He couldn’t resist her. She wouldn’t allow it. Not now. Not when he was meant to be hers. When she knew he wanted this as much as she did, if only he would see it.
“You love me,” she whispered, her voice softer this time. “We belong together. You and me. This is fate, Evret. Fate.”
“Princess—”
She filled his heart with desire, his body with longing, his mind with the same certainty that she felt. She poured all her own emotions into him, and felt his resistance crumble. He shuddered, overwhelmed with all the same feelings that overwhelmed her.
“Tell me I’m right. Tell me you love me.”
“I … I love you.” The words were barely a murmur, cracking with desperation, and his entire body sagged with their release. “Sol…”
The name sent a jolt of hatred through her, but was forgotten when Evret Hayle pulled her close and kissed her. She gasped against his mouth, and he said it again, breathing the word into her.
Sol …
Then she was drowning. Drowning in sensation and heat and the rush of her own blood and yearning and want and he loved her …
He loved her.
He loved her.
… he loved her …
* * *
“That one’s being difficult,” said Channary, bobbing her foot to the fast-paced orchestral piece and pulling a glossy red cherry between her teeth. Leaning over the railing, she tossed the stem over the balcony edge, letting it flutter down to the ballroom floor and become lost in the kaleidoscope of gowns and elaborate hairstyles.
Beside her, Levana did not lean or jog her foot or even attempt to discern which suitor her sister was referring to. Her attention was fixed on Evret, stone-still and imposing beside the ballroom staircase, in an identical uniform to every other guard, and yet looking somehow more like royalty than hired brawn.
His expression was composed and stern. He had not glanced at her once since the ball had begun.
“Oh, I see,” said Channary, flicking her eyelashes in Levana’s direction, then down at Evret. “Now that you have your own toy to play with, you won’t bother listening to me rant about mine?”
“He isn’t a toy.”
“No? A puppet, then.”
Levana clenched her fists at her sides. “He isn’t a puppet, either.”
Channary smirked. Turning away from the railing, she beckoned toward one of the servants. At their side in a moment, the servant dropped to one knee and held a tray up above his head so that Channary could inspect his offerings. A dozen cordial glasses were set into a spiral upon the tray, each containing a different colored beverage. Channary selected one that was bright orange and syrupy thick. “Stay there, in case I want another,” she said, turning back to her sister. “If he isn’t a toy or a puppet, then why in the name of Cyprus Blackburn have you spent the past month dressed up like his simpleton wife?”
Heat flooded Levana’s cheeks, but her glamour didn’t flicker. Always cool, always composed, always cheerful and delicate and lovely. That was how she remembered Solstice Hayle, from their brief interactions. That was how she would have everyone see her now.
“The poor woman died in childbirth,” said Levana. “I’m paying homage.”
“You are playing with his head.” A sly grin crept over Channary’s face. “Which would make me rather proud if you’d set your sights a bit higher. A palace guard, honestly. Once you’re done with him, perhaps you can make eyes at one of the gardeners.”
Levana cut her gaze toward her sister. “You’re quite the hypocrite. Just how many palace guards have kept you company over the years?”
“Oh, countless.” Channary took a sip from her drink, and her cunning smile lingered when she lowered it and inspected the poppy-colored contents again. She gave it a discerning sniff. “But never at the detriment of having fun elsewhere. Ideally, a lady will have three toys at once. One to romance her, one to bed her, and one to adorn her with very expensive jewelry.”
Levana’s eye began to twitch. “You have never had Evret.”
Laughing heartily, Channary set the barely touched drink back on the tray and selected an aquamarine choice dusted with something white and shimmery on top. The servant did not move. “That’s true. Though I’m sure he would be much less problematic than Constable Dubrovsky.” She sighed. “The minx.”
Dubrovsky? Levana squinted down into the flurry of dancers. It took a while, but finally she spotted the constable dancing with a young gentleman whose name escaped her. One of the family heirs, she was sure.
“Perhaps the difficulty is in his personal preferences.”
Channary flicked her fingers. “I’ve come to learn that he isn’t particular. Except, evidently, he is not interested in his queen. I can’t understand it. I’ve been throwing hints at him since last sunset.”
Glancing down, Levana saw that the servant’s arm was beginning to shake. The drinks in his cordial glasses were vibrating. She selected a beverage that looked like melted chocolate. “You may go.”
Channary snatched up a daffodil-yellow liqueur before the servant could escape, holding both drinks in her hand as she leaned over the balcony rail. She trained her focus on the constable again. Not in a swoony or dreamy way, but as if she were analyzing a war strategy.
“If you want him so much,” said Levana, “why don’t you just brainwash him into wanting you? It would be much simpler.”
“You say that as if you have experience in such matters.”
Gut tightening, Levana couldn’t keep her attention from darting to Evret again. Stoic, statuesque Evret. Did his eyes ever follow her around a room like hers followed him? Did he ever sneak glimpses of her when she wasn’t looking? If so, she had yet to catch him in it, not once since their first kiss in her chambers.
“Manipulating your prey is an easy way to cheat at the game,” said Channary. She dipped her tongue into the blue glass, coating it with silvery powder, and swallowed. Her expression became surprisingly pleased. “But I don’t want to win that way. I will win when I go into Lunar history as the most desirable queen to ever walk these hallways.”
“The most undiscerning queen, anyway. Don’t you ever want to just … fall in love?”
“Love. What a child you are.” With no apparent premeditation, Channary downed both of her drinks in two successive gulps. She balked at the combined taste, then started to laugh. “Love!” she screamed out into the dance floor, so loud that a few of the musicians startled and the music blustered momentarily before picking up again. “Love is a conquest! Love is a war!” A few people down below had stopped dancing to gawk at their mad queen. Levana shrank away from her. “Here is what I think of love!”