Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
T he Stardust Waltz was performed only on the longest night of the year, at the stroke of midnight. Students from every house paired off across the dance floor. Alaire searched the crowd, hope licking up the column of her spine, desperation warring with dread.
Kaia stood with Archer, and somehow Alaire found herself staring once again into Caelan’s ocean-blue eyes.
“Alaire.” He extended his hand, gaze tracing the curve of her face, never dipping below her chin. “Dance with me again?” His fingers brushed hers, sending pleasant shivers up her arm.
She glanced around the ballroom one last time. Her shoulders dipped.
He wasn’t coming.
Taking Caelan’s hand, her gown trailed against the polished floor as the opening chords began. She gave herself over to the music, ignoring the disappointment ballooning in her chest, letting it dissolve in the sweeping notes and warmth of Caelan’s hand at her back.
Focusing on the melody’s story helped block out the ache blooming inside her. It was harder than she’d imagined—trying to forget the one person she hoped would appear.
“Forgive me for not saying this earlier. You look breathtaking tonight,” he murmured, voice low enough for her alone.
His words should’ve sparked something. Instead, they were declarations she longed to hear from someone else, despite knowing she shouldn’t.
“Thank you, Caelan.” Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. “You look very handsome this evening.”
Dancing with Caelan was easy. He was summer and sunshine.
As he prepared to spin her out, a shadow fell across them. Dawson stepped forward, hair swept back from his face, framing sharp features and those damn turquoise eyes that turned her legs to jelly. His expression was a mix of determination and something darker, more primal.
Her breath faltered. Her storm had eclipsed the sun. Beautiful, terrifying, utterly inescapable.
“May I cut in?” Though phrased as a question, it was a declaration—a command barely disguised as civility. His gaze was intense, unyielding. A spark of something dangerous flickered to life in her chest.
Caelan angled himself between them, nostrils flaring. “It’s up to her.” His grip on her waist tightened for a beat before he released her.
Without a word, Dawson extended his hand toward Alaire, delicate black lines snaking beneath his cuff. An unmistakable challenge gleamed in his eyes, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth.
She hated how easily her carefully crafted control unraveled around him. Hated that her breath caught in her throat. The cocky bastard knew exactly the commotion he was causing.
The music transitioned to a haunting melody, coiling and building before breaking wide.
Alaire knew she should step back into Caelan’s arms. It would’ve served the plan. But it was too late. She was already entangled in Dawson’s orbit, drawn like a fallen star into the gravity of a black hole. All she could do was hope to survive the inevitable collision.
His aggression shouldn’t arouse her, but gods, it did. The fire blazing in his cold, unyielding eyes—ignited something reckless deep inside her. Something she couldn’t afford, but couldn’t extinguish either.
For tonight, it seemed she was willing to walk through flames.
Alaire didn’t want to insult Caelan’s kindness, but Dawson’s hand remained steady, confidence unwavering. She felt the weight of his gaze like a physical caress.
Stepping out of Dawson’s reach, she pressed a kiss to Caelan’s cheek. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ll catch up with you later.”
A growl rumbled low in Dawson’s throat.
“It was the highlight of my evening, Alaire. House Aqualis will always welcome you with open arms.” Caelan reached for her hand, moving to kiss her knuckles.
“Not a fucking chance.” Dawson ripped Caelan’s hand from hers.
Caelan’s eyes flashed, jaw tightening as he stepped forward. “I believe the lady can make her own choices?—”
Alaire stepped between them before it escalated, giving Caelan a quick hug. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said, offering him an apologetic look. With one last bow—and pointed glare at Dawson—he headed toward the balcony.
Facing the brooding prince, she hesitated, teetering on a ledge.
It was dangerous, exhilarating. He could’ve chosen anyone.
Every eligible person in the ballroom would’ve melted at his invitation, would’ve given anything for those turquoise eyes to look at them the way he was looking at her—as if she were air, and he was drowning.
Her slender fingers curled around Dawson’s palm. A jolt shot through her at the contact. His thumb brushed her knuckles, barely a whisper of movement, and she fought to keep her breath steady.
He will destroy me .
But in that moment, she didn’t care.
