Syrenne’s wrist. In my grip.
Her balance was already committed to the step that was supposed to be mine. The redirect sends her momentum where it wants to go, which is down.
She hits the stone floor. One knee. The impact echoes.
The cavern holds its breath.
I extend my hand.
“The floor’s slippery,” I say. “The wine must be strong tonight.”
Syrenne looks at my hand. Her banked-coal eyes carry a calculation that reconfigures in real time. She takes it. I pull her up.
“It must be,” she says.
She releases my hand. Dips her chin. Walks back toward the Ember delegation with her shimmer pulled tight around her.
Mira materializes at my shoulder.
“Did you just put the Lady of the Court of Ember on the floor?”
“She slipped.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“She must’ve had too much wine.”
“Sure.” Mira’s mouth curves. “Uncle Max looks like he’s about to abduct you.”
I look at Maximus. He hasn’t moved from the column. His arms are still crossed. His expression hasn’t changed from the smile, but something behind it has deepened into something I am going to need privacy to address.
The music shifts again. The Fae have resumed dancing around us as if nothing happened. The gold in the walls is blazing. The crystal ceiling is throwing light in patterns that turn the entire cavern into a living jewel.
Maximus pushes off the column. Crosses to me. Doesn’t stop until his hand is at my hip and his mouth is at my ear.
“We’re leaving.”
“Sounds lovely.”
We make it to the corridor. The Lithenmere seals the passage behind us, and the music dims, and the stone cools, and it’s just us in a passage lit by gold.
I’m still buzzing. My body is still moving. The Fae blood hasn’t finished with me, and I’m not finished with him.
We makeit to our chamber. The door seals. The Lithenmere dims the walls to a low glow.
The energy hasn’t left my body. The blood and the dancing and the night and the look on his face, all of it still in my system.
I step onto the stone table. It holds my weight. Of course it does. The Lithenmere built it.
I keep dancing.
He watches from below me. Coat off. The collar of the Fae-cut shirt loose. His eyes tracking me the way they tracked me across the cavern, but here there’s no court and no protocol and no distance.
“Get down,” he says. Quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t a request.
“Make me.”
He moves.
