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His gaze snaps over to my direction. His eyes are purple like all of us who practice aether, but his are among the most vibrant shade of magenta I’ve ever seen. Only my father, who is the most powerful mage alive, has brighter eyes than him.
“Ventrez,” Arluin says before I can realize, summoning a wind spell of his own. The gale crashes into the shelf above me, and all the books topple over.
There’s little time to leap away and stop them from smacking me in the face. I draw more aether into my fingers and envision the spot a few feet from Arluin.
“Laxus,” I say, and the magic obeys my command.
In the next breath I’m safely away from the falling books, and they land onto the tiles with a tremendous clamor. I wince at the sound, knowing it won’t go unnoticed by Erma.
While my teleportation spell is for the most part successful, I’m not exactly in the spot I intended. Instead, I’m much closer to Arluin.
He glances me up and down, his eyes dancing over the blue flowery dress I wear. Judging by the smile playing on his softly arched lips, he appears to be satisfied with his evaluation. His arm slips around my waist and pulls me nearer.
Now we’re so close I can feel the heat of his chest as it presses against mine. Our lips are close enough to touch, separated by the thinnest thread of distance. My stomach flutters.
Though I’ve kissed Arluin a thousand times before, I long for more. Even if I were to kiss him every day for the rest of my life, it will never be enough.
We are both silent and still, the air around us thick with tension. Our breaths fall to the same rhythm, our gazes fixed on each other.
Arluin is the one to break our stare. He leans closer, his warm breath trailing across my neck. Though I wish it had instead been his lips, I shiver at his closeness.
“Reyna,” he whispers into my ear, his lower lip grazing my lobe as he speaks, “have you cast an enchantment over me? Because you look far too bewitching.” His arm wraps more tightly around my waist, and with his spare hand, he sweeps a strand of dark hair from my face. My skin tingles as his fingers brush my cheek.
With his words and the way he holds me, I can’t help myself from arching into him. Then I remember he forgot my eighteenth birthday, and I’m supposed to be mad at him for it. Which I still am, of course. Even if he’s currently holding me in the most distracting way.
I wrinkle my nose at him, but I must admit it’s an effort not to grab his hair and kiss him as if we aren’t in Nolderan’s Grand Library. “You say that exact same sleazy line every time I make an effort to look pretty!” I definitely don’t mention how it has the same effect every time he says it. “If you want to seduce me, you’d better try harder.”
His gaze returns to my lips, and I immediately regret my words. Warmth bubbles in my stomach as his hand slides down my neck and traces my collarbone. I wonder whether his hands will slip even lower. “Then what if I tell you about all the indecent ways I’m thinking of kissing you?” he murmurs into my neck, all but kissing the skin there. “Would that seduce you more?”
My body is screaming that yes it would, but I do my best to resist his charming words and teasing touches. Especially because we’re in a library.
Clarity descends on me before I can forget my purpose in coming here.
“Do you even know what day it is?” I blurt.
He has the audacity to answer:“Tuesday?”
I slap him across the cheek. Not particularly hard, or else Erma will hear. That is, if the falling books haven’t already alerted her to our mischief. I’m surprised she’s not yet stormed over. She normally has by now.
“Tuesday?” I exclaim in a vexed whisper. “Tuesday! So, you really have forgotten then!”
I try to wriggle from his grasp, but there’s no escaping his arms.
He wears an innocent expression on that captivating face of his. Now I wish I’d slapped him harder, even if it risks inciting Erma’s wrath. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s my birthday—my eighteenth birthday! I can’t believe you!”
“Oh yes,” he says, “of course it is. How could I forget something as important as that?”
“I knew it all along!” I jab my index finger into his chest, but it hurts me more than him. “You really do care more about those books of yours than you care about—”
He silences my accusation with a chaste kiss. It might have tasted sweet if I weren’t so furious with him.
Before I can scold him for the stolen kiss, he chuckles. “Don’t be so silly. How can I care more about books when they don’t look half as lovely as you?”
“So, you only care about me because you think I look lovely?”
He simply smiles at me. “And because you’re the silliest person I know.”