Dawson pulled her close as the melody echoed their tension. His eyes roamed slowly over her figure, taking in the sleek, form-fitting gown, lingering long enough to make her skin flush.
Alaire was acutely aware of how little space remained between them.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered huskily. “You look exquisite tonight. I can barely breathe looking at you.” His words scorched her.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn’t catch her breath beneath the weight of his gaze.
She should push him away, remind herself of the impossibility between them. They were from two different worlds, too different. Yet her heart begged for things it had no business wanting.
What was it about Dawson Knox that unraveled her so easily? Like a spool of thread strewn across the floor. How effortlessly he tied her into knots: longing and fury, desire and resentment.
Dawson Knox gazed at her as if she were the only thing that mattered.
And for just a few moments, she let herself bask in it.
“Firework, you were made to wear a crown.” His voice was a low, teasing rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
He looked at her as though he would willingly burn for her.
Dawson’s grip on her hips tightened. She felt his heat everywhere . Her blood sizzled, his breath fanning across her lips.
The music swelled as they moved together in intricate steps, their bodies never fully losing contact. Twirling around the room, she pulled her spiraling thoughts together. “Kaia organized all of this. I’d have attended in leathers if it were up to me.”
“Then I’ll have to thank her.” His half-smile revealed that dimple, eyes alight with mischief.
Alaire’s heart raced at his compliment.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” Dawson asked.
“It’s undoubtedly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but everyone has an agenda, and they cover it with a polite, shiny veneer.”
“Including you?” Dawson’s brows rose, curiosity piqued.
“Pardon?”
“You said everyone here has an agenda. Does that include you?”
“What would make you say that?” She gave him her most innocent expression.
“Answering a question with a question. Clever tactic.” His gaze held hers, intense. “Let’s be truthful here. The evening was utterly dull before I showed up.”
Cocky bastard.
“That’s not entirely true. Kaia, Archer, and I were enjoying ourselves. I was introduced to several important members of court. And, of course, how could I forget dancing with Caelan not once, but twice?”
Dawson’s jaw tightened, fingertips digging into her skin. “You danced with him before the waltz?”
“I sure did.” Alaire delighted in the jealousy flaring through him, surprised his skin didn’t turn green.
“He doesn’t have a chance,” Dawson declared, possessiveness thick in his tone.
She narrowed her eyes. “And what gives you the right to say that?”
“Because I see the way you look at me,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “The way you react when I’m close.”
“You’re delusional.” Her breath hitched. She hated that he was right.
“Am I?” He spun her again, pulling her back so swiftly she nearly stumbled, but his arm was there, solid and steady. “Then why are you still here, dancing with me?”
A strand of raven hair slipped loose across his brow. Turquoise eyes bore into hers, pinning her in place, demanding a truth she couldn’t give. Not one she could give anyone.
“Because I enjoy dancing,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
“And that’s all this is? A dance?” He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You can lie to yourself, Alaire, but not to me.”
She closed her eyes, his proximity making it hard to think.
“And yet,” he murmured, softer now, almost tender, “here we are. Always drawn together, no matter how much I try to stay away.”
“Maybe I like the fight,” she whispered, trembling. “Maybe I need it.”
“Maybe we both do.” His thumb traced a slow line up and down her spine. “Gods know I should walk away from you.”
“It’s a game,” she said, refusing to be the first to lower her walls—not after all the times he’d refused her entry behind his.
“I wish it were just a game.” His arms wrapped around her ribcage, squeezing tight. “It’d be easier if I could control this.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Tell me you don’t feel this tearing you apart the way it’s destroying me.”
“Do I?” Her voice was barely a whisper, more vulnerable than she wanted to admit. Her eyes flicked to the strong column of his neck, watching the restrained movement of muscle and sinew.
“Yes.” He leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. “And I hate that you do.”
The final strains of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, and they slowed to a stop, still wrapped in each other’s arms. His fingers found the end of her braid, tugging gently until the strands came loose, spilling like silk over his hand. He threaded them through his fingers, holding on.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he whispered, frustration laced with need. “No matter how much I should.”
Her heart pounded, a war waging inside her. Could she really let him in—let him see the parts of her she kept hidden from everyone else? His confession cracked fissures in her fortified walls.
And then everything around them began to shake.