Page 92
GWYN
My skin is sticky and my dress is ruined, but Riven looks at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
It’s all for show, of course. A carefully crafted gesture to endear himself to the remaining brides as he leads me from the Midnight Swan into the lamplit streets of Eleutheria, his fingers laced through mine like he’s afraid I’ll drift away.
But when the doors shut behind us, he still doesn’t let go.
We walk in silence, winding through the city. His grip never loosens.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, needing to break the quiet.
There’s too much of it between us, too many thoughts crowding the space where words should be.
“You’ll see” is all he says.
We pass beneath an archway, through a garden scented with roses and tangled with vines, and into a dimly lit building. My heels pinch with every step, and I’m seconds away from kicking them off, when he pushes through one last set of doors into—
“Dagny, save me,” I whisper.
An empty theater sprawls before us, rows of black velvet seats cascading toward a half-moon stage and a lone piano, both bathed in gold from the tiny orbs dangling from the rafters. The walls are painted with wildflowers, once vibrant with color but grown pale with time.
He leads me down the aisle, hoisting himself up onto the stage and pulling me after him.
Once I’m steady on my feet, I turn to him, stunned. “What—”
He kisses me.
It is feral—all tongue and teeth—and I meet him with the same aching desperation. His hands are at my waist, then at my back, tugging me closer, like he’s trying to consume me whole. And I let him. Thoroughly. Mind-blowingly. I devour him in return. His taste, his touch, his very presence.
We are frenzied. Obscene. Drenched in want.
Until we’re not.
He rears back with a sharp breath, one hand roughly rubbing the back of his neck.
“Riven,” I pant. “What was that? I thought—”
“Don’t overthink it.” He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip, still swollen from kissing him. “Just let me take care of you tonight.”
Tonight.
Is that what he wants?
Better yet… is that what I want?
To let him take care of me?
Ruin me?
Yes.
Gods, yes.
But also… no.
Not like this. Not without knowing the truth.
“I need to know what your argument with Arkyn was about,” I say softly, searching his face.
