What if he hurt her again?
“You made it.”
Hawthorne ripped his gaze from Emeline and found Rooke standing beside him in a tailored black suit, his hair slicked to one side.
“It’s interesting how you took no interest in the Frost King until you saw him with Emeline this morning.”
Hawthorne bristled. “The Winter Court has been our enemy for centuries,” he said as Emeline disappeared between the curtains of a palace balcony. “Youtold me that. It seems only right to be wary of its new ruler.”
“If you say so,” said Rooke, mischief in his voice.
Hawthorne didn’t bother excusing himself. Just cut through the crowd, making his way towards the balcony. He might not be good for Emeline. But he could be a goodfriend. He could make sure she knew what she was getting into.
Brushing aside the gossamer gold curtains, he followed her onto the balcony.
Emeline stood at the balustrade, staring out over the king’s city while the stars shone overhead. Her silver dress cut lowdown her back, drawing Hawthorne’s gaze to the wings of her shoulder blades and ridges of her spine.
A dream from three nights ago surfaced, flashing in his mind: She was in his bed, running her fingers through his hair as his mouth caressed her velvet-smooth skin …
His chest tightened.
He shook it off.
“Emeline.”
She spun, clearly surprised to find him there. Perhaps she’d stopped expecting to find him anywhere.
“Hawthorne, what—”
He took a step away from the ballroom. Closer to her. “I came to the Heartwood this morning.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “You did?”
“I saw you with the king.”
She leaned back against the balustrade. “Oh. Yes. He wanted me to show it to him.”
Why? What was the king’s goal? Hawthorne took another step. “You’re not a tour guide. You don’t have to dote on his every whim.”
“What?” She frowned. “I’m not …” She shook her head. “I enjoy spending time with him.”
Those words were a vice squeezing his insides.
“You don’t even know him.”
She tilted her chin up, a little defiant. “Is that so?”
“He’s barely been here a week.”
“Two weeks,” she corrected. “And you’re wrong: I do know him. I know he’s attentive. And considerate. Andcharming.”
All things you aren’twas her insinuation.
It stung. But Hawthorne kept his face a mask. She couldn’t know it mattered to him.
“I know he enjoys my company,” she said, a little bitterly.
“You should at least have a chaperone when you’re with him.”
