Chapter 31 #2
His thumbs pressed into her arch, and she bit back a small sound of pleasure. Everything he did, even this practical care, carried an edge of sensuality that made her skin prickle.
"There." He rose gracefully, still holding her shoe. "Better?"
"Yes." Her voice came out rough. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We're not finished." But his smile had lost its sharp edge. "One more run-through, then we'll call it sufficient."
He let her put her shoes back on, then led her to the center once more.
This time when they danced, something had shifted.
The movements flowed like water, natural as breathing.
When he hunted, she fled with genuine adrenaline.
When she hunted, he retreated with calculated grace that made her feel powerful.
And when he caught her at the end, pressing her to the wall with inevitable finality, the symbolic capture felt like prophecy.
"Perfect," he breathed against her temple. "Tomorrow, dance exactly like that."
"Like I'm enjoying being caught?"
"Like you chose to be caught." His hands framed her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "Like you ran just far enough to make the capture sweet."
They stood frozen in that position for a long moment, her back to the wall, his hands framing her face, both breathing harder than the dance strictly required. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the ballroom floor.
A knock at the ballroom door broke whatever spell had settled over them. They separated as Thaine entered, and Briar caught the way the huntsman's eyes catalogued their positions, her flushed face, Eliam's protective stance.
"My lord, forgive the interruption, but the dress has arrived for the ball tomorrow."
"The dress?" Eliam's entire demeanor shifted, sharp interest replacing languid satisfaction. "Bring it. I want to see what she chose."
Thaine hesitated, glancing at Briar. "I also needed to speak with you about—"
"Later." Eliam's attention had already turned to the door where servants entered carrying a covered form. "Whatever it is can wait."
Briar watched Thaine's jaw tighten, saw him weigh pushing the issue. But then the dress was being unveiled, and even the huntsman's attention got caught by the reveal.
The garnet silk seemed to glow in the late afternoon light, rich and dark and complex.
The bodice was exactly as she'd designed with Arachne—structured and dramatic with the sweetheart neckline that plunged daringly.
But it was the thorned vines that stole breath, the black crystal and jet beading spiraling up from the hem, creating actual texture that caught the light like dark stars.
"You chose red." Eliam's voice had gone very quiet.
"I chose to make it mine." She moved closer to the dress, fingers trailing over the silk. "To wear the color because I want to, not because you demanded it."
He circled the dress form slowly, taking in every detail. When he reached the back, with its provocative lacing, his hands flexed at his sides. "Arachne outdid herself."
"Do you hate it?" She couldn't read his expression.
"Hate it?" He looked at her then, and something raw flickered in his eyes. "I'm trying to decide if I'll be able to let you leave our chambers tomorrow wearing this. If I'll be able to watch others look at you in it without removing their eyes."
Our chambers. Not hers. Not his.
"My lord," Thaine interrupted, "about the hunt preparations—"
"Handle them." Eliam didn't look away from the dress. "You know what needs doing."
"But there's a matter of—"
"Handle. It." The temperature dropped several degrees. "Or shall I find someone who can manage simple tasks without hand-holding?"
Thaine bowed stiffly. "Of course, my lord. I'll see to everything."
He left, and Briar caught the frustrated look he shot her before the door closed. Whatever he'd wanted to discuss, no doubt related to her recent activities, would have to wait.
"You'll be stunning," Eliam said, still studying the gown. "Everyone in that ballroom will want you. Every hand will itch to touch." He moved to her, fingers trailing down her arm to capture her hand. "And everyone will know you're mine."
"Is that all that matters? That they know I'm yours?"
"No." He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "What matters is that you chose to be. This dress says that louder than any mark I could put on you."
The warmth in her chest pulsed, and with it came the crushing weight of truth. Tomorrow night, she would wear this dress she'd chosen. Dance the dance they'd perfected. Stand at his side as his chosen companion.
And in the end, Malus would destroy it all.
"What's wrong?" Eliam's eyes narrowed, catching some shift in her expression.
"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Just overwhelmed. Tomorrow feels very real suddenly."
