Page 59 of Wicked Sea and Sky

I really…reallyneeded to get back to my mission.

Except, what were a few moments more? To prove to myself that I could still feel pleasure. That I wasn’t too far gone. And if I fantasized about someone else’s smile behind the mask—a familiar set of eyes that had stolen my heart long before he broke it—who else would know but me?

“Is this okay?” he asked, his gaze shifting to the pillars closing us in.

The space was smaller than my cell.

I swallowed as the edge of panic tensed my muscles. My breath turned shallow, and my fingernails bit into the flesh of my palm. With a shaky inhale, I forced my head back and soaked in the starlit sky, counting the stars one at a time until my racing pulse slowed.

I wasn’t trapped in a cell. The walls weren’t closing in, and the candles bathed the alcove with warmth.

I nodded to answer his question, but I switched positions with him, moving so my back was facing the vine curtain, and he was the one against the wall. The vines swayed gentlybehind me, promising freedom if I needed it.

He waited until I was settled, still as a statue outlined in the golden light of the candles. Then he closed the distance between us, slow and deliberate, stepping carefully like a man avoiding a tripwire. Each step was a calculated risk, watching for the moment I might flee.

When the tip of his boot brushed my slipper, I held my breath.

Was he going to kiss me?

It was why I was still here, after all. Testing my resolve. If I only had three weeks left to live, I might as well make them worthwhile. A wry laugh caught in my throat.Nothing like a grim list of dying wishes to set the mood.

But why was he waiting?

My skin tingled everywhere his gaze touched. I shook out my hand to release my nerves and blinked in surprise when he captured it in his own.

His grip was light. Not holding me in place or pulling me closer. A strange in-between, where he simply studied the callouses on my fingertips, and the thin scars born from working in mines he had no knowledge of. Then he lifted my hand, unhurried, as if the anticipation was as riveting as the destination.

And it was.

His lips grazed my knuckles, dark eyes holding mine. One second, lingering into two.

I sucked in a breath, mesmerized by the softness of his lips. By his focus that wasn’t on unbuttoning my gown—a feat most men I’d encountered went straight for. Butthis manwas learning the feel of my hand. With deliberate slowness, he opened my palm. My heart thudded painfully as he pressed his mouth against the imperfect scratches marring the heel of myhand.

This was madness.

And I wanted more.

The relief in that realization was staggering. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. But I couldn’t let him see that raw emotion. It was too humbling. Too embarrassing to be caught crying because of a kiss on the hand.

I’d rather die a slow death in a pit of quicksand.

Our masks provided the illusion of anonymity. And I wanted to be someone else in this moment. Maybe even the person I could be when my hunt was over. If I saved a kingdom, saved my life. Someone who, a week ago, didn’t even exist.

The masked stranger released my hand, and his focus shifted to my collarbone. He leaned closer, the fine material of his jacket brushing against the silk of my gown. The vines rustled at my back, but I didn’t retreat.

Another small win stacked against years of losses.

I inhaled the faint scent of cedar lingering on his skin, and the familiarity tickled the back of my mind. He hadn’t spoken since asking that simple question, yet there was something about the tone of his voice that was different than when we had danced. I tried to pinpoint what it was until the rough scrape of his fingers trailed down the column of my neck.

My thoughts scattered.

He traced a featherlight path of tiny, pale scars as if they were constellations he could map. I went liquid, waiting for his mouth to follow. I was impatient for it.

But he took his time, murmuring something under his breath that sounded like he’d whispered,Follow the stars home.

A shiver coasted through me.

The words were almost too intimate for a stranger. Theytriggered a distant memory, conjuring another man’s whisper. Another set of hands.