Chapter 3
LORENTH
Ican't tear my eyes away from her.
She's staring at the fire dancers, her masked face tilted up to catch the spiraling flames, and there's something in her posture that makes my chest tighten.
Wonder. Pure, unfiltered wonder, like she's never seen anything like this before.
Like the world just opened up and showed her something worth believing in.
Maybe she hasn't. Maybe this is all new to her.
The thought lodges somewhere behind my ribs and refuses to budge.
I didn't expect to find anyone here worth spending time with.
Lora dragged me to this festival with promises and threats in equal measure, convinced that if I just tried, if I just gave the gods a chance, I'd find what she's always believed was waiting for me.
My other half. My soulbond. All that romantic bullshit the Nashai preach about two souls recognizing each other across time and space.
I came because I promised her. Because she's the only family I have left, and I owe her more than I can ever repay. But I didn't believe. Don't believe. Not in fate or destiny or any of it.
And yet.
This woman in her silver mask, with her storm-gray eyes and the way her lips part when she watches the flames dance—she makes me want to believe. Or at least makes me want to stay longer than the hour I promised Lora.
The music shifts, strings swelling into something slower, richer.
Bodies around us move in pairs, swaying to the rhythm, and I see the exact moment she notices.
Her attention pulls from the fire dancers to the couples moving together, silk brushing against silk, wings folding close to allow their partners in.
She sways. Just the slightest movement, her hips shifting with the music like her body wants to join them but she's holding herself back.
Fuck it.
"Dance with me." The words come out rougher than I intend, less invitation and more command. I soften it by extending my hand, palm up. "Unless you'd rather watch."
Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide behind the silver petals of her mask. For a heartbeat, I think she'll refuse. That she'll thank me again for saving her from that drunk bastard and disappear into the crowd, and I'll be left standing here wondering why the hell I feel disappointed.
But then her lips curve into something that's not quite a smile but close enough to make heat pool low in my gut.
"I'd like to dance." She places her hand in mine, fingers small and warm against my palm. "But I should warn you—I'm not very good at it."
"I'll lead." I close my fingers around hers and pull her into the space between the other dancers, ignoring the curious glances from a few nobles who probably recognize my wings even if they can't see my face. Let them stare. Let them gossip. I don't give a damn right now.
I place my free hand at the small of her back, and she draws in a sharp breath. The silk of her dress is thin enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin beneath, the gentle curve of her spine. She's tense, muscles locked tight like she's bracing for something.
"Relax." I keep my voice low, meant only for her. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Something flickers across her face—relief, maybe, or surprise—and the tension bleeds out of her incrementally. She settles her other hand on my shoulder, light as a thalivern landing, and when I start to move, she follows.
Not gracefully, not at first. She stumbles over her own feet, steps on mine once, twice, and a flush creeps up her neck visible even in the dim lantern light.
But I don't let go. Don't pull away. I just adjust my grip, guiding her through the steps until her body starts to remember the rhythm even if her mind doesn't.
The music wraps around us, strings and drums and voices rising in harmony.
The incense thickens, sweet and heady, and I watch pink thaliverns drift past—four iridescent wings catching the firelight as they float through the air like living jewels.
The Nashai must have released them for this part of the festival.
They weave between the dancers, their wings brushing against bare shoulders and trailing silk, leaving faint traces of shimmer in their wake.
One lands on her shoulder, perches there for a moment before taking flight again. She laughs, the sound bright and unexpected, and I feel it like a punch to the sternum.
When was the last time I made someone laugh?
When was the last time I wanted to?
The lanterns dim, their red glow softening to something almost intimate.
The crowd around us blurs into shapes and shadows, and it's just her and the music and the way she's starting to move with me instead of against me.
Her steps grow surer, more confident, and when I spin her out and pull her back in, she comes willingly. Eagerly.
Her eyes never leave mine.
"You're better at this than you think." I draw her closer, until there's barely any space between us. Until I can count the freckles dusting her cheekbones, faint beneath the mask.
"You're a good teacher." She bites her lower lip, and I have to force myself not to stare at the way her teeth press into the soft flesh. "Or maybe you're just that good."
"Both." The word comes out more arrogant than I mean it, but she laughs again, and I decide I don't care how I sound as long as she keeps making that noise.
We move together, her body fitting against mine like she was designed for it.
The music shifts again, tempo slowing further, and I adjust our movements to match.
Other dancers press close, creating a barrier of bodies and wings that makes the space feel smaller.
More private. Like we're the only two people here that matter.
I should ask her name. Should say something to fill the silence stretching between us. But words feel unnecessary when she's looking at me like that—like I'm something worth seeing, worth knowing. Like I'm more than just the harsh lines and cold edges I've spent years honing into armor.
