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Maybe both.
Next to the window, a small table had toppled to the floor, a vase of roses lying on its side in an expanding pool of murky water. That explained the crash.
He knew she was there. She could tell by the way his muscles tensed, lines limned in moonlight, a map she could follow to his center. Lore hadn’t seen him at all before she went to bed. Dinner had been brought to her room on a tray, and when she’d inquired about the King’s whereabouts, the servant who brought it just said that His Majesty was indisposed. Lore was too overwhelmed by her meeting with Anton and almost-kiss with Gabe to try seeking him out. If he didn’t want to see her, that was fine.
Now she wished she’d come to find him. Wished she’d made Gabe come with her.
Bastian braced his hands on either side of the windowsill, head bowed. A low, huffing sound—a laugh, or an attempt at one. “Which one are you?”
Her brows drew together. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
His head hung further forward. “I guess that’s a stupid question.”
Lore’s jaw firmed, her hands in fists as she strode across the room. The first touch of her palm to his shoulder shivered through her like something alive, a blush in her cheeks and a gasp of fresh air in her lungs. She pushed until he faced her, all glare and loom, though he didn’t do it quite so well as Gabe. Bastian’s face wasn’t built for glaring; he was the honey to Gabe’s vinegar.
She met his eyes just for a moment, then pointedly looked away from him, to the upended table. “They told me you were indisposed, but I didn’t think you’d take it out on the décor.”
“Whatever works.” He wasn’t rising to her bait. There was something almost awed in Bastian’s eyes, something wondering, softening his glare until it was gone completely. His hand rose, cupped the side of her face. She didn’t pull away, though neither did she lean into his touch. Balance, always, poised on a tightrope over a yawning chasm.
Bastian searched her face, looking for something she didn’t know how to give him. The wonder in his eyes took a turn, almost jealous. “How do you do it?” he murmured. “How do you hold so much, and still keep yourself? I’m slipping, more and more every day, but you’re still you.”
“So are you.” She covered his hand with her own, not quite sure what to make of this.
Yes, you do, whispered the voice in her head.
“I wish I was,” Bastian murmured. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. “I want so much, Lore, but I can’t have it.”
“You can.” She swayed toward him, wanting to close that distance. Nighttime, making her reckless.
For a moment, he let her be.
His lips were warm, and they were hungry, pressing hers open at the same time that he surged forward and trapped her between him and the wall. Lore’s foot slipped in the spilled rose water, and he used the off-balance moment to nudge his knee between her thighs. She gasped, and his tongue slipped into her mouth.
They both moved so quickly, like they were trying to outrun something.
He won’t like this, said the voice.
And almost like he could hear it, Bastian pulled away, his hands falling from her hair as he stepped back. He reached up and tenderly touched his lip, just once.
“Even now…” But he didn’t finish, giving her a quick, furtive look that said he was afraid to.
And she wanted to soothe that fear, wanted to have this honesty between them, here in the deep of night where the sun was as far away as it was ever going to be. She wanted to tell him about the dreams, so she and him and Gabe were all together in something. “Bastian, I have to tell you—”
But he shook his head, a quick, sharp negation. “Don’t.”
Don’t, echoed the voice.
She’d learned to trust intuition. To trust deep feelings, especially when it came to this man.
So she kept her mouth shut.
Bastian sighed, hands hanging on his hips again. “Why did you come up here?”
“Heard the crash.”
He nodded, and they stood there like that a moment, neither sure what to do next. When Bastian broke the silence, it was so quiet.
“Stay,” he said. “Please.”
