Page 215 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

One Falliare and Dryvius had robbed them of.

And finally, Leo’s facade crumbled. He threw his arms around his brother, face buried in his shoulder. “I love you, Rore.”

Roremar held him tight, eyes squeezing closed. “I love you, too, Leo. So much.”

No matter what changed, that never would. He’d go to the end of the realm to protect them all.

As they pulled apart, movement shifted out of the corner of Roremar’s eye, a familiar navy cloak whipping through the entrance, and he stiffened. Aldryn Falliare was striding toward the center of the dance floor, where Emmeline spun with Rian.

Leo noticed Roremar’s shift in demeanor. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Roremar said.

“Rore, tell me,” he insisted.

And Roremar supposed, if his brother really was going to grow up, he had to start treating him like it.

“I can’t explain everything right now, and I know you aren’t going to like this, but you can’t trust Uncle Aldryn.”

“What?” Leo balked. “But he always⁠—”

“He hasn’t done as much for our family as you think,” Roremar said, gaze flicking between Leo’s shocked expression and his uncle. He braced his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Right now, I need you to dance with Mother, Vivienne, and Siena. Make sure he keeps away from them.”

Leo straightened, the responsibility clear in his fierce expression. “Okay.”

He ran off, and Roremar took quick strides for the center of the dance floor. He placed a hand on Rian’s shoulder. “Mind if I steal her?”

Emmeline’s eyes widened behind her delicate silver mask, a silent reprimand in the hazels.

Rian stepped back without a word, verbose as always, but Roremar knew his ally could tell from his frantic entrance that something was off. Casually, Rian drifted to the side of the room where Perry and Khasson stood. They chatted with a few guests, all their eyes boring into Roremar and Emmeline.

The entire room’s eyes.

Good. That meant Falliare couldn’t speak with them without everyone else noticing.

Roremar’s hand landed on Emmeline’s waist, his other taking hers, and every tense part of him relaxed. The freckles across her nose were visible along the edge of her mask, and Roremar memorized each, pulling her so close, their chests nearly pressed together.

“A bit improper,” Emmeline teased.

But her breath hitched, the patter of her heart loud and clear. He couldn’t tell if it was down the Fatesworn bond or because of the flush in her cheeks, but hunger danced between them. This thing was a puzzle he was going to love figuring out.

“I want to be improper with you, Miss DeLeoste,” Roremar teased. “You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

Her cheeks scorched, the tether between them igniting. A few days ago, she would have pushed him away. But everything had changed tonight.

Instead, she teased, “I don’t recall.”

“Really?” Roremar asked as the music mounted. He dipped his mouth closer to her ear. “You don’t remember me filling you? Begging the Fates for me to make you come? I remember what you felt like—you’re burned into my skin—but perhaps I need to do better next time.”

Her chest rose on a sharp inhale, but she pulled back as if snapping to reality. “We agreed not here.”

“We did,” Roremar said, hating to let the distraction slip away.

Understanding dawned in Emmeline’s silver-flecked eyes, those starry specks still there from when they’d fucked beneath the constellations. “What’s wrong?”

Roremar leaned forward to whisper in her ear again. Fuck propriety, she was his, and he was tired of acting like she wasn’t. “Falliare is here. He was headed for you, probably to get my attention.” He pulled back, all his fury reflected in Emmeline’s rapid blinks. “I don’t think he would make it out of that conversation alive, and I’m trying not to be charged with murder again.”

“Yes, let’s keep that from happening.” Emmeline dragged her hand over his shoulder soothingly. “Are you okay?”