The thaliverns circle overhead now, their wings casting faint shadows across her face. She tilts her head back to watch them, exposing the line of her throat, and I want to press my mouth there. Want to taste her skin and feel her pulse jump beneath my lips.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I don't do this. Don't lose myself in strangers at festivals, don't let attraction override logic and control. But standing here with her in my arms, swaying to music that seems designed to undo every wall I've built, I can't remember why any of that matters.
"What's your name?" The question slips out before I can stop it, rougher than I intend. Desperate in a way that makes me want to take it back.
But she doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch or look uncomfortable. She just meets my eyes, her lips curving into something softer than a smile.
"Senna." The name falls from her mouth like a secret, quiet and reverent.
Senna. It suits her—the softness of it, the way it sounds like rain on glass. Beautiful and delicate and entirely too breakable for the world we live in.
"Lorenth." I offer my own name in return, watching her expression for any sign of recognition.
Most people know House Varyon, know what my family represents even if they've never met me personally.
But her face remains open, curious, without the usual calculation that comes with nobles trying to figure out what I'm worth.
She doesn't know. Doesn't care.
The realization settles somewhere deep, and I find myself pulling her closer without thinking. Her hand tightens on my shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and when I slide my palm lower on her back, she doesn't protest. Just melts into the touch like she's been starving for it.
"Lorenth," she repeats, testing the syllables. "It's a strong name."
"It's an old name." I spin her again, slower this time, savoring the way her skirt fans out around her legs before she comes back to me. "My father's. His father's before that. All the way back to when House Varyon was just a collection of farmers pretending to be noble."
She laughs, soft and genuine. "I like farmers. They're honest."
"Then you'd hate my family." The words come out too bitter, and I watch her expression shift—concern, maybe, or curiosity. "We're merchants now. Bakeries and markets. Not exactly the glorious legacy my ancestors dreamed of."
"Bakeries sound nice." Her voice is quiet, but there's sincerity in it that catches me off guard. "Better than swords and bloodshed, anyway."
I study her face, searching for sarcasm or pity, but find neither. She means it. Actually believes that selling bread is better than conquest. The thought is so foreign to everything I was raised to value that I don't know how to respond.
So I don't. I just keep moving with her, letting the music fill the silence while I try to figure out what the hell is happening to me.
The incense grows thicker, wrapping around us like a physical thing.
It smells different now—sweeter, richer, with notes of jasmine and something darker underneath.
Arousal magic, probably. The Nashai love weaving that into their festivals, pushing people together with spelled smoke and enchanted wine.
But I don't think it's the magic making my pulse race. Don't think it's the incense making me hyperaware of every place our bodies touch, every breath she takes that brushes against my chest.
It's her. Just her.
Senna tilts her head, studying me with those storm-gray eyes that see too much. "You dance well for someone who seems to be against it."
It's not a question. More like an observation stated as fact, and the accuracy of it makes something twist in my chest.
"Forced lessons," I admit, because lying feels wrong when she's looking at me like that. "My sister always thought we should act according to our status." Despite having no one to raise us. "Part of the reason she brought me here tonight to at least try."
"Try what?"
"Finding what everyone else is here for." I gesture vaguely at the couples around us, some already peeling away toward the darker edges of the square. Toward private alcoves and rented rooms. "Soulbonds and destiny and all that romantic shit the Nashai preach."
Her lips curve, but it's not quite a smile. More like understanding tinged with something sad. "You don't believe in it."
"I believe in what I can control." The words come out harder than I mean them, edged with years of disappointment and loss. "Everything else is just chaos pretending to have meaning."
She's quiet for a moment, and I think maybe I've gone too far. Revealed too much of the darkness I usually keep locked down tight. But then she squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and sure, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle.
"Maybe chaos is the point."
I stare at her, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. By the way she says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like accepting the randomness of existence is easier than fighting it.
Maybe it is. Maybe I've been doing this all wrong.
The music swells, and I pull her closer without thinking.
Her body fits against mine perfectly, every curve aligning with the hard planes of my frame like we've done this a thousand times before.
Her head barely reaches my shoulder, and I have to resist the urge to rest my chin on top of it.
To breathe in the scent of her hair and forget about everything waiting for me beyond this moment.
Thaliverns drift around us, their wings leaving trails of pink shimmer that cling to her dress, her exposed skin. She looks ethereal like this—caught between firelight and shadow, her mask glinting silver and her eyes dark with something I can't name.
I'm not counting anymore. Not tracking the minutes until I can leave, not calculating how much longer I have to stay before Lora will accept that I tried. I've forgotten about the promise, about the hour I swore to give this festival.
All I can think about is the woman in my arms and the way she makes everything else fade into background noise.
"Senna." Her name tastes good on my tongue, familiar even though I just learned it. I want to say it again. Want to hear her say mine in that quiet, reverent way that makes heat coil low in my gut.
She looks up at me, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just her face. The curve of her lips, the flutter of her lashes, the way her breath catches when our eyes meet.
I'm so fucked.