Chapter 55
Poppy
WHEN WE STEP BACK INTO the ballroom, still holding hands, I feel different, lighter, like something that’s been coiled tight in my chest has finally loosened.
The music washes over us—a sweeping waltz played by the orchestra arranged on the raised platform—and the memory mist still swirls through the air, catching candlelight and moonlight as it drifts around the guests.
Students dance and laugh and drink, and the whole scene feels like something out of a storybook.
I’m amazed that Professor Silvermoon and I were able to pull this off.
Maeve spots us from across the ballroom.
She’s standing near one of the refreshment tables, sipping from a wineglass, and when her eyes land on our joined hands, a slow smile spreads across her face.
She raises her glass in a silent toast, and I can’t help but smile back, leaning slightly into Aric so I can feel his warmth against my bare arm.
“Dance with me?” Aric says, tugging gently on my hand, trying to coax me onto the dance floor as the orchestra finishes their song and prepares for the next one.
I look up at him, at the hopeful expression on his face, and my stomach does a nervous flip. “I’ve never been good at formal dancing. I don’t really know how to—”
“I’ll lead you,” he says, then flashes me a tusk-filled smile. “Trust me?”
His hazel eyes meet mine, and my trepidation falls away.
Of course I trust him.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He tightens his fingers around mine, then leads me onto the dance floor.
Other couples move around us, some leaving while others take to the floor for the next dance, and I’m suddenly very aware of how many people are here, how many curious eyes turn our way.
Aric’s hand settles on my waist, warm and sure, and his other hand clasps mine. He pulls me close, and I tip my head back to look into his eyes. When the music begins, he starts to move.
He guides me across the floor with ease, his movements smooth and confident.
He anticipates the music, leading me through turns and steps I barely have to think about.
All I have to do is follow, letting my body respond to the gentle pressure of his hand on my waist, the way he guides me with subtle shifts of his weight.
“How did you—” I stare up at him in amazement, then pause as he twirls me before pulling me back in. With a smile, I say, “How did you learn to dance like this?”
A slight flush colors his cheeks, and he looks almost sheepish. “I’ve been taking secret dance lessons.”
“Secret dance lessons?” I repeat, blinking in surprise. “With who?”
“Raelan and Alina,” he admits, guiding us around the other couples with fluid steps. “I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t want to embarrass you on the dance floor.”
My throat goes tight with emotion. “You’ve been learning to dance . . . for me?”
He nods once. “I knew the ball was coming, and I just . . . I wanted this to be perfect. Or as close to perfect as I could make it.”
I blink against the sudden moisture misting across my eyes. He learned to waltz just so he could dance with me, just so he could make this my perfect night.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper.
He laughs, the sound warm and tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m really not. But I’m trying.”
I glance to my left, where Alina and Raelan are waltzing nearby.
Her pale blue hair shines in the moonlight, and Raelan looks at her like he always does—like she holds universes in her eyes, like she’s all he needs to breathe.
Alina turns her head and catches my eye, and a knowing smile tugs on her lips.
I return her smile, still fighting back tears.
And then I notice the memory mist gathering around us. Luminous silver-blue wisps begin to swirl at our feet, then rise higher, spiraling around us in delicate ribbons as we continue to dance.
Other dancers notice. Some pause mid-step to watch, and I feel their attention like a physical weight. A few months ago, this would have terrified me. Being the center of attention, being seen, being watched—it would have sent me scurrying for a shadow to hide myself in.
But now I’m no longer afraid. I know I belong here, in Aric’s arms, dancing under the blue moon as snow falls gently outside.
The mist thickens around us, images forming in the swirling silver. Memories, I realize. My memories.
I’ve dreamed of this moment more times than I can count.
I see the library—Aric slouched in the chair across from me, looking skeptical while I clutch my notebook of tutoring rules. The memory feels both distant and immediate, like I’m watching it through a window into the past.
The image shifts. Now we’re in the carriage on our way to Faunwood, watching the prairie fish swim through the air outside the window, their scales glowing in the darkness. I remember the wonder I felt in that moment, the way Aric’s hand found mine, the tangible spark of something more between us.
Another shift. I see the Whim on Samhain—darkness and candlelight and the two of us tangled together beneath the old oak, breathless and lost in each other. My cheeks flush at the memory even as warmth pools low in my belly.
And then the mist shows me something I haven’t experienced yet.
Aric and me, in his dorm room. His hands on my bare skin, curious and careful. My body pressed against his, our mouths locked in a passionate kiss. The image is hazy but unmistakable—a vision of what I want, what I’m ready for.
