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“That’s not good.” The words almost got stuck in my throat, the palpitations of my heart like flapping wings that dragged my voice and breath to the pit of my stomach. He made me just as breathless as I seemed to make him. “You should breathe.”

Looking down at his hands, he chuckled, and out of the pockets of his black jacket he pulled tiny, violet-blue flowers with bright yellow centers. Forget-me-nots. They were fastened into a delicate crown, green stems intertwined in continuous loops. He crossed the room and rested it on my head.

“There.” He grinned down at me, looking satisfied. “A crown for my queen.”

I smiled, felt the warmth in my cheeks, and—not caring that I was blushing—leaned over to fasten the strap of the heels I’d purchased. When I moved, he inhaled sharply and took a step away from me.

My eyes darted to the reflection of us in the mirror. I realized I had bent down right in front of him—brushed my hip against his thigh. That he was tearing his gaze away from my body. From the curve of my hips and backside hugged by the silk fabric of my dress.

I swallowed, my stomach plummeting, and stood. “Gavin, I—”

“We should go,” he uttered coarsely, averting his gaze, angling his body towards the door but offering me his hand. “We should go now, Ella. ”

“Wait.” It was too cold to wear a dress like this on its own. But I had the shawl made of wolf pelt and knew that would do. The winter night air here was chilly, but not frigid. And I would be warm with him.

I reached back to where I’d laid the wolf’s fur on the bed, tucked it over my arm, and we left the inn for dinner.

***

The white brick tavern was right on the edge of the sea, accessed by a wooden walkway elevated just above the shore—sandy in some places, rocky in others.

We were placed between a small evergreen hedge and the tavern.

Our table was warmed by an outdoor bonfire.

The flames roared at my back from a central firepit surrounded by a few more tables, each seated with two or more people.

Brinnea felt frozen in time, as if Molochai could never touch this place.

As if he hadn’t since the day Christabel died and he ransacked the city.

It had been rebuilt, and with Simeon here more frequently than not, Brinnea’s wards were the strongest. To Simeon, Gavin said, Brinnea would always be home, which was also why the Wintertons and our army stayed out.

The less attention drawn to it, the better.

It was the only piece of Simeon’s ideal world still intact, and he had kept it quiet and out of Molochai’s mind as best he could.

It was his last piece he had of his sister.

While gaping at the lights glimmering off the ocean and listening to laughter and chatter on the beach, at the tavern, and all around us, I decided I could hardly blame Simeon for needing to protect this place.

Of all the places I had been these few weeks, and as much as home could be a place for me, Brinnea felt most like one.

Gavin was quite funny when he wasn’t so serious, which he seemed determined not to be all throughout dinner.

We enjoyed our meals in peace—mine, a pasta dish with chicken and tomato that nearly dragged an elated groan from my throat.

But I remembered his reaction one time I’d moaned over a pastry and gracefully refrained.

He told me about the blacksmith and his wife—Isaac and Eden—who had raised him.

How Eden had taught him reading, writing, arithmetic, and science in place of a formal education.

How he’d become Isaac’s apprentice and took over the trade when he passed.

He told me about the best friend he had as a young man, Victor.

He’d died—I didn’t dare ask how—but Gavin seemed at peace with the loss.

He was happy to share stories of his youth with me, even if some of the details were sordid.

Only when the male server began to stare at my neck and chest did Gavin abandon his lightheartedness .

“Yes, she’s resplendent, isn’t she?” The growl deep in his chest fractured the air around us like thunder. “Gawk any longer and you might become blinded by something far less pleasant than her beauty.”

The server’s skin paled at the threat as he scrambled for a thin piece of paper totaling the charges for our meal. I caught Gavin’s gaze and lifted a brow. As if he never stared at me.

Gavin arched a playful eyebrow right back, swirled his glass of scotch between his fingers, then nodded to the server, whose hands were now trembling. “Two sweet reds, please,” he bit out before the server could escape.

My first ever wine was fruity with a richly sweet aftertaste. It sizzled through my blood and relaxed any remaining tension in my body. I sighed and gazed out at the ocean, watching the waves undulate in the wind.

Minutes later, a string quartet of bundled-up Brinneans tuned their instruments and began to play a soft, elegant melody.

There was empty space on the portion of the walkway designated solely for the patrons of the restaurant.

One couple, then another, meandered over to the space I realized was for dancing.

I turned to see Gavin leaning back in his seat, wineglass at his lips, watching me.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked.

Heat gathered in my cheeks. I tried to envision this rugged mass of muscled warrior dancing. I tried—as he finished the last sip of his wine—but I couldn’t.

“You dance?”

He stood to his feet, dropped payment for dinner on the table, and offered me his hand. “For you?” I accepted his touch, my hand so warm and safe wrapped in his as he guided me to my feet. “Until the sun comes up and then some.”

A victim to my pounding heart, I focused on the feel of his fingers as he led me to the platform where two other couples swayed to the melodic hums of the strings.

My pointed heel slipped between a crack in the wood and caused my ankle to twist. I scowled at my new shoes, even though Gavin pulled me flush against his chest before I could fall.

One of his arms curled around my lower back, the other hand held mine against his chest.

“I hope they don’t make me wear shoes like these when I get to the Caves,” I muttered, glancing down at my delicate but growingly unbearable shoes.

He tilted my chin up with his finger, and worry passed through his fierce stare. “If they try to force you to do something you don’t want to do, you tell them no, and you don’t give in.” He rested my palm on his chest and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “Promise me.”

I nodded while savoring his touch. That, I could promise.

Content in his arms with my body flush against the heat and strength of his, a tear trickled down my cheek. He scowled at the sight of it and caught it with his thumb.

“I have never despised anything as much as I despise this world for what it requires of you.”

My palms moved from his chest to his back, where they rested between his jacket and his shirt. “Then just… remember me like this.” I smiled up at him. Truly joyful, despite my burning eyes. “Remember me with you. Happy.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and tucked my head into his chest. We stayed that way—him holding me, my arms wrapped around him while I listened to the quickening thump thump of his heartbeat. We remained that way for minutes that were too short and sparse.

No amount of time would be enough. His warmth and his fresh cedar scent. The gentle sway of the music. The way he rested his cheek on top of my head and gently stroked my hair over my shoulders, down my back. I could live here with him forever.

“If a friend is all I ever get to be to you,” he sighed against my temple, “then you should know that you are the best friend I have ever had. ”

My eyes squeezed tight to release my heartbreak, refusing to let my body feel the loss of him.

“I wish you could stay with me,” I said, sucking in a tattered breath because I knew Simeon wouldn’t allow it. Knew that Elias would see me look at my teacher once and know the truth of my heart. Another press of his lips in my hair gave me goose bumps. “I’ll miss you, and I—”

“Aryella.” With my ear against his chest, I felt his deep timbre tremble. “Before you say anything else, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I rubbed his broad, muscular back, attempting to soothe his nerves. “Okay. You can tell me.”

“Forgive me.” His voice was no longer soft or affectionate, but… desperate. “Please.”

“What?” I dug my fingers into his back, holding on. But his silence was so deafening that I could only feel —not hear—his pulse racing in his muscular chest. “Gavin?” I whispered, begging my gut to stay silent. To stop trying to warn me. I didn’t want to hear it. “What—”

“I lied to you.”

My gut lurched. I stepped back, away from him, craned my neck up to see the sorrow in his eyes—sorrow that cut through me like jagged ice. Panic consumed him at the sight of my retreat.

“Simeon is not here in Brinnea,” he uttered. “He never was.”