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My brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s the leader of a legendary group of assassins,” Cress says, gaze flicking to me. “Did he drink from you?”

Heat spreads across my cheeks, down my throat, and across my collarbone.

Quill is an assassin?

“Rory,” Cress prompts, voice laced with worry.

“Of course not,” I say, chest tightening. “He hasn’t hurt me at all.”

Cress’s eyes traverse over me, and I become acutely aware of my nakedness. It isn’t like she hasn’t seen me naked before, but never after… intimacy. My skin is still flushed and tender from Quill’s lips and hands. The urge to hide, to cover myself, rushes through me, liquid hot, but to cower under her unflinching stare will only make matters worse. She already doesn’t trust that I wasn’t compelled, and if I cower before her, she might be even more likely to think he drank from me. “Spin.”

“She’s not compelled, and I didn’t feed from her,” Quill says, chucking another shard to the floor. “But you might as well stake me now because Carver will do far worse to me once he sees that window… or lack thereof. It was one of a kind.”

Cress merely shrugs, free hand running over the tight fabric covering her bump. “Not my problem.” She fixes her attention back on me. “I said spin, Rory.”

Annoyed, I do as she asks, even going as far as to lift my hair and bare my neck to her. “I’m not under his thrall.”

“We’re leaving,” Cress says with more finality than I’ve ever heard from her. “Where are your clothes?”

I glance at the wet lump of satin and lace before the fireplace, the torn fabric tossed about the room. “About that…”

“You can take my shirt,” Quill says. There’s a blur of movement between us as clothes strewn across the floor are snatched up by him. He hands me the top again. “It looks better on you anyway.”

I bite my lip at his compliment and lock eyes with Cress.

Holding her gaze, I say, “Well… can you wait outside? While we…”

She slides the stake into a notch on the leather belt slung beneath her bump. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone with a godsdamned assassin who now knows you’re aware of his identity? Absolutely not, Rory.”

“Cress—”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Quill says defensively.

Her eyes are as unforgiving as moonstone. “We’re leaving.”

A second away from stomping my foot like a scorned child throwing a tantrum, I breathe through my anger and slide Quill’s shirt back on. It’s far too big on me, falling just above my knees. In the seconds it takes me to redress, he has already fetched my cloak from where he’d hung it by the front door. He drapes the damp fabric around my shoulders, turns me toward him, and ties the bow around my throat, fingers caressing the pulse throbbing there.

“Tell your brother I’m sorry about his window,” I whisper, feeling stupid for doing so, knowing Cress and Quill have far better hearing than me. “I⁠—”

Quill’s smooth palms cradle my face as he presses his lips to mine, silencing all the words I want to say. This kiss… It’s soft and gentle and heartbreakingly like a goodbye.

“I’ll see you again soon,” he promises.

But I know he will not.

I thought if I buried my fears and resentment, it would make the rite less real, but after the feel of Quill’s body on mine? The taste of his lips? The way his eyes rake over me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in all his years?

It’s more real than ever before.

Those are things I’ll crave until I draw my very last breath.

And maybe even beyond. If there’s such a thing for mortals.

“Well, what do you think?” Cress asks, not unkindly, but certainly not with her usual friendly pep.

The air between us had been charged with tension the entire walk back to Gild the Lily and through the rest of my fitting. She’s angry with herself for letting me leave with Quill, and even though I’ve tried to ease her guilt with futile reassurances that I’m perfectly fine, her self-reproach remains. It manifests with every gentle tug and worried glance in the mirror as she laces me into my gown and cinches my waist to a sharp edge.