"It should." He pulled her against him, arms wrapping around her with possessive care. "Tomorrow, everything changes. The court will see you as my companion, not just my claimed human."
"I know." She pressed her face into his chest, breathing in his scent, memorizing the unexpected feeling of safety that would soon shatter.
"Do you?" He pulled back to study her face. "Once you stand beside me at the Wild Hunt ball, there's no going back. You'll be elevated in the eyes of every court, every fae who matters. The mark may bind your body, but tomorrow binds your position."
If only he knew how little time she had left in any position. "I understand."
"Good." He kissed her forehead, the gesture surprisingly tender. "Now, you need to rest. Bathe. Eat something substantial. Tomorrow will be taxing."
"You're leaving?"
"I have matters to attend before the ball. Preparations Thaine apparently can't handle alone." He rolled his eyes. "I'll return tonight."
"Promise?" The word slipped out, needy and desperate.
He paused at the door, looking back with an expression she couldn't read. "Have I ever not returned to you, little thief?"
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with a dress that represented everything she was about to lose.
The water in Briar's bath had long since cooled, but she couldn't bring herself to leave its embrace. She sank lower, letting the water lap at her chin, trying to imagine what drowning might feel like when it wasn't in an ice-filled river.
The door to her chambers opened without warning—only one person entered like that. She heard his footsteps cross to the bathing room, pause at the doorway.
"Planning to grow gills?" Eliam's voice carried amusement, but she detected something else beneath it. An edge of tension that made her stomach clench. “Perhaps I should have enforced bath time supervision after all.”
"The water's nice," she managed, not turning to look at him. Had Thaine finally cornered him? Did he know about her midnight wanderings, her desperate research? If he did, he was keeping such knowledge close to the cuff.
"I'm sure it was. Three hours ago." He moved into the room, and she heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his coat. "You'll be wrinkled as a raisin if you stay much longer."
"Maybe that's my plan. Can't attend a ball if I'm more raisin than woman."
"Nervous?" He knelt beside the tub, and she finally looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held that intensity that always made her breath catch.
"Terrified," she admitted, which was true enough.
"Of dancing? We practiced thoroughly. Your body knows what to do." His fingers trailed through the water, not quite touching her. "Or what comes after?"
"Both. Neither." She drew her knees up, suddenly self-conscious despite everything they'd shared. "I don't know how to be what they'll expect tomorrow."
"You don't have to be anything but yourself." He stood, fetching a towel from the warming rack. "Though perhaps a dry, unwrinkled version of yourself. Come."
She wanted to refuse, to hide in the cooling water forever, but his extended hand was insistent and his expression indicated he would not be denied.
She rose, water streaming off her body, and let him wrap the towel around her with surprising gentleness.
His hands lingered on her shoulders, and she felt him press something small and cool into her palm.
"What's this?" She looked down at an elegant wooden box, dark wood inlaid with silver thorns.
"Open it."
Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on midnight blue velvet, lay a circlet unlike anything she'd ever seen. It was delicate but undeniably powerful—silver thorns twisted through dark wood that seemed to hold starlight in its grain.
The wood was polished to a deep gleam but retained an organic quality, as if it had grown into this shape rather than been carved.
Where the silver met the wood, they melded seamlessly, metal and living material united.
Tiny points of light seemed trapped within the wood itself, gleaming like distant stars when the light caught them just right.
"Eliam," she breathed, unable to form more words.
He lifted it from the box with careful hands. "The wood is from the oldest groves, where moonlight has soaked into the grain for millennia. It took me three days to find the perfect piece."
So this was what he'd been doing. Not Wild Hunt preparations, but crafting her a crown.
"May I?"
She nodded, standing still as he settled it on her damp hair.
The weight was less than she'd expected, but she felt it like a brand, the cool touch of silver, the strange warmth of the ancient wood.
In the mirror across the room, she caught their reflection.
He stood dark and possessive behind her with her wrapped in nothing but a towel and starlight thorns.
"Perfect," he murmured, adjusting the placement slightly. "Though it'll look better with your hair properly styled tomorrow."
"This is too much." The words came out choked. "I can't—"