My breath catches.
I want that. I want him—fully, completely.
The music swells, and Aric dips me low, his arm strong and steady beneath my back. As I gaze up at him, I know without a shred of doubt that he’d never let me fall.
He pulls me upright, and the waltz continues.
I lose myself in the movement, in the warmth of his body against mine, in the way the memory mist still swirls around us like it wants to join in.
Other couples have resumed dancing, but I’m aware of their lingering glances, of the whispered conversations.
Let them look. Let them see. I’m done hiding.
Through all the dancers, I catch a glimpse of . . .
The king.
“Aric,” I whisper. “Look.”
Aric turns his head, and when he spots the king dancing with a woman I recognize as Alina’s mom, he misses a step, sending us stumbling. But instead of being embarrassed, I laugh.
“Is that really him?” Aric asks, his hazel eyes wide.
I nod. “Yeah. Alina’s grandfather. I met him when we were first-years.”
Aric grins. “I can’t believe I’m seeing him with my own eyes.” Then his gaze finds me. “Thank you for organizing this. What an epic night.”
The music slowly comes to an end, but Aric holds me for a beat longer than necessary, his forehead resting against mine.
I close my eyes and breathe him in, trying to memorize this moment. I never want to forget this.
When we finally break apart, I take a breath and push up onto my tiptoes, bringing my lips close to his ear, where the hoops he wears are catching the light. My heart hammers, but I force the words out.
“Do you want to go back to the academy early?”
He pulls back slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “Early? Why? Are you feeling okay?”
My cheeks flush with heat, and I’m suddenly very aware of how many people are around us.
“I know Felex is gone tonight,” I say quietly, my voice barely audible over the chatter. “And . . . And I’m ready. To go all the way. To be with you.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, like he’s trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Then color floods his cheeks before spreading to the tips of his ears. His grip on my waist tightens slightly, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard.
“Poppy,” he says, voice rough. “Are you . . . Are you sure? We don’t have to rush. I don’t want you to feel pressured or—”
“I’m sure,” I interrupt. I’ve never been more sure of anything. “I want this. I want you.” I brush my fingers across his lapels, then down his broad chest. “I trust you.”
His expression goes tender, and he cups my face in one hand, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Yes. Absolutely yes.”
Relief and anticipation flood through me.
The orchestra transitions into something new, a faster dance I’m in no way prepared for, but we’re already moving off the dance floor. Aric tucks my arm into the crook of his elbow and leads me toward the refreshment tables.
“We should eat something first,” he says, and I can hear the nervousness beneath his casual tone. “Maybe some cake? I don’t want you to—I mean, we should have energy. Not that I’m assuming—”
“Cake would be perfect,” I say, squeezing his arm and laughing.
He lets out a breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Right. Cake.”
We reach the buffet table, which is laden with an impressive spread of desserts. Aric grabs two plates and loads them with slices of chocolate cake, probably more than either of us can eat.
As we turn to leave, I catch sight of my friends across the glittering ballroom.
Lyra spots us, and her eyes narrow, darting between our faces and our loaded plates and the way we’re clearly heading for the exit. Then she grins and gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Maeve, standing next to her, immediately reaches over and pushes Lyra’s arm down, shaking her head with an expression that’s half amused, half exasperated.
I bite back a smile.
Alina and Raelan are still on the dance floor, completely lost in each other.
We continue toward the doors to leave the ballroom. And then I see Morgan.
She’s standing near one of the burbling fountains, a glass of wine in her hand, watching us. When our eyes meet, she doesn’t look away. Instead, she holds my gaze for a moment, and to my eyes, she looks . . . sad. Resigned. She takes a sip from her glass and then turns away.
I feel a pang of sympathy, but it’s quickly swallowed by the anticipation thrumming through my veins.
Aric and I slip out of the ballroom and into the entrance hall, where the cool night air hits us immediately. Snow is falling gently outside, visible through the tall windows, coating the ground in a fresh layer of sparkling white.
Carriages wait in a line outside, their drivers bundled in warm cloaks to ward off the cold. Aric approaches one and speaks briefly with the driver, who nods and gestures for us to climb in.
The interior is warm and cozy, with plush seats and a small flickering lantern providing soft light.
I settle onto the bench, my heart racing, and scoot over as Aric climbs in. He sits beside me—close enough that our thighs press together—and balances our cake plates on his lap.
A moment later, the carriage lurches into motion.
We’re going back to the academy.
Together.
And I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.