Page 28 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

"Like I would smoke anything less," Tharen commented.

Her head felt heavy all of a sudden. "I didn’t want to smoke."

"But you did. What’s this, thinking you had a choice?" Tharen rested his arms behind his head, eyes falling closed as he spoke. "I thought you knew you weren’t allowed choices anymore."

A shadow fell over her thighs, and she craned her head, seeing a cloaked male standing before her, and even further behind him, the King stared her down from his perch on his throne. She could never ignore the dragon shifter; his presence followed her everywhere.

"Princess Luella," said Graves, holding out a gloved palm, urging her to stand.

She extricated her body from where it was nestled between Bastian and Tharen, the overheated feeling not leaving her, even without their bodies stifling hers.

She huffed, twitching slightly. The raven shifter’s gloved palm encased hers, and he took her in—the flush to her pale skin, the way her hands shook slightly, finally settling on her blown pupils.

"You let her smoke?" Graves directed the question to Tharen, ignoring Bastian.

Tharen scoffed. "Like it’s immediately my fault?"

Bastian took a deep swallow of his wine. As he sipped, he spoke in her mind. Go with Graves, pet. He’ll let you escape for the rest of the evening in privacy.

The raven shifter’s hand tightened around hers. "Come, Luella," he urged before pulling her into the throng of revelers.

As they passed by the throne, she felt Vale’s green eyes boring hotly into her flesh; it was as though the thick material of her gown was not even there for the way his eyes consumed her. She shivered, feeling the threads inside her tug and tug .

Graves navigated through the mass of dancing bodies until he came to a stop at a small alcove cut into one of the far walls.

Private.

Her shoulders fell.

Thank the gods.

She could breathe .

There was a curtain made of blue silk. Graves pulled it shut, trapping her and him in a swath of icy secrecy.

Suddenly, she found it harder to breathe.

"We’re alone," Graves announced. "You don’t have to play their games any longer."

She did not turn to look at him. "No. Just yours."

A rustle of fabric, and then he swept closely by her side, coming to sit on one of the cozy cushions.

A small, circular table stood before it, holding a few empty glasses and a singular flame that flickered weakly.

Her mouth was parched. She needed something to wash away the sweetness sticking to her tongue and lips.

She could taste the wine and Rys on herself.

Luella met Graves’s eyes. Still like lapis lazuli—he looked the same as the male who had first swept her away in the night on his valiant steed. It was she who had changed.

She perched on the edge of the cushion. "Why did you bring me here?"

Graves removed a glove, laying the leather on top of his lap.

With his bare hand, he pushed his cowl under his chin.

The scar along the side of his face seemed harsher in the dim light.

His skin was tanned, and the back of his hand was littered with tiny, pale scars.

He was a map of violence. She wanted to trace the lines on his skin and discover his secrets .

"You needed to get away," he finally settled on.

"What about the King—" Her chest pulsed with a swift ache. "What about Vale?" She swallowed harshly around his name, unused to the sound of it on her lips. The ache on her chest faded. Even without Vale being around, his claim was still prominent.

"The King said he would leave you alone this first night and let you grow accustomed to everything.

Make no mistake." Graves leaned forward.

Her breath hitched, but he merely reached for one of the glasses on the small table.

It was half-full of ice but held no liquid.

He swirled the cup, the ice clinking against the side.

Condensation dotted the glass, and he ran his thumb over the beads of water, eyes growing hot.

"His kindness will not extend past this first night. There are traditions to uphold."

"Of course," she said weakly. "I would not have expected anything less."

From outside the closed curtain, the crowd roared, joyous calls and gleeful echoes. She wondered what it was that made them give such rapturous sounds.

At least she now knew why the King had allowed her space. Trepidation filled her body, gripping her with fervor. It seemed her reprieve would be short-lived. For tomorrow, the true games would begin.

All she could focus on was the clinking of the ice in his glass.

It was so loud that it drowned out the calls and cheers of the revelers.

Her hands scrunched on the thick skirt of her gown. Graves’s jeweled eyes were unwavering as he watched her—another layer to the tempestuous roiling in her gut.

Luella was all too aware of her skin, the fabric of the gown scratching against it, and the grating noise of the ice in the glass.

He swirled the glass. Clink .

Swirl. Clink .

Her jaw ached from how fiercely she gritted her teeth.

