Page 74 of The Silent War

She stood taller but didn’t pull the dress closer. I loved her for that. For not apologizing for being watched when she didn’t choose this life and still wore it without flinching.

“Luca,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Cornered,” he said, eyes not leaving her face. “By family who think speeches are a currency.”

“And are they?”

“They keep buying the wrong things.”

I almost smiled. She did first.

“You two promised me ten minutes,” she said. “No fighting. No planning. No empire talk.”

“I didn’t promise,” Luca said.

“You did now,” she said.

I let myself catalog her. It was oxygen.

Luca flicked me a look—stop drinking her with your eyes, hypocrite—and shifted to put his shoulder between her and a group of heirs who had suddenly discovered the scenic value of this exact spot.

He does that without thinking. Puts his body between her and whatever might look like attention. He makes it look casual.

She noticed. She always did.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what,” he said.

“For pretending the wind is worse than it is.”

He said nothing. Which was the right answer.

I leaned on the rail.

“I was telling Bastion about the palace,” she said. “He called her a boat. Like a tin can.”

“Only to make you gasp,” I said.

“You like me mad,” she said.

“Like you loud,” I corrected, and heard the way Luca’s breath shifted at that. How the word landed under his skin same as mine. Loud meant alive. Loud meant not polite. Loud meant Emilia without dynasty hands on her throat.

She took a sip of champagne, then made a face and held the glass out to me. “This is terrible.”

I traded her, handed mine instead. Different bottle. Heavier pour. “This?”

She tasted, nodding. “Better.”

“Keep that one,” I said. “I’ll suffer.”

She squinted at me. “Chivalry from a Crow?”

“Anomaly,” Luca said.

“Miracle,” she corrected.

“Will you swim later?” I asked. The pool glowed three decks up like a promise. Night swimming. No eyes. If we controlled the guest flow—which we did—there would be a window we could carve out of the night for her to breathe. “The water’s warm.”