He glanced around, his gaze skimmed over the scuffed stone floors and worn tapestries.
“Yes, well.” He returned his attention to her. “I just needed to see you again.”
Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Her smile widened, her voice dropping into something softer, sweeter.Channel Margo.
“Really?” She let her lashes lower just slightly. “I didn’t think I would see you again until Friday.” She paused, tilting her head, eyes flicking up at him as though afraid of the answer. “That is… if you still want me—er, to be your date.”
Caelith reached for her hand, lifting it gallantly and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Of course, petal. I want nothing more.” His fingers lingered, gaze locking onto hers. “Our night was nothing short of transformational.”
Don’t clench your fists. Don’t wipe your hand on your dress. Don’t let him see. Instead, she let out a breathy laugh, pretending it sent a shiver down her spine instead of nausea clawing up her throat.
“Truly, my Lord?” Emmaline let the very real tears threatening to spill shimmer in her eyes. She angled her face just enough to catch the light, letting her lower lip quiver. “I was worried that once the harsh light of day shined… and your mother—I know she doesn’t favor me.”
Caelith tsked under his breath, stepping closer. Reaching up, his knuckles grazed her cheek, catching the stray tear before it could fall. His fingers trailed lower, tracing the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing just over her parted lips.
Don’t recoil. Don’t flinch. She let her breath hitch, let her eyes shut. Let him think she was overwhelmed by his touch rather than resisting the urge to snap her teeth shut around his thumb.
“My mother does not compel me.” His thumb teased at her mouth, the barest pressure against her bottom lip.
She forced herself to hold his gaze, to keep the glossy admiration in her eyes as she whispered, “Truly, my Lord?”
His answering smile dripped satisfaction, his hand sliding down her arm. “Of course, petal.”
Emmaline allowed herself to exhale, lowering her shoulders just enough to make it look like relief rather than the unbearable strain of keeping up the charade.
“I trust you received what you needed to obtain a worthy dress?” he asked, his fingers lingering just above her wrist.
“Oh yes,” she simpered. “My Lord is most generous.”
He preened at that, standing just a little taller.
“Though…” She hesitated, biting her lip, letting uncertainty flicker across her face.
Caelith’s brows lifted. “What is it, my dear?”
“With all the preparations.” She sighed, casting her gaze downward. “I don’t think I’ll have time to make full use of your generosity.” She glanced back up at him through her lashes. “Do you think I could take tomorrow to find something truly worthy of being seen on your arm?”
The way he inhaled, slow and pleased, told her he enjoyed the idea of her toiling over a gown just to impress him.
“Of course.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her cheek.
She could feel it building, panic swelling in her chest, tightening around her ribs like a vice. He was too close.
“But the preparations… and your mother.” She barely managed to keep her voice from trembling.
“I will deal with my mother, sweet petal.” His lips hovered just above hers.
Don’t scream. Don’t scream.
Her body betrayed her, muscles coiling tight, every instinct yelling at her to run. But she locked her knees and held her spine straight.
“My Lord. Your glider is ready.”
The voice cut through the suffocating moment like a blade.
Caelith paused, his lips still hovering too close before finally straightening.
“Apologies for the delay. I had to secure a replacement driver. Hoady was… absent,” Deyric continued.
