Shadows swirled around him like ribbons of black silk, intimidating anyone who dared to look him in the eye.
A breath and an eternity later, he was standing before her.
Rowan bowed, his gaze never leaving her, and she curtsied in return. He took her hand, pressing a featherlight kiss across her knuckles.
“Happy Birthday, Princess.”
He released her just as quickly.
“Thank you for the gift.” Her fingers reached up to the soft leather around her neck. “It’s lovely.”
Rowan gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
A shiver raked down her spine, and she glanced around the ballroom. Laughter, merriment, and music engulfed the space as all the immortals gathered to celebrate Samhwyn. She spied Laurel easily enough. Ravishing as always, she was in a gown that seemed to shift colors from midnight to navy with each flicker of light. She was also latched onto the arm of Aed.
As if sensing her looking at him, the god of death’s eyes locked onto her from across the room. His silver gaze swept over her approvingly, but when he saw the necklace, she could’ve sworn she witnessed his brow furrow ever so slightly. Then it was gone, and he turned his attention back to Laurel.
“So, tell me,” Rowan drawled. “How does it feel to be in your twenty-fifth year?”
Maeve couldn’t help but smile. “No different than it did yesterday when I was twenty-four.”
“Just wait.” He matched her grin with one of his own. “The years will all start to blur together, anyway.”
Maeve tilted her head, suddenly curious. “How old are you?”
Rowan’s smile vanished. “Do you really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“I’m 348.”
Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened with surprise. He was by far the oldest of any fae she’d ever met. Not that she knew an incredible number of faeries, but still.
He chuckled, laughing softly at her shocked silence. Then he offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”
Caution stiffened her spine. He was pulling her back into their same routine, acting as though nothing had ever happened.
“About the other day,” Maeve began.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan interrupted, his hand falling to his side. “I can’t help it. All I want is to protect you and see you safe. I forget you don’t need me to do that for you anymore.”
She never needed him to do that for her in the first place, but she kept those thoughts to herself. Maeve winced, ducking her head.
“Just because I don’t want you to fightforme, doesn’t mean I don’t want you to fightalongsideme.” Maeve allowed herself to take his hand. She squeezed gently. “Do you still want to dance with me?”
A ghost of his smile returned. “Absolutely.”
He led her out onto the dance floor. The music cued, a low, thrumming melody. Dark, and deep, and dramatic. Minor notes flared to life, a riveting complexity of sound that sent her blood coursing.
Then they danced.
Every movement was intense, executed with precision and grace. Rowan guided her around the floor in a series of intricate steps and spins. She twirled away from him at length, only to have him draw her back into his arms. They ebbed and flowed through each powerful chord, sweeping throughout the ballroom so her surroundings blurred into a haze of jewel-hued colors. In the back of her mind, she realized it was only the two of them now, the other dancers having faded into the background. The music crescendoed into a passionate strain and Rowan released her, allowing her to whirl on her own.
He captured her waist, snapping her back to him, and as the music pitched its final note, they clashed into one another.
A vision of nightfall and sunlight.
Rowan stepped back, bowed. Maeve dipped into a curtsy, and the crowd erupted in applause.
