Chapter 20
HARK
Anticipation buzzed in his veins, hounding him as he buttoned his suit jacket and downed the glass of whiskey he’d requested be brought to him whilst he readied himself for that evening.
He’d been looking forward to it in a strange sort of way.
Yes, it was a celebration in honour of the mages that had lost their lives under Kastonia’s persecution, but he’d heard about the planning that had gone into tonight, and it was going to be spectacular.
‘Do hope you’re dressing up tonight, Stappen, I’ve just seen your girlfriend and she’s the picture of regal,’ an amused voice drawled from the doorway.
Sebastian leaned against the doorway with one arm above his head, his fighting leathers replaced with a suit worthy of drawing the most modest of Flambriar’s citizens into bed with him.
‘Don’t you have children to be looking after?’ Hark said, the smile on his face foreign as he looked at himself in the mirror. Flambriar had aged him. Physically, but he also felt it like a weight on his soul. He just wanted them all to be safe.
‘Said children are currently clinging to Miss Reinhart like she’s the most exciting thing they’ve ever seen,’ Seb laughed.
He was not surprised. He’d seen the awe in Elin’s eyes, and Vivi clearly wasn’t far behind.
He smoothed his jacket and shot a grin at his friend before donning the mask of Flambriar’s ruler. ‘Then I guess we’d better get going.’
They’d agreed to meet in the sitting room, the one with a huge fireplace and a dining table already pocked with dagger marks – the one with brown leather armchairs and chaises in which Arla Dragonhart was already lounging, her fingers curled around the stem of a glass containing that delicious sparkling wine.
The other hand hung loosely at her side where a two-year-old with unruly dark curls played with the silver rings adorning the assassin’s fingers.
Regal was too tame a word for the way Arla looked.
If the world still turned, it was her at its core. She was starlight, and fire, and magic.
Emerald fabric clung to her like a second skin, the skirt fanning out around her as if she commanded every scrap of silk and tulle and whatever else the gown had been made of. Hark didn’t think he had ever seen something so exquisite.
‘You’re drooling, Stappen,’ Kase remarked, shooting him a grin that lit him from within. His friend was a picture of lethal beauty. Silk, black as night, slid across her skin, pooling at her feet like a waterfall of obsidian.
‘I don’t know, I quite like him like that.’ Her voice was thick as honey and lit with the spice of the wine she sipped. The trousers of his suit felt far too tight.
Seb handed him a glass of something cold and bitter. He swallowed it in one. ‘You certainly have a way of bending palaces around your finger, Dragonhart.’
She blinked once, soft, dark lashes brushing the skin beneath her eyes before she turned her head to assess the entire court that had gravitated around her.
Arla had always had a certain pull, a way of becoming the centre of any room no matter whether it contained kings, or nobles, or the merchants that brought produce from the other kingdoms.
He tried not to think of Malarye and the fact he wouldn’t be joining her.
But if Arla was worried about her impending trip out of Flambriar, it didn’t show on her face as she stood, her dress fanning around her as the assassin moved toward him.
She had always possessed a unique brand of movement.
All fluidity and lethal grace. It was far more arousing than he cared to admit.
She stood so close he could smell the very scent of her. Could almost feel her skin beneath his hands.
She looked up at him, her hands coming to the bowtie at the base of his throat. For every brush of her fingers against his skin he was sure he would combust.
‘I have no interest in bending palaces to my whims, Stappen. That particular skill is reserved for you alone.’
Fucking gods! The things he would do to have her out of that dress and splayed before him right now.
Judging by the look in her eyes, he guessed she was thinking something very similar indeed.
She shot him the coyest smirk he imagined possible before turning back to face the court. He was glad to have shared this moment with the goddess who stood before him.
‘It’s time,’ she said softly.
And though Hark knew she didn’t understand what tonight meant yet, he knew she would be right at the front of it.
She had lost the people that made up her soul, and if there was anyone to lead them down the mountain to honour the dead, he could think of no one better than the girl with a heart forged of fire.