A soft laugh. Deep blue eyes flickering with amusement.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked, incredulous.

Graves reached his pointer finger into the glass and traced over a shard of ice. "I might be," he hummed. "What are you going to do about it?"

His gravel-like voice scratched against her skin, but this sound was one she did not mind.

"Why do I feel so…" She pressed her palm over her navel, right where that strange feeling welled, thrumming like electricity.

"Hm?"

"Strange," said Luella. "Why do I feel so strange?"

Graves balanced the glass on his knee, reaching for the hand against her stomach. Condensation wet his fingertips, and his hands were chilled from the glass. His face was right before hers when he murmured, "That’s desire, sweetheart." He nipped her ear, and she gasped softly.

"W-what?"

The raven shifter’s breath skimmed over her cheek and ghosted down her neck, leaving a trail of pebbled flesh in his wake. Her body flushed, yet her skin was cold. His icy hand pressed firmer against her lower belly, and her toes curled in her slippers.

"Desire. Lust." His voice rumbled against the side of her neck, making her shiver.

"Oh," she managed, overcome by his proximity, the feel of his warm breaths juxtaposed with the icy chill lingering on his fingers from the cold glass.

"Do you know what to do with it?"

"Do… with it? What do y-you mean?" Luella’s words wavered. Her cheeks were so hot that ice could melt on her face. That didn’t sound like a terrible idea, she mused. The chill of cool cubes of ice against her heated skin to melt away the flushed state that had robbed her of her sensibilities…

Her eyes fell closed under the weight of his stare.

That feeling in her gut grew and grew. Wind whispered in the room, water danced behind her closed lids, turning to snow, which froze and turned to ice.

The phantom wind forced her hair to flutter back from her flushed cheeks. Graves’s nose swept up to her ear, tracing along the shell of it .

A cold glass pressed against her palms. She cracked open an eye, seeing the male pressing the glass of ice cubes into her hand. The bottom of the glass left a damp spot on her gown.

Her breath hitched, and she curled her hands around the glass, relishing in the cold feel of it against her skin.

Graves continued to nose around her ear and neck, breathing her in.

Her head fell back against the wall, baring more of her to him, which he took full advantage of, skimming his cheek over the side of her neck. His stubble scratched her skin. He looked up at her from his half-bent position, eyes heavy with arousal.

And that feeling deep within her flared. A soft tickle where her hands were wrapped around the glass, the dripping beads of condensation along the sides froze . Ice softly crackled in the room; no longer a grating sound, but a welcome one, soothing her emotions into a hazy frigidness.

The glass against her palms grew almost unbearably cold, but she did not let it go.

Her breaths fogged before her.

Curious.

She hummed, eyes falling closed with rapture. Whatever this feeling was, she could relish in it for eternity.

She felt… powerful.

A noise of shock made her eyes drift open, shattering the wintry daze that held her captive.

"Luella," Graves called urgently.

She looked down, lips parting with a gasp at the sight.

The glass.

Ice spiderwebbed from the spots where her fingers held it, tiny threads and delicate webbing of the purest, crystalline, bluish-white, tracking patterns along the surface.

"Extraordinary." Graves reached for the glass, swiping his finger over the ice on the side.

Luella didn’t know what to say. What to do.

"Did I… Did I do that?"

"You did." The male dipped his finger over the rim of the glass, reaching for the ice inside.

No longer half-melted, but frozen solid cubes.

A shard splintered as he forced it away from where it was stuck to the side of the glass.

He held it up in the dim, flickering candlelight in the alcove, turning it this way and that as he stared. "You refroze it."

Her skin was still flushed, cheeks red. The ice looked inviting, and as if entranced, she reached for it. The cold burned against her fingertip.

"What do you feel?" Graves asked.

She was captivated by the ice in his palm. "What do you mean?"

He pressed the back of his other hand against her forehead, feeling her temperature. "You’re burning," he said.

"I do feel hot," Luella revealed, breath hitching when his hands brushed over her sensitive neck.

Something raw and carnal fell over Graves’s features, turning the shadowed, enigmatic male into a creature of blatant eroticism—experienced and much more capable than she.

She was gripped by the memory of his lips against hers in the library, how his stubble had scratched her cheeks… how he had taught her with a patience she did not know he possessed.

Luella wanted to kiss him again.