Page 127 of Reaper’s Curse

The seamstress blushed and averted her gaze, biting down on her responding grin.

Winter’s smile ticked up a notch, and he grabbed drinks from a passing servant holding a tray full of refreshments. “Drink?”

He handed a crystal flute to each of us, and Camilla dove into a narrative about his brother’s birthday impersonator we spied in the halls. A nervous energy buzzed in her words and tone. Some of the sparkle in Winter’s eyes dimmed as he sipped from his drink and listened intently.

Not knowing what to make of the change, I turned back to the gala and downed my cocktail in one long swallow.

A nearby servant, having noticed my empty glass, offered me another. I accepted and downed the second just as quickly.

I should go back to my rooms.

No.

I should head straight to the tower.

No again. Too early.

The servants, guests, and royals needed to be far more distracted. The evening was just starting.

I clutched the railing with one hand and the glass with the other, my hold so unbearably tight that I feared I might crack one…or both.

“Oh, there he is,” Camilla said at my back.

The seamstress shifted closer to the railing and raised her chin, indicating something in the room beyond.

“You made that?” Winter sounded gobsmacked, and he flung an uncommitted point. “What in all the realms inspired that?”

My gaze followed the loosely hinted direction, and everything simply stopped. My lungs forgot how to breathe, and my heart failed to beat steadily. Chace stood on the upper staircase landing flowing from the opposite corner of the room. The conversation at my back fell to a gentle hum, and all my attention zeroed in on him.

“Oh, Winter,” Camilla purred. “You’re jealous. He looks simply scrumptious in that outfit, with those tattoos. I could almost gobble him up.”

Indeed. Definitely delicious.

Leather pants snug in all the right places. Brindled, sleeveless vest, open all the way to his navel, making no effort to hide his serpentine chain tattoo or chiseled form. Wide belt and thick gauntlets covered in silver. A simple black band served as his mask.

He was all warrior, and I devoured the sight.

“Why don’t you,” Winter deadpanned, suggesting Camilla indeed gobble up Chace. “It would save us from his most dreary presence.”

“Stop.” The sound of a soft smack.

Yes, stop.

Winter snorted. “Who or what is he supposed to be?”

“Why…the god of war, of course.” The pride in Camilla’s response leaped off her lips, and I could see it, Chace as a god of war.

A god of war I could just as easily fight as fall to.

“Ares?” Winter scoffed. “He looks nothing like Ares.”

“Have you ever met Ares?” Camilla retorted.

“Well, no.”

Had anyone still living met any of the gods? I sometimes entertained that question, given how my entire division operated under Thanatos, the god of death. Still, thoughts for another day. Because…

Chace’s gaze swiveled in my direction, and his lips parted as if he’d lost himself when he spied me. Precious, pure, and oh so vulnerable.