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Leave it to Eryx not to know how to put on his own clothes. The man is hopeless.

Really, he can never expect to live this one dow—

I lose every thought in my head at the sight of the figure that appears at the top of the stairs. Strong brow, wide neck, fierce features. He descends with all the grace I’ve been forcing upon him during our lessons. Upright, unslouching.

He looks so very tall when at the top of the stairs, and it’s incredible what an outfit that actually fits does for the man’s physique. The vest and jacket spread across a broad chest. The pants stretch tight over muscle- clad thighs. The cravat puts more focus on his facial features. Those full lips and sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes. In his workman’s clothing, he looks scary and intimidating. But put on clean formal attire and he looksdeadly. Dangerous in and of himself, and then wealthy enough to thoroughly destroy anyone.

And hishair.

It’s been cut much shorter, just barely reaching past his ears. Whatever pomade the hairdresser put in has held overnight, slicking the locks back and exposing his smooth forehead for once.

“Eryx,” I blurt.

He takes a cautious step toward me, as though he’s expecting me to bolt at any second. At first, I’m confused, but then I realizehe thinks I’m afraid of him. Because I know he has powers. Because he tried to lunge for me when last I saw him.

I really ought to be afraid. I was when Argus suggested killing me. But right now, looking at him like this, I don’t feel fear at all.

I feel… butterflies.

I raise myself as tall as I can, maintaining a look of superiority and ignoring the sensation in my stomach. “Are you quite finished making me late for the event of the century? Or does someone need to teach you how to open a door for a lady as well?”

After his initial look of shock, he steps forward to open the front door while I stare at his back. The ensemble I’ve chosen looks remarkable. Black pants, red vest and jacket with swirling white designs that match my dress without being obvious. The black cravat ties the whole outfit together. He turns toward me as the door opens, and I survey the front of him. It’s spectacular, really. Combine the clothes with his figure and features, and he looks—

“I know,” Eryx says, looking down at where I’m staring. “I’ve become a peacock.” He pulls at the cravat as though it’s preventing him from breathing.

Right. That’s why I’m staring. The clothes. It has absolutely nothing to do with him. The butterflies flutter all the more fiercely.

Stop that, I order them.

“I think you look rather dashing, Your Grace,” Damasus says.

“Did she pay you to say that?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

“Certainly not,” I put in, finding my voice. “As if you need anyone giving you a bigger head than you already possess.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look— Well, who knew you were hiding all of that under that wild hair of yours?” I gesture to his face.

Eryx grunts. It’s as though he has no idea how handsome he is.

Thank goodness.

“Shall we?” he asks before striding for the carriage.

“Wait,” I say. “You must take my hand.”

He turns and stares at my proffered hand as though it is a snake. “I must?”

“Yes, when escorting a lady to an event, you must take her hand.”

“We’re not at the event yet.”

“Then consider this practice. Honestly, do you think I’m any happier about this than you are?” I’m certainly not, but I need to give him reasons to touch me.

After an exaggerated sigh, he takes my hand in his gloved one. He stares at me, as though looking for a reaction. After all, the last time he touched me he got into trouble.

And at that, that look, while touching him—