He blamed the dress.
But even as he tried to shoo away his embarrassment, he couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Tristan had met Elyria. Elyria had met Tristan. Delight sparked within Cedric at the way his worlds were colliding before his very eyes.
Though, that feeling shifted into something else as Tristan bent at the waist and offered Elyria his hand.
It shifted further when she took it, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor, the music already having shifted into a soft, romantic melody.
Something flared hot behind Cedric’s sternum. A pulse of heat, uncontrolled and sharp, licking up the back of his spine.
What in all four hells was wrong with him? It was just Tristan. They were justdancing.
He tried to beat back the ugly, wholly inappropriate surge of jealousy blooming in his chest. Reminded himself that Tristan was his friend. A friend who knew everything that happened between Cedric and Elyria in the Sanctum, who seemed to have a pretty good idea of what she meant to him now.
Even if Cedric himself still hadn’t quite figured that out.
More to the point, he tried to remind himself that Elyria was not his in the first place.
And yet?—
She laughed. And stars above, how he’d missed that sound. It dove under his skin, curled around his bones like smoke. He wanted to fuse with it, keep it there forever—a tattoo on his ribs.
The tether in his chest went taut as a pulled bowstring, propelling him forward. He took another step toward her. Was only perhaps ten, twenty feet away now. So close. Too far.
She wasn’t facing him, but somehow, he sensed the moment she knew. Saw the way she went rigid. Heard her sharp intake of breath. And then saw the gleam in her eyes—those silver-flecked emeralds—as sheturned.
For a moment, there was nothing but them, the line of their connected gaze.
No Tristan. No music. No voices. No distance.
Just her.
He saw the shock ripple through her expression, the flicker of something wild, disbelieving. And something else too. Something like...
Joy.
Unbridled. Unbound. Unexpected.
And Cedric, he?—
He waved at her.
A small, rather pathetic flap of his hand, before he could stop himself.
Four fucking hells,he thought, promptly wishing he could disappear into the floor.
Elyria pressed her lips together, the apples of her cheeks quivering. He knew that look, the way she was trying to fight a grin or a laugh. It warmed something deep within him.
She shifted on her feet, her body tilting forward. As if she might step closer. As if she might come to him. As if she felt it too—this unbearable, inexplicable pull.
But she didn’t.
She stopped. Hesitated. Her eyes flicked just past him, her brow creased.
And Cedric turned his head to follow her gaze, just in time to hear his name spoken in a bright, familiar voice.
“Cedric!”
Tenny collided with him, all poofy skirts and red-blonde hair as she flung her arms around his neck like he’d been gone months, years. He caught her on reflex, his hands going to her waist, blinking as she pulled back enough to beam up at him.
