Chapter 35
CIARAN
Tolian glows beneath us. Rowan's arms are wrapped around my waist, his helmet resting between my shoulder blades whenever the bike banks through a turn.
The first few times he rode with me, he held on like he expected to die.
Now he leans into every corner with me, his grip tightening automatically whenever I push the bike a little harder.
Yeah. He's not going anywhere.
The Black Chapel rises from the old district ahead, stained glass glowing red and silver against the night. I ease the bike onto the landing platform and kill the engine.
“You still planning to hate the bike forever?” I ask as I reach back to unclip my helmet.
“No.” He sighs dramatically while I lift his helmet free. “Which is annoying, because I was planning to hate it forever.”
My mouth curves. Stealing a quick kiss—and a swipe of my tongue across his lower lip—I grab both helmets.
“Come on, princess.”
The bartender looks up, his gaze lingering on Rowan for a second too long. I step closer until our shoulders brush and jut my chin at the guy. He immediately finds something else to look at.
“You know him?”
Rowan sighs. “We've met.”
“You're lucky you're injured.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.”
Heat crawls into his face and I have to bite back a grin. Fuck, that's still adorable. I don't think I'll ever get enough of him.
The noise swallows us as we descend the stairs, music and shouting rolling through the chapel beneath the clink of glasses and the roar of the crowd.
Tonight the place is dressed differently for the annual Floor Show, the one night each year the major families gather beneath the chapel roof, dark banners hanging between the stained-glass arches while staff weave through the crowd balancing crystal decanters and instrument cases.
Families from across the network fill the room, guards stationed at every entrance as preparations continue around the stage.
Rowan edges a little closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he takes in the tailored suits, tattooed enforcers, and openly carried weapons.
A second later, his hand finds mine. Tightening my grip around his fingers, I continue down the stairs and try not to enjoy it quite as much as I do.
Familiar faces call greetings as we pass. I answer with a nod here, a raised hand there, never breaking stride.
Near the platform, the Noctis waits beneath a dark cover.
Rowan notices it immediately, of course. “I didn't realize you already had it brought over.”
“Of course. Right after you finished practicing, like you asked me to.” I glance sideways at him. “See? I can be a good boy.”
He snorts at the lie, but his gaze lingers on the covered shape a second too long. For a moment, I wonder whether he's seeing the Noctis or the tunnels back on Düren. With Rowan, it's hard to tell.
Around it, workers adjust lighting rigs and sound equipment while the last preparations for the Floor Show continue beneath the stained glass.
“You really expect me to play tonight?”
“Mouse, half the network is here because they heard you were playing.”
“That's horrifying, but—” He starts to say something else, but then his gaze catches the table I reserved for tonight.
I don't need to look to know who he's seeing. Aster Marrow. Or should I say, Sola Ashford.
The hunted bride. Just another one of the fucked up games the Reach’s elite likes to play. Never thought Cassian was so desperate.
Anyway, Rowan’s sister sits in one of the upper booths overlooking the pit, a crystal glass balanced loosely between her fingers.
Her golden hair spills over one shoulder as she laughs at something Cassian says from where he stands behind her chair, one hand resting possessively against the carved wood.
Two of Cassian's men linger nearby, and judging by the way he watches her, he'd probably add twenty more if she let him. I can't exactly fault the man.
As though sensing him, Aster looks up, and everything about her changes. Her smile breaks across her face so quickly it catches even Cassian off guard, and Rowan is already moving before I think he even realizes he's doing it himself, leaving my side and taking the stairs two at a time.
I watch him go, shaking my head.
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter. “Go have a drink with your sister.”
As I head for the bar, one of the bartenders notices me and steps forward.
“What can I get you, sir?”
For half a second, I consider asking the asshole how he knows Rowan. But then I glance toward the upper booth, where Rowan is smiling at his sister for the first time in years.
Fuck it. He's mine anyway.
“Two whiskeys.”
