“If you will excuse me, Your Highness, I must make the rounds.” Nieve stood and wandered across the table to her council and Goso.

Marai was so close, and yet so far away. It would be rude for Ruenen to shout across the table so he could hear her voice. He tried to occupy himself by humming along to the musician’s tune, singing under his breath. He imagined the heaviness of his lute in his hands. The illusory taut strings vibrated as he strummed, visualizing musical notes on paper.

It wasn’t working. His eyes kept darting to Marai, and he watched while she did everything. Marai nibbling at a piece of venison. Marai taking a sip from her goblet. Marai stiffening as a man accidentally bumped into her back.

Marai’s eyes meeting his from across the table.

They blazed, they burned, they simmered. Desire, deep and powerful, flooded through him. He’d never felt anything this intense before. His mouth turned dry.

Ruenen thought then that the heart was the most curious of instruments. How could those luminescent eyes pluck so at his heartstrings? Why did his ears swoon with a melody only she produced? She was the singular song he ever wanted to sing.

The dinner began to wind down, although wine was still pouring. Nobles bid their farewells to Nieve and Ruenen, making their exits, but many remained, ready for what Ruenen assumed was the after-party.

Her plate empty, Marai got to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Ruenen asked loudly over the music. His question drew dozens of eyes his way.

“Upstairs to change out of this,” Marai replied. She barely glanced his way as she turned back through the aisle and out into the hall.

Ruenen didn’t think. He stood and quickly fought his way through the nobles who stepped into his path, hoping to speak with him. He made his cordial excuses, something about the privy, and reached the hallway. If he didn’t get to her now, he might very well combust.

He spotted her at the end of the hallway, heading towards the staircase. The gown hugged the slight curves of her body. She wasn’t as shapely as Nieve or Aresti, but the dress clung to all the right places. Ruenen made a mental note to buy her a thousand dresses like this one.

At the sound of his harried footsteps, Marai glanced back over her shoulder. Those molten lavender eyes glimmered in the candlelight; eyes that held him and broke him at once. Her current pulled him closer. He couldn’t get there fast enough. But running was an undignified thing to do while visiting someone else’s castle.

A quizzical look swept across her face. She didn’t understand his reaction, why he was chasing after her.

Finally, his hand grasped hers, rubbed against the calloused palm, and he pulled Marai into the nearest room to their right.

It was entirely dark. The soft moonlight from the windows illuminated a kind of library or office. Books lined shelves nearby. A desk sat in a corner. All he knew was that the room was empty. 

He shut the door and pressed Marai against it. Her back touched the wood with a soft thud. 

“Ruen, what—”

“We left things unfinished earlier,” he practically growled as the tenuous hold on his sanity snapped.

Her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to speak.

His lips were on hers before he knew what he was doing. She let out a small gasp and dove her hand into his hair, yanking slightly as those fingers curled around the strands.

His hand traveled down the bumps of her spine to rest on her hip, feeling every curve, every indentation, every jagged edge, all the strength in her lean muscle. His lips trailed across her collarbones.

Would he ever get enough of her?

“Ruen,” she whispered in his ear, in a voice she’d never used before. Husky. Desperate.

He wanted to rip the dress right from her body and take her there in the palace library. He wanted to plunge into the wild warmth of her and worship every line, every soft and rigid part of her.

They were fire. They were magic. They were power and need and desire. There was nothing gentle about this. Marai had to know the force she held over him.

But one hand on his chest from her, pushing him backwards, stopped him. He panted, whole body heaving from the need of her. For a moment, he feared they’d gone too far, too fast. Was Marai okay?

But her eyes showed no fear, no regret. They continued to burn with that swirling flame of magic.

“We can’t do this right now,” she said through equally strained breath. “You must return to the feast.”

Feast? What feast? He wanted to feast on her.

“Ruenen,” Marai said, pressure in her tone. “You cannot be caught here with me.”

She was right. Of course she was. Ruenen groaned and sighed and couldn’t get his legs to move. He adjusted his shirt, righting himself. Marai pressed her hands against the door, nudging it open.

“Are you coming?” Ruenen asked as his fingers laced through hers.

“They’ve prepared rooms for us for tonight, though I don’t intend to sleep while we’re on foreign soil. I’ll go upstairs to change, and then patrol the corridors. I’ll see you in the morning.” Disappointment swept over him. Marai read his expression, the slump in his shoulders. “You have important work here tonight. This alliance must be strong. Nevandia is counting on you.”

Always so fucking right. 

Ruenen stepped towards the door, but couldn’t let go of her hand. He brought it to his lips, gently bestowing a kiss upon the soft skin.

“Goodnight, Lady Marai.”

Marai’s chest rose against the binding of her bodice.

“Goodnight, Prince.”

He slithered through the door and could barely walk back down the hallway. He paced outside the door for a few minutes, sucking in deep breaths, shaking his head back and forth. The taste of her was still on his tongue, sparkling with magic; the scent of her in his nose. He felt the absence of her in his arms like the emptiness of a long, dark winter’s eve.

It took all of his self-control to walk back into that banquet hall and not follow Marai up to her bedroom. But when he returned, the party was still in full swing. The musicians continued their upbeat melodies, the remaining nobles roared with laughter, and the wine kept pouring. No one had missed him.

But Nieve, Nosficio, and Aresti were nowhere in sight.

Suspicion brewing, Ruenen walked to the high table where Goso cackled with his Greltan colleagues.

“Have you seen the Queen?”

Goso blinked at him; the focus on his eyes going in and out. “Uh . . . the Queen was . . .” He pointed up at her vacant seat.

His assistant leaned towards Ruenen with a twitch in his shoulders. “I saw Her Majesty leave the room a few minutes ago with the vampire and the other faerie woman.”

Icy fear coursed through Ruenen’s blood. “Was she taken against her will?”

The assistant shook his head. His face flushed beet red. “No, she . . . led them out, herself.”

“Not to worry, Your Highness,” came a voice from the shadows. The Master of Spies snorted beneath his mask, leaning against the far wall. “That vampire has been here more times than I should tell you. Our queen can handle herself.”

Floored by his nonchalant response, Ruenen bit the inside of his cheek.