Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming down here without her.” Loren tugged at the sleeves of his embroidered tunic, the silver vines and leaves embroidered on the deep green silk catching the light like shimmering stars. “How long does it take to put on a dress?”
“Longer than you think,” Eloria snipped back. “I left her three choices. And she’ll have to figure out what to do with her hair. Honestly, you should have let me stay to help her—”
“Princess!” one of the stewards called from across the hall, bowing hastily before gesturing toward the temporary staging area they’d set up at the back of the hall. “They’re asking for you.”
“She’s meddling,” Loren growled, glaring at Eloria’s back as his sister glided away to join the army of cooks scrambling to make sure everything was just so before the doors finally opened.
Galen laughed, tossing back a goblet of the effervescent golden wine. He looked maddeningly at ease in his finery, his own deep green doublet tailored to perfection and threaded with the same silver embroidery.
“Of course she’s meddling,” he said. “She’s your sister. But she’s not doing it to trap Araya. She’s doing it because she wants the two of you to have each other when you need it most.”
Loren grumbled something non-committal, his gaze snagging on Eloria’s commander at arms and spymaster, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. The shadows thickened around his feet, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.
“Don’t.” Galen set his goblet down a little too hard. “Eloria already forced the entire Small Council to swear oaths that they wouldn’t approach her during Bloomtide. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Loren’s lip curled as he watched Eryn melt into the crowd. Cormac stayed, his face set in a permanent scowl despite the festive occasion. Oaths or not, he didn’t trust either of them. If they found a way to get to her—
“And look,” Galen interrupted his churning thoughts. “There she is.”
Loren turned, the shadows rising with him like they wanted to see too—and then he promptly forgot all about Cormac and Eryn.
Araya walked down the steps next to Thorne, one hand resting lightly on his arm as she laughed at something he said. The bright sound carried through the hall, the easy warmth she shared with his oldest friend striking Loren right in the heart.
The gown fit her like a second skin, tailored to tempt fate.
Eloria’s doing, no doubt—right down to the silver thread that echoed the embroidery on his own tunic and the plum silk that drew attention to her creamy skin.
She’d drawn the front of her fiery hair back from her face in a braided crown that emphasized the long line of her neck, for once bare of that cursed amulet.
“Close your mouth, Your Majesty,” Galen whispered loudly.
Loren snapped his mouth closed hard enough to rattle his teeth. Across the room, Araya hesitated, a swell of anxiety rising in the bond as she scanned the crowd—but then her searching silver gaze found his, as drawn to him as he was to her.
He moved without thinking, people jumping out of the way of his shadows as he strode across the hall. He stopped just short of touching her. He didn’t dare—not when his hands remembered the curve of her waist and the way she’d melted into him in that dream, soft and giving and impossibly warm.
“Is it too much?” she asked softly.
“Is what too much?” Loren asked stupidly, still staring at her.
Araya blinked, then huffed out a laugh Loren would have paid fortunes to hear again. “The dress, Loren.”
“Oh—” Loren forced himself to take a step back, sucking in a deep breath. “Not at all. You look—it suits you.”
“I knew it would,” Eloria said, her voice light and unmistakably smug. She swept in at precisely the wrong moment, her green skirts whispering across the stone. “I hope you’re happy with it, Araya.”
Araya flushed, her hands twisting in the folds of the skirt. “It’s very beautiful,” she said politely. “Thank you for lending it to me.”
“Consider it a gift,” Eloria replied, her smile widening as her gaze flicked to Loren. “Can I borrow my brother for just a moment?”
Loren groaned. “What do you want, Eloria?”
But she was already dragging him away, her grip surprisingly firm. “That looks like it’s going well,” she said, not bothering to hide her delight.
“Don’t read too much into it,” Loren muttered, though his eyes betrayed him as they slid back to Araya. “Where did you even find that dress?”
“I had it made,” Eloria said, clearly pleased with herself. “For the future queen. I donated several of my older gowns to the cause.”
“She doesn’t want to be a queen.” Loren scowled at his sister. But he couldn’t hold onto his anger as Araya laughed, shaking her head at something Galen had said. A smile lit her face, wide and unguarded. She looked…happy.
A pang of longing hit him at the sight of it, his chest tightening. Goddess, what he would give for her to have that always.
Eloria jabbed him lightly in the shoulder, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Very regal. Almost… kingly.”
“Don’t make me regret coming,” Loren warned, tugging at his too-tight collar with a grimace. A part of him—the part he had spent years burying—wanted to believe it. That he was home. That they had never stopped waiting for him. That they wanted him here.
But he wasn’t the savior they so desperately wanted to believe he was.
Eloria followed his gaze, her teasing smile fading as her eyes tracked the sight of her brother’s mate standing so easily beside her own.
“I know you want to protect her, Loren,” she said. “But if you want this to go anywhere you have to start treating her like your queen and not your ward. If you want her, give her a reason to stay.”
Loren bared his teeth, the shadows hissing at her words. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he snapped. “Enjoy the celebration, Eloria.”
He turned on his heel, intending to walk away and not speak to his sister for the rest of the night, but he didn’t even make it two steps before Eloria chased after him.
Loren sighed, not bothering to hide his irritation as he turned back to face her. But his sister met his ire with a knowing smirk, pressing a crown woven from wildflowers and soft green leaves into his hands.
“There will be lots of dancing tonight,” she said over her shoulder as she breezed away, heading for her own mate. “I hope you have someone to ask.”
Loren scowled after his sister, but his heart did a flip in his chest when Araya glanced up. Her gaze caught his, her shy smile hitting him light a bolt of lightning.
He could tell himself over and over again that she deserved better. That she would never choose him. That she would leave—that she should leave—and he had no right to ask otherwise.
But he didn’t want her to leave. Not Eluneth—and not him.
He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to keep looking at him like this, her eyes bright with wonder and her laughter warm and unguarded.
But so much of this had started wrong between them.
Even if he’d fought at every step not to take her choice away any more than he already had, he still hadn’t told her the truth.
And once he did…Loren wasn’t sure she’d ever look at him like that again.
But there was only one way to find out.
Loren took a deep breath, the delicate perfume of the flower crown filling his lungs as he stared down at the tiny blossoms. Maybe, for once, Eloria had the right idea.