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Hewassoclose,his breath soft against my neck. He withdrew his hands, and I turned and came face to face with Rhyan.

The fires spit and crackled, and more complicated elements of the song began, the instruments joining together in harmony, each note rising.

Warmth rose from my toes to my belly. In the dim light, I could see Rhyan wore a black jacket beneath his soturion cloak, freshly laundered and pressed. His hair had been neatly trimmed, too short now to curl and pushed back from his forehead in loose waves. It was too dark for me to see the color of his eyes but not too dark to see the desire barely veiled inside them.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Couldn’t help myself. I want to dance with you.”

I shook my head. We’d be seen. The Imperator danced on this floor now, as did the Emperor, the Bastardmaker…Tristan.

“Rhyan,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. My throat tightened.

“I know we can’t.” His lips quirked up. A small, sad smile. “But I didn’t want you to be alone for this song.” He was backing up, moving against the wall, deeper into the sanctuary’s darkness, and I followed, maintaining a careful, respectable distance in case anyone looked over and managed to see through the shadows and recognize us.

The dance was in full swing. Bodies pressed together, spinning across the floor, one masked face indistinguishable from the next. We were completely covered by darkness, in our own private corner of the temple, away from the tangled limbs of the couples dancing in the temple’s center.

“Can I keep you company?” Rhyan asked, stepping in front of me. His body angled to hide me from the crowd, as his hand moved behind his back. “Take my hand if yes.”

I closed my eyes. No one could see us. And the way he stood—he looked like an escort on duty, nothing more. I lifted my hand, pressed my palm flush against his. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine as his calloused fingers entwined with mine.

“Did you get what you wanted for Valyati?” he asked.

“No,” I said. With everything going on, there would be no presents this year. “Did you?”

“Enough for now.”

“What’s enough?” My eyes adjusted to the low light until I could clearly take in his features as he watched me over his shoulder—the open expression on his face, the sensuous curve of his lips beneath his Valyati mask. He’d chosen one that was simple and black like his armor.

“This,” he said, voice low. “Lyr, I wanted to dance with you all night. For three years I’ve wanted to.”

My heart felt like it would burst.

“I’ve been watching you out there, and it’s been torture. You look like a goddess. And when this song came on, I couldn’t resist. I know we can’t be together. Or dance together. But holding your hand,” he smiled, one of his rare, wide smiles, “it’s the best Valyati I’ve ever had.”

I tightened my grip around his hand. My heart swelled, but I couldn’t find the words to respond.

“This was our first dance at solstice,” he said, turning back to watch the ball. He shifted his stance, scanning the room, exactly as I’d seen him and my other escorts do a thousand times. “The lover’s dance.”

My mouth fell open. I’d never thought about the song we’d danced to the night of our first kiss. I’d been so consumed by Rhyan, touching him, watching him, following the steps of the choreography, that I hadn’t been able to hear the music over the sound of my heart pounding or the words he’d spoken. But I could hear it now in real time and feel the sound cocooning the memory, bringing another element to it. I remembered the feel of the wind blowing through my hair, the way his hand rested on my back, warm, strong, and sure.

Haleika’s curls appeared in the shadows before us. Leander was her dance partner. They’d managed their stolen moment. My gaze fell to our secretly joined hands, his thumb rubbing small circles into my palm.

“If you could dance with me,” I said, “how would you?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dipping low on my dress then back up to my eyes before he turned around, on guard once more save for our joined hands.

“I would spin you. Just once. Because I love to see you move. But then I’d pull you close, too close for the proper steps.” He tugged on my hand, forcing me to step forward, closer. “One hand on your waist, pulling you to me, my fingers pressing into your hip, right where it curves.”

I swallowed roughly. “And then what?”

His shoulders rose and fell like he was breathing heavily. “I’d run my hands down your arms, feeling how soft you are—and how strong. Then I’d turn you, and pull you against me, so I could whisper in your ear, so you could feel….” He took a deep breath.

“Feel what?” I asked, even as I knew the answer, even as heat pooled between my legs.

“How desperately I want you.” He squeezed my hand.

My breaths were uneven.