Lunelle leaned back against her chair, gathering her cards as a yawn overtook her.
“You still haven't recovered from the festival,” Yallara laughed.
“Indeed,” Lunelle returned, rising.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Arcas said quickly, drawing a look from Yallara.
Lunelle tucked her cards back into the silk pouch she’d found for them last Summer at the village markets, looping the drawstrings over her fingers as the table dispersed. She felt thatthing—whatever it was—that shifts between two people when a glimpse of the future passes between both their minds.
The pair only made it into the hall before Arcas fumbled for an apology.
“I’ve been thinking about my behavior in the atrium this morning.”
“That makes two of us,” Lunelle said gently, her cards bouncing against her gown as they turned the corner, the hall’s silence embracing them.
“I assure you it had nothing to do with the other night,” he said, wandering slowly along the wing she stayed in. “I was in a bit of a mood.”
Lunelle nodded. “I see.”
Arcas tucked his hands behind his back.
“One of our cities has fallen to rebel forces.”
Lunelle weighed her response options, unsure how to navigate this topic with him. Her lips parted, and she almost asked how he felt about it, but she realized that the only thing more frightening than not knowing his opinion would be knowing they stood on opposite sides.
So she held her question—and her breath as it rotted within her immediately.
Another thought festered beside it.
Astra would have asked.
They came to a stop outside her door, and just as she was about to bid him goodnight, his dark eyes dropped to her lips in what seemed to be his tell.
“I find I must ask you to be blunt with me once more.”
He rocked on his heels, his eyes darting down the hall before returning to hers.
“I think we both know what I’m missing, Lunelle.”
It was the softness in how he said her name that broke her.
She pushed forward, pulling his parted lips to hers. He paused for only a second, his arms clasping around her lower back as she settled into him. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric of her dress as her lips came down over his.
He released a slow breath as she explored the space of him, hypnotized by the way their bodies pressed together. His lips closed over hers as he touched her soft waves, inviting her mouth to do more than just dance with his. She was happy to let him consume her—to drag her as far down as she could stand.
To distract her from the awful pit in her stomach.
“Is this what you want?” he asked as she slipped beneath the surface of him, tasting the salty skin of his neck, his hands tightening against her back.
Lunelle sighed, craning her neck back. “What did I say about asking me what I want?”
Arcas leaned his hand against the wall behind her, closing his eyes as she returned to her mission to taste every tensed stretch of muscle along his neck, her fingers threading under his shirt and touching bare skin. She’d expected him to feel colder, but pinned between her body and the wall, she only felt flames.
“Lunelle,” he whispered, her nails skimming over his chest in a way that made it hard to say anything other than quiet praises.
“You told me to take what I wanted the other night. Do not get in the way of that now,” she murmured, dropping her hand to the buttons on his shirt.
His eyes were no longer sapphires, but two obsidian portals that ran her blood cooler as she arched away from him.
