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He was smiling, then. Almost a real smile, one that she’d rarely seen. One that made him appear to be … something other than the perfect royal blood that flowed through his veins. So un-High-Prince-like. Carefree and utterly peaceful as the white-hot glow of her sparks streamed into the air.

And then, his shadows were dancing. Her magic almost singing to them. Whorling around each spark. Like how she imagined the darkness kissed every star in the sky. His power flowed. Caressing hers and, as unlikely as it was, something fluttered in her heart, feeling him through her sparks. Feeling a deep, unsettling, ancient longing inside the shadows. Something unmasked, honest, and real; something so tormented that only a spark of light could strip away the suffering.

Alora couldn’t drag her eyes from his. The echo of her sparks became a mirror, another piece of Garrik that had somehow also given Alora a piece of herself. They reflected her magic, wholly awestruck as if it were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Alora’s fingersgrazed the scar on his neck sometime later. Raised and rigid—haunting. Feeling his pulse so close there, theplace lifeblood could spill from in an instant. Stroking across it as if it would speak to her of how it happened. Staring at it as if her heart knew something terrible had created it.

Then she felt the chill of his hand, gently stopping the stroking. Felt his neck tremble.

Alora’s cheeks scarleted, eyes flickering to the surrounding sparks. “I’m sorry.”

His voice, so warm, so patient and gentle, brought her back. “No. It is alright. It is just that.” Pausing, he exhaled a short breath, unsure of the words. “I am not sure what peace feels like anymore … but I imagine it to feel a lot like this.” Garrik squeezed her hand, nearly unknowingly, as he followed one of her sparks dancing with his shadows.

He smiled.

And she found herself smiling, too.

This … this did feel like peace.

In the glistening starlight, in the magnificence of her sparks caressed by his shadows, they stared at each other, close enough to share breath.

Something was different about him. The way he looked at her through the bursts of dancing white light. Garrik’s eyes half-lidded. His breathing, uneven. The tightness in his shoulders, in his muscles and neck, had recoiled. And that tormented look in his eyes had fallen. She felt his heartbeat—quicker than its unusually slow beat. And maybe it was that small, uncertain flutter inside her, but she couldn’t stop her hand from brushing the back of his neck. From feeling his silken hair tickling her fingertips.

Still, he stared at her through those slitted eyes, almost closing them when her fingers slowly trailed higher, tracing through his hair.

Chin lifting, his lips parted, and an almost unnoticeable groan released from his mouth.

“Do you like this?” she whispered, feeling that groan vibrate in her chest, watching his eyes close when her hand brushed higher. And for a moment, she didn’t think he was breathing.

He said nothing for far too long as she stroked his hair.

Finally, when his eyes did open, and the entire expanse of stars flashed inside them, did he breathe, “More than I can say.”

So she stroked again, in gentle swirls of her fingertips, watching the glow of starlight gleam along strands of hair.

Garrik’s voice was quiet when he said to the sparks, “I think I had forgotten what … gentleness feels like.” He shuddered. “That feels … really nice.” Almost seeming afraid to speak the words.

Alora snorted in a hushed breath, beaming a smile across her face. “Really nice?” She giggled, feeling her shoulders bounce. “You’ve lost your silver tongue, mighty prince …really nice.” And giggled again.

A real smile widened across his lovely face, and his eyes softened. “Better to lose mysilver tonguethan my grip.” Those icy arms folded her tighter against him, blanketing her in a safety that for so long she hadn’t quite felt. Not for a long time.

And she wondered if it was the same for him. After years of fighting against the High King, marching under illusion, scheming.

The words, like an anchor underwater, Alora pulled away slightly. Until she thought she wasn’t brave enough to ask. But did anyway. “Do you mind if we stay like this a little longer?”

“Of course not,” Garrik said, his voice carefully delighted. “We can stay until dawn if you wish.” The words felt like delicate, silent snowflakes as Smokeshadows flared wide, easing them to a slower glide.

“What about that drink?”

“This is far better than any drink.”

“Yes.” Voice breathy, Alora continued weaving her fingers through his hair as the rest of the world around them faded.

Garrik’s eyes fluttered closed, and, again, she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t help herself from watching her hand brush around to the side of his head. Couldn’t help staring as he tilted his head to the side, allowing her more purchase. She reveled in the feeling of it. Of everything. Not just the silken touch. But his hands that had gently continued to brush her arm. His scent. The breeze from his magnificent Smokeshadow wings.

The sound of his groan when she brushed the tip of his ear.

His chin dropped low, nudging closer to the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. Sending vicious shivers down her spine, feeling his frigid breaths.