The glasses appear a moment later. I knock back mine, reach for the second, and do the same before glancing toward the booth where Rowan is still deep in conversation with his sister.
“Something sweet, no alcohol,” I say, my gaze still on him. “And... fuck it. Another whiskey.”
“Cheers.”
I turn toward the voice and find Professor Halvern beside me, a tumbler in one hand. He tips it in greeting before his gaze drifts to the booth where Rowan is already laughing with his sister. “I'm glad he's safe. And for what it's worth, Ciaran... I'm sorry.”
I frown. “For what?”
“For not telling your family everything when I should have.”
“Let me guess, those obligations again? Dad mentioned them. He was very mysterious about it.”
Halvern chuckles. “Something like that. But trust me, some promises aren't as noble as they sound.”
“Yeah, well...” Before I can decide whether I want to be angry or grateful, his attention shifts across the room.
Halvern inclines his head. “I should go.”
Then he's gone, weaving back through the crowd before I can ask anything else.
Weirdo.
I push away from the bar, light a cigarette, and lean against one of the pillars overlooking the chapel.
Lucan is draped across a stool beside Damaris, one arm hooked around his waist, his hand resting under the table as Damaris continues whatever conversation they're having with the bartender.
A few stools farther down, Adrian nurses a drink alone. The moment he notices me looking, he lifts his glass before his attention drifts toward one of the private balconies.
Still an asshole for dragging Marius into his mess, but perhaps a useful one. Helping get Rowan back bought him more goodwill than he'd probably ever admit to wanting.
I follow his gaze and find my cousin backed against the railing, thoroughly occupied with a silver-haired man at least twice his age.
Fucking hell, my cousin is never going to learn.
I may feel a little sorry for the asshole, but not enough to change their situation. Especially not when my situation is sitting at a table, laughing and having fun without me by his side.
I finish my cigarette and crush it beneath my heel, then grab the drinks from the bar and make my way toward the booth.
Rowan is already tucked in beside Aster, the two of them talking over each other as though they're trying to make up for years in a single evening.
Everybody looks up.
Everybody except them.
Cassian remains planted behind Aster's chair, looking about as interested in sharing her attention as I am in sharing Rowan's.
I set Rowan’s glass down a little harder than necessary and drop into the empty chair beside Rowan with a sigh. Neither of them even fucking notices.
“Remember when you tried to teach me how to ride that stupid hoverboard?” Aster is saying.
Rowan groans. “You broke your arm.”
“No, you did, you silly. Ma was furious.”
“Hey, you were the one driving us into a wall.”
“That’s because you told me to go faster.”
Aster barks out a laugh. “Light, remember Ma’s face?”
Rowan doubles over laughing. “She thought we'd killed each other.”
“She nearly killed both of us herself.”
Another round of laughter follows, the kind that only seems possible between people who share the same memories, and yeah…I’m happy for him, I really am. But damn it if I’d admit I want his attention all to my selfish self.
Around the table, the guards remain watchful while the conversation drifts on, half the men listening to old childhood stories and the other half looking like they're prepared to start a small war if somebody so much as breathes wrong.
I’m definitely part of camp two. I’m getting fucking restless.
Leaning back in my chair, I take a drink, letting my gaze drift across the table until it catches on the half-empty bottle of wine between Rowan and Aster.
Rowan's glass is empty.
What the hell?
“Since when do you drink alcohol?”
Aster's head snaps up. “Why? Is that a problem?”
Under the table, Rowan's hand finds my knee, his fingers pressing against it. “I like wine,” he murmurs.
I stare at him. “You do not.”
“I do.”
“You hate alcohol.”
“I hate whiskey.”
Around us, the entire table goes quiet. Even the guards are on guard now. Fucking great.
“But you said—”
“You never asked.” Rowan shrugs. “So I just kept drinking whatever you handed me.”
A dangerous amount of amusement spreads around the table. Aster is openly delighted, Cassian is smirking into his drink, and one of the guards suddenly finds the bottom of his glass fascinating.
