For a heartbeat, it was as if they weren’t standing in a gilded palace ballroom. They were back in the Sanctum. Back at the edge of the world. Cedric was a fiery beacon, his power lighting him up from the inside out. Elyria’s shadows danced across his skin. His fire roared to meet them.
“Cedric?” Her voice pulled him back to the present, the sound of his name on her tongue instantly calming the inferno in his chest.
“Do you regret it?” he asked before he could stop himself.
Her brow furrowed. “Regret what?”
“All of it. Any of it. Going through the Crucible,” he said quietly, though he immediately wished he could take every word back. What kind of idiotic question was that? Of course she regretted it. She’d had to kill the stars-damned love of her life, for fuck’s sake.
And she’d done it for him.
“I—I didn’t mean—I’m?—”
Elyria’s steps faltered, and Cedric cut himself off to tighten his grip on her waist, steadying her.
“There are many things I wish could have been different,” she finally said, voice quiet. “But I don’t have the luxury of regret.”
The tension between them grew thick as smoke, until it was all Cedric could do to keep moving, to make this moment—when he had her in his arms—last as long as possible.
He spun her again, the layers of her golden gown lifting, flaring out like petals in the wind. And when she landed back in his arms, a little breathless, both palms braced on his chest, Cedric found he just couldn’t help himself again.
“I don’t regret it either,” he said, the words low, rougher than intended. It didn’t stop him from adding, “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”
Elyria blinked. Froze. Took a single step back.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
For one horrible heartbeat, Cedric thought he’d ruined everything. That he’d pushed too far, too fast. He wanted to take it back. Wanted to take everything back. He clawed at his mind, trying to think of something—anything—to say.
But her eyes—they weren’t on him anymore.
They were fixed over his shoulder, wide as saucers.
Shadows swirled from her fingertips.
Before he could ask what was wrong, Elyria moved, tucking Cedric behind her, one hand remaining on his chest as her other arm snapped out.
Fast. She was so, so fast.
The dancing nobles surrounding them barely had time to voice their shrieks as dark tendrils exploded from her hand, lashing across the ballroom.
Metal clattered against marble as her shadows wrapped around a man in formal attire who had emerged from the crowd, pinning his arms to his body, taking him to his knees.
It took Cedric a moment to wrap his head around what had just happened. To recognize the glint of steel laying against the polished floor. A dagger.
Idly, Cedric realized there was shouting. That the king was in an uproar as he yelled for his guards to take action. They descended on the man, struggling against the bind of Elyria’s shadows, his features twisted with rage. Elyria called her power back, allowing her magic to recede as two guards took hold of the man, wrenching his arms behind his back.
“Pixie witch!” he cried, spittle flying from his mouth.
“That’s what they call me,” she said, shrugging as she turned her back on him.
Breathless silence blanketed the ballroom.
It didn’t last long.
First one scream, then another.
Another attacker. More than one.
