Cedric had never boasted to be a tremendous dancer. He’d had a nobleman’s upbringing, so he knew enough to survive the rare occasion that called for it. He was, for all intents and purposes,fine.
Elyria, on the other hand, seemed as though she’d been birthed from music itself. By all appearances, she was letting him lead her along the floor, but every motion, every movement was threaded with such outrageous grace, there was no doubt she was the one in charge.
He couldn’t identify the expression on her face when he looked down at her—simultaneously soft and wary, foreign and familiar.
“You look—” His voice cracked.Four fucking hells.He swallowed. “You look beautiful.”
Her lips parted, but the words that he thought might be waiting on the tip of her tongue didn’t come. Instead, her breath hitched, her chest rising as though her lungs were filled with something shecouldn’t—wouldn’t?—release.
Disappointment cut through Cedric’s mind, though his heart leapt when he realized that the faintest hint of color had blossomed in her porcelain cheeks.
The air felt different around her. Thinner. Charged. Every time their bodies brushed—shoulders, hips, fingertips—Cedric felt the magic in him rise, clawing toward her like a flame drawn to air. She made him feel combustible. Like if he breathed too deep, he might explode.
Noctis take him, he needed to get a grip. He hated to admit it, but perhaps Tristan was right. Cedric needed to practice his power if he had any hopes of controlling it. His eyes shot to the far side of the room, drawn instantly to Nox’s towering dark silhouette, Thraigg’s diminutive form beside them. The two of them stood with Kit and the fae that had been with Elyria by the dais earlier, all four of them watching Cedric and Elyria with unreadable expressions.
Well, not Thraigg. The dwarf’s expression wasentirelyreadable, something greater than amusement coloring his cheeks red as he gave Cedric a hearty wave, lifting his goblet toward him in toast.
Cedric was still grinning when he returned his gaze to Elyria, her own expression flickering with an emotion he still didn’t know how to name. Awe? That couldn’t have been right. Maybe it was simply confusion.
Quartered hell, he hoped it wasn’t pity.
Several moments passed as they swept across the dance floor. They didn’t have to speak. Cedric was sure she would havemanychoice words for him before long, so he took the opportunity to revel in the feel of her hand in his, her skin under his touch, their bodies close enough to feel the magic thrumming off her, her cherry-almond scent intoxicating.
Shouts and a smattering of applause cracked through the room, and Cedric looked up to see the king waving his goblet with gusto, shouting for others to join the dance.
An errant thought flitted through Cedric’s mind, that perhaps he should see where Lord Church or Tenny or Tristan had gone. That perhaps he should see who was watching.
But as he returned his gaze to Elyria, the silver flecks in her luminous emerald eyes sparkling while a soft harmony in perfect syncwith the music spilled from her lips, he realized he didn’t care. Cedric’s entire world had shrunk to the precise point where her palm pressed against his chest.
Surely, she must have felt his heart hammering. Hells, she probably felt the heat radiating off him, the same way he sensed the cool shadowed edge of her magic brushing against his—teasing, testing. He couldn’t help but recall how it felt to fall into that magic fully, the thrill of when they’d merged powers during the Crucible. The completeness he’d felt.
He had . . . missed it.
Missedher.
The music swelled around them as others took to the floor, though Cedric could barely hear it over the pounding in his ears.
Finally, Elyria broke her silence, her voice a melody all its own. “You’re staring.”
Cedric suppressed a grin. “I’m dancing.”
“You’rebrooding.”
“This is hardly me at my broodiest. You should know that. It hasn’t beenthatlong.”
She bit her lip, and a roaring instinct in Cedric’s chest had his eyes tracking the motion.
“I’m trying not to step on your feet,” he added—a peace offering.
“Mmm,” she said, the mirth coloring her tone warming Cedric’s very soul. “How considerate.” She tilted her head, her green eyes making him feel exposed as they roved over his face, lingered on his token, then traveled down his arm to their joined hands. “You do like your jewelry, don’t you, Sir Thorne?”
Cedric pressed his lips together, but she just let out a light laugh and touched a finger to his ring.
“No, no, I like it,” she said. “Far less ostentatious than some of the glittering jewels blinding me from around the room. It suits you.”
And they continued dancing.
The music built to a crescendo, lifting them into a final turn. Cedric drew her into a spin. She stepped back, their arms extended, fingertips brushing. Their eyes met as she returned to him, and the space between them collapsed.
