Page 34 of Prince of the Sun

I meet his gaze, considering. “Fine.” I raise my hands, settling them into his. Though his skin is still cool to the touch, the same warmth spreads along my palms, trickling up my elbows. I stifle a small sigh. “Teach me.”

“With pleasure.”

Waltzing turns out to be far more fun than I imagined. Daerios leads me around the space, and I keep my eyes on the floor, mimicking his steps. It doesn’t take long to pick up the rhythm. After a few minutes, the band changes songs, but Daerios sweeps us right into the next.

By now, I understand the dance enough to look up from my feet. Unfortunately, I forget that this will lead my eyes straight to my partner’s, which, though far above mine, are almost as close as they were back in that upstairs room. Though I catch it for only a moment, his gaze is intent, as if he’s been studying my face as I danced. His focus sends shivers through my whole body.

But the expression melts quickly away, leaving his usual mask of detached amusement.

“Getting the hang of it?” he asks.

“Actually,” I say. “I think I am.”

With that, he picks up speed, weaving through couples, whisking us around the floor. I startle; I hadn’t even realizedother couples had joined us. As Daerios speeds up, I struggle to keep up with him, at times fumbling, but he always carries me through. I glance back down at the floor, mesmerized by the pattern of our feet.

“You dance well,” Daerios says.

I look back up and glare. “You lie.”

“I don’t. In fact.” At the crescendo in the music, Daerios moves his hands down to my waist, scooping me up and spinning me in a tight circle. “I think we make quite the duo.”

I laugh, the sound brassy and loud, echoing over the band’s music. I can’t help it. Up in the air, above Daerios, above everyone, it doesn’t seem to matter what noises I make. I can just let go.

When he sets me back on the ground, we glide right back into the steps. By now, I’m breathless and panting, but I can’t wipe the grin off my face.

Surprise twinkles at the edges of Daerios’s eyes. “Is that asmile?”

“Of course not,” I say, grinning madly.

He leans down, shoulder folding into my chin, lips barely grazing my ear as he switches into Lukkarin and whispers, “Careful, Kallister. People might start to think you actually like me.”

I inhale.

His scent is a shock. As an elf, I would expect it to be bright and fresh, all flower blossoms and morning dew. Instead, he smells…old. Not in a dusty, nursing-home way; his scent is rich, complex, musky, like weathered oak or aged red wine. Like the gathering of knowledge and the passage of years.

“How old are you?” I breathe.

He leans back. “What makes you ask that?”

“Just wondering.”

He bites his lower lip, and despite myself, I find my eyesdrawn to the movement. I dart my eyes back up almost as soon as they lower, but it’s too late. He grins with knowing.

“Well?” I ask.

He hesitates, then says, “As of next month, I am one hundred and sixty-three years old.”

My stomach bottoms out. “You’rewhat? B-but…”

“But I look nineteen? Trust me, I know. Elves have very long lifespans.”

“How long?”

“Tough to say. Most elves who die do so in battle.”

I’m entranced, now. “So, you’re… you’re immortal?”

He shrugs. “We can’t be certain.”