I shouldn’t be here, drinking wine from a goblet, staring at a woman who has no idea I look at her so closely. But I can’t help it.
Five centuries of darkness. No sunlight in sight. The fire in my chest withered and died, and only now has an ember again caught flame.
An ember for her, the Wildling who hates me.
She turns, and her eyes find mine. I swallow.
I can’t deny the searing desire in my chest as our gazes lock. That ember, for a moment, becomes a towering flame that spreads through my limbs and down my stomach, to the core of me.
I haven’t even touched you, I think.
But all my thoughts are about you.
I don’t want to look away. If anything, I want to look closer. I want to learn her like a poem. Unravel her like a riddle. I want to solve her like a problem. I want to become the world’s foremost expert on her.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, as if she could possibly hear my thoughts, my wants. It makes me want to stride across the room and take her out of it. It makes me want to yell at her, be angry at her for turning me into a blustering, obsessive fool. It makes me want to whisper every single one of my truths across her skin.
Instead, I simply nod at her, then take another swig of wine, hoping it will steady my heart’s erratic rhythm.
It doesn’t. Neither does distraction. My mind is not on any of the conversations unfolding around me. It’s not on the feast, spread just feet away. It’s not on the music. It’s on a Wildling who has slipped from my line of sight.
She’s gone. Has she left? I should not care. I should not go looking for her.
But what if she’s in danger? She’s my partner again, thanks to the conversation we had last night, mending things. She’s crucial to my plan. Her safety is important to my interests. That’s the only reason I care.
Bitterness fills my mouth again.
The Wildling realm is critical. It needs a ruler that isn’t buried beneath Nightshade.That’swhy I care.
Bitter poison.
My hands make fists. Fine. I care abouther, I finally admit to myself.I fucking care.
Sweetness.
The doors crash open as I follow her. The warriors standing at attention there look surprised, but none question me, and for once, I am grateful I am king. I drain my goblet, then carelessly set it on a ledge, next to an ancient sculpture.
She couldn’t have gone far. I check room after room, growing increasingly desperate. Increasingly worried. Then I find her.
I findthem. They are dancing.
Isla and Grim.
Alone.
And, just like that, the flame in my chest withers and dies. I back out of the room before either of them can notice my presence.
I return to the ballroom, and suddenly everything feels different. She wasn’t lying to me before, when she said she wasn’t going to tell Grim about our plans. I know that. Perhaps they started working together afterward.
Perhaps ... they are not working together at all and simply enjoy each other’s company.
That’s worse. So much worse, I think, than if they were simply plotting against me.
Because I care about her ... and she cares about him.
I have never been jealous of the Nightshade. Not ever. Not until I saw him dance with her.
“What happened?” Calder asks lightheartedly, approaching me while still keeping an eye on the ball.