I glare around me. “Fuck all of you.”
But that just seems to make them laugh harder.
Rowan squeezes my knee beneath the table. The little traitor.
“Anyway,” Aster takes another sip of wine. “Now that we're both finally free and safe, let's plan to go home and visit Ma and Pa. I've missed them.”
Rowan smiles and slides his free hand across the table, taking hers, and damn, is it wrong to be jealous of a long-lost sister? Because fuck me, I want Rowan smiling at me like that. Tipsy, with bright eyes and kissable lips.
“Really?” He sounds breathless and entirely too happy.
“Really. What do you say?” She squeezes his hand, smiling at their joined fingers. “Ma and Pa have waited for so long. And so have we.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” He turns my way.
“Assuming your watchdog allows you out of his sight, of course,” Aster adds. The little bitch.
A few chuckles ripple around the table once again at my ego, and I decide I dislike Rowan's sister almost as much as I dislike being laughed at. But then he looks up at me, those ridiculous eyes bright with hope, and fuck me, that does something to my heart.
“Zoryan?”
“Are you really asking me for my fucking permission now?” I grunt, because, damn, I do like that, and I shouldn’t. Not really, at least. Perhaps just a little.
“What did you call him?” Aster's gaze flicks between us before snagging on me, her eyebrows climbing steadily higher as the meaning catches up with her. “Zoryan?”
Rowan immediately turns red, and I hate her for making him feel this uncomfortable.
I drag a hand across my jaw and decide I've had enough. This is exactly why I hate family gatherings. I jerk out of my chair, keep Rowan’s hand in mine, finish my whiskey, and gesture to one of my guys standing nearby. He heads straight for us, two other guards falling into step behind him.
“It's not a problem for me, Aster Marrow. Especially because I sure as fuck will be accompanying my mouse. Now, if you'll excuse us—”
“Wait.” She studies Rowan for another second before looking back at me. When she smiles this time, there's no teasing left, only understanding and, annoyingly, approval.
“He's serious,” she says softly.
“Sola…” Rowan grumbles next to me, but for the first time I gesture for him to hold his horses, because yes, yes, I want to fucking hear this.
“Zoryan is an old word from the Reach. It means—”
“My Prince.” I try—but fail miserably—not to sound smug.
I am that. I am his prince.
Aster's lips tip up. “Of course you know.”
Her gaze shifts to Rowan for a moment before returning to me. “Then take care of him.”
Rowan groans. “Sola…”
“What? I’m serious.” She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. “My baby brother’s stronger than people think. More stubborn too. He spent years loving people who weren't there. Don't make him do that again.”
Something uncomfortable twists in my chest, but I ignore it. Now’s not the time, and she sure as hell is not the right company.
The guard reaches the table and stops beside me. “Sir.”
Keeping hold of Rowan's hand, I glance his way. “Please escort our guests upstairs.”
Around us, movement has already begun, staff guiding families toward the upper level while the crowd slowly shifts away from the pit and toward the performance hall.
I look back at Aster. “It was a pleasure.”
The lie is obvious and she knows it.
Still, she smiles. “I’ll see you soon, baby brother.”
Ignoring them, I slide a hand against the small of Rowan's back and guide him to his feet. “Come on, mouse.”
Rowan squeezes his sister's hand one last time before letting go. “We'll see you upstairs.”
Then I start steering him toward the stairs, weaving through the crowd as more and more people gather around the upper galleries.
The atmosphere has shifted, anticipation humming beneath the conversations while guards take up positions near the stage, the last guests find their seats, and one of my men catches my eye from beside the curtains, giving a subtle nod to confirm everything is in place.
“You know,” I murmur, guiding Rowan toward the stage, “most people would be excited.”
He glances up at me. “About what?”
My mouth curves. “The surprise.”
Rowan stares at me for a second. Then his eyes narrow as realization begins to dawn. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, mouse.” My hand lingers at his waist as I steer him toward the stage. “Show's about to begin.”