Page 120 of The Darkening (The Darkening)

All this time, and my enemy has learnt nothing of power.

The voice recedes, and I find myself on my knees, hands sunk into the deeply plush rug. A hand rubs my back and helps me up. Dalca.

The Regia coughs, deep, racking coughs that shake her whole body.

Dalca commands. “Make the preparations. We must adjust the mark as soon as possible.”

Casvian nods and barks orders over the head of the healer tending to his wounds.

With one last look at the Regia, Dalca sweeps out.

I follow him through the halls, out of the inner palace, into a hallway studded with wide, grand balconies.

He chooses one and leans against the railing. He unclasps his cloak and unbuttons his blood-red jacket, letting both fall to the balcony’s polished stone floor.

The wind runs its fingers through his dark hair, and the sun outlines him in golden light. His face is drawn in shadow, save for the glinting of his eyes.

He hops onto the railing.

“Dalca—” I start.

He spreads his arms wide. “I’m so light. The lightest I’ve ever been.”

The wind whips at his white shirt, flattening it against his body and billowing it out behind him.

“I really think I could do it. I could fly.”

“Don’t. Please, Dalca.” I step closer, heart pounding, terrified of startling him into action.

His eyes mirror the sky above. They’re bright with mischief and exhilaration, not a prince’s eyes but a boy’s, full not of fear and responsibility, but of joy.

My heart clenches at the way his eyes crinkle. I want him to be happy, I do—but I can’t shake the jitters under my skin that saysomething is wrong.

A gust of wind shakes him, and he teeters for an endless second, before he finds his balance.

He laughs.

“Vesper, I’m going to be free. Maybe for ten years, maybe twenty.”

“Won’t you come down?”

“Why?”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

He glances over his shoulder at the drop. “I’m not. For the first time in my life, I’ve nothing to fear.”

A portrait of fearlessness.“You’re scaring me.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispers. Time slows as he lifts a foot, asa gust of wind catches him unawares, as he tilts back, eyes wide with surprise.

My hand grips his shirt, pulling him down from the railing, onto the balcony floor.

His eyes are warm, his voice wondering. “I’ve never had anyone to catch me before.”

My body vibrates, and I knot my hand tighter in his shirt. “Don’t make me do it again.”

“Are you still afraid of me?”

“No,” I lie.

Dalca closes the distance between us a hairsbreadth at a time, giving me a dozen last chances to pull away.

The first brush of his lips is so soft it could be a passing breeze, a figment, an illusion. The second is a meeting of equals, a kiss like a dance, and I smile against his lips. The third lands like a promise, a kiss meant to be broken, and it already hurts.

From behind comes a delicate cough.

“Prince Dalca, they’re ready for you.”