FOUR #3
“For weeks?!” I exhale sharply, still reeling, considering that ten minutes ago, we were doing . . . well, not this. “And when, exactly, were you going to mention it? I don’t know—maybe weeks ago?”
Thane shrugs, completely unaffected. “We had a lot going on.”
I groan loudly, flopping back onto the bed like the universe has personally wronged me. Thane watches me, too calm, too composed.
“That,” he says, dry as dust, “is actually what I came back to tell you.”
I sit up and look at him, still trying to process this disaster. “And you got distracted?”
His gaze darkens, dragging over my lips, my throat, down to where my nipples strain against the thin fabric of my gown, betraying just how much heat still lingers between us.
Then, he sits up. “Obviously.”
I make a sound, half-frustrated, half-something-else-entirely, and shove at his chest. “Unbelievable.”
“I don’t regret being distracted by you.”
I glare. He smirks, infuriating and perfect.
I groan, flopping dramatically onto the bed for a second time. “A ball?”
“A ball,” Thane confirms, sounding just as done with this as I am.
“When is this gods-forsaken ball?” I ask in disbelief.
“The day after tomorrow,” Thane responds evenly.
“You’re kidding! The day after tomorrow?” My voice reaches the rafters.
Thane huffs a quiet laugh. “Yes. The day after tomorrow.”
I stare at the ceiling, my brain still trying to process this absolute nightmare of a situation.
“Worse than the war,” I mutter. “Gods help me. A ball.”
“A ball,” Thane confirms, far too calmly for someone delivering this kind of news. He braces his hands on the bed, surrounding me, his presence impossible to ignore.
I sit back up, my pulse kicking up for entirely different reasons now. “And when exactly was someone going to tell me this?”
Thane raises a brow, looking far too composed. “I’m telling you now.”
I throw my hands up. “Oh, well, that’s great. So glad I got such advance notice. We have to work on our communication.”
“I don’t see the problem,” he says.
I want to throw something at him.
I gape at him. “You don’t see the problem? Thane, I fight and plant vegetables. I don’t dance at royal functions!”
His lips move into a full, knowing, aggravating you’re-not-getting-out-of-this curl of his mouth. And somehow, that infuriates me more than the ball itself.
“You’re enjoying this,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“A little bit.”
I shove at his chest, but all that does is make him grab my wrist, holding me still.
“You have to go,” he says, his voice calm, unbothered. “This is for you.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” I snap. “That’s what makes it worse!”
“You’re the Spiritborn.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” I say, accusing.
“Oh, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am,” he repeats, calm, composed, enjoying this far too much. His lips twitch again. Gods help me.
“You think this is funny.”
“A little.”
“You—” I shove at his chest again, but it’s like trying to move a stone wall. He doesn’t even budge.
“Amara, darling, it’s just a ball.”
“Yes, exactly! A ball. A royal ball. Do you know what that means?”
“I do,” he says, still completely unfazed.
“Speeches,” I list.
“Yes.”
“Formalities.”
“Correct.”
“Dresses.”
“I assume so.”
“Dancing.”
“Definitely.”
I stare at him, horrified.
He grins.
I groan, dragging my hands down my face. “I’m from a farming village,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t do balls, Thane!”
He does not blink. Does not waver. Does not react to the sheer, incomprehensible horror I am currently experiencing.
But his expression does soften. “You won’t be alone,” he says simply.
I pause my dramatic ramblings.
“I’ll be there the whole time.”
My pulse skips.
“I won’t leave your side.”
And gods, that shouldn’t settle me the way it does. Because this is ridiculous. This is a disaster.
“You have to choose a dress.”
My jaw drops open. “I’m sorry—what?”
“The dressmaker will bring options to choose from,” he continues, as if he didn’t just say something catastrophic.
I blink. Then groan. “Oh, fantastic. More decisions I don’t know how to make.”
Thane’s lips curve into that infuriating almost-smirk, but this time, he doesn’t tease. Just watches me with that quiet, knowing look. He already knows how this is going to go—how much I hate this.
I huff, running a hand through my hair. “Fine.” The word leaves me like a death sentence.
Thane raises a brow. “Fine?”
“Yes. Fine. I will wear the stupid dress and go to the stupid ball and be the Spiritborn in front of a stupid amount of people.”
Thane hums. “That’s the best I’m going to get out of you, isn’t it?”
“Correct.”
I’m scowling, muttering under my breath—then he moves. His hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up. Then his lips press against mine.
Not like before. Not heated or desperate.
Just firm. Lingering.
Like he couldn’t help himself.
When he pulls back, I’m blinking up at him, completely thrown. “What—”
He gives me that half-smile—the one that makes me melt.
“Good luck with the dress.” He winks. Then he turns and walks out—far too pleased with himself.
I stare at the door long after he’s gone. Breathless. Scrambled. Still trying to process what just happened.
I groan, flop back onto the bed, and glare at the ceiling like this is all its fault.