whisper past the tightness in my throat. “It’s been worse lately. The Tides give less and less. Fishermen return with empty nets.”

A servant sets down the first course before us—wilted greens garnished with chopped nuts. I stare at the plate, appetite nonexistent.

Zev gently tilts my chin toward him. “The first shipment of food I brought—it will have helped. And the second leaves any day now. Don’t starve yourself to make a point, Mayah. We have abundance here. I’ll make sure it reaches Tundrayn, too.”

Something warm fizzles in my chest, driving back the bitter chill gnawing through me. I nod slowly and take a cautious bite—the flavor is odd, but not unpleasant. Zev watches, satisfied.

Course after course arrives. I try everything until my belly is near bursting, even as guilt coats my tongue.

Nobles greet us while we eat and offer well wishes. My fake smile might become permanently affixed to my face. The nobles are mostly interested in Zev, though some do ask about my life back home.

A tall nobleman, dressed in a finely cut white tunic, leans over our table, ignoring me completely. “Your union has already made waves, sire. It’s all the people can talk about—a new era of peace.”

Zev smiles tightly. “We’re absolutely thrilled to be the kingdom’s favorite conversation topic.”

The noble has barely walked away, when the aggressive clacking of footsteps sounds out—it must be another sycophant approaching to fawn over us.

Zev stiffens beside me.

Not a noble. It’s Faramir.

He’s wearing a wide grin—and a bright turquoise tunic that matches my gown perfectly. His blond hair hangs in long, beaded braids in a distinctly Tundrayni style.

Zev’s knuckles flare white around his glass.

“Brother! Mayah! Many, many congratulations to you both,” Faramir declares loudly with a dramatic sweep of his hands.

A beat. Then, a growled—“Thank you.”

Faramir’s green eyes flick to my face, trailing down my neck, before settling on my breasts. The bastard licks his lips. Disgust curdles in my gut, his stare crawling over me.

Zev snarls, low and venomous, before the rumble of thunder drowns it out. The air crackles, and he rises from his chair, fists clenched, but I place a quick hand on his forearm, casting him a meaningful glance. Don’t let him rile you. Zev hesitates but lowers himself back into the chair, shoulders tight with anger.

A broad grin stretches Faramir’s mouth as he watches our exchange.

“Like my outfit, brother? I wanted to honor Mayah.” He lingers over my name, keeping it on his tongue for as long as he can. A shudder of revulsion skitters through me. Tides, he’s determined to get a rise out of his brother.

Zev exhales sharply through his nose. “Only you could make such a beautiful color look disgusting.”

“Only you would sleep with your brother’s betrothed.”

The thunder booms louder. I flinch—Zev’s hand finds my thigh beneath the table, squeezing gently.

“Stop bringing that up. Mayah is my wife.”

Faramir smirks, as if nothing pleases him more than his brother’s rage. “Your display of power at the ceremony,” he drawls, crossing his arms. “It was disappointing, brother. I expected lightning bright enough to sear the skies all the way to Tundrayn. Thought you’d want to impress my sister-in-law.” His unnerving gaze settles on me again. “Why the pitiful display? On your wedding day, no less.”

“Is there anything else, Faramir?” Zev grits out.

Faramir is silent, his mocking grin frozen on his face. “No, I suppose not. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other.” Without another word, he pivots and strides away, his guards trailing him.

Zev rakes a violent hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters, glancing at me sideways. “He’s an ass.”

“Has it always been this way between you two?” Sura is the closest thing I had to a sibling, and we were inseparable. Until the war separated us.

“Pretty much. Faramir has hated me since we were children.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “He sees me as a threat to the crown—I’m the stronger wielder. He doesn’t believe that I don’t want the throne.”

“What do you want?” I murmur. “Besides leaving the realm.”

He scans my face. His hand tightens on my thigh. “Right now? I want to ditch this party and show you something.”

“We can’t leave our own reception,” I laugh, lacing my fingers with his.

“We can, and we will.” His smile is conspiratorial, and I find myself returning it. It’s easy to smile with him. “Come on.”

His hand is warm in mine as we cross the hall. But when we reach the center of the dance floor, a guard stops us, speaking to Zev in a hushed whisper, too low for me to make out.

A deep sigh escapes Zev, and he glares at the table where his brother is seated. “I’ll be right back,” he says, jaw clenched tight, before marching to Faramir’s table.

Everything happens quickly after that.