maybe I was playing a game. But Dorian’s a gentleman, and instead, he stood up. Walked to the cave door. “I’m getting more water,” he said.
He left and returned with a surprisingly awake Bronwyn. But … her clothes were different. The details are fuzzy, though I know she wasn’t wearing a Night uniform. We embraced. She told me how happy she was to see me, nestled me into a warm hug. Then she took the letter and promised she’d get it to Nico.
“Bronwyn,” I finally say.
“Bingo.”
“But what the hell was she wearing? How’d she ever get it to Nico when he’s in the palace?”
“She’s—”
“She’s spying.” Dorian nods once, opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “Let me guess, she’s tending the gardens and sneaking into the palace for information?” He shakes his head. “Surely she’s not spying as a soldier?”
“No, no … she’s working in the kitchen.”
“Of course she is—her baking. The perfect cover. My Moon, she’s amazing.”
“Eh, she’s all right. I don’t know about amazing at spying. I mean, she did let me read the note before she took it.” He grins scandalously.
“She did not.” But deep down I’m embarrassed, afraid he’s telling the truth, and, if so, worried something I said might hurt Dorian’s feelings. That’s not what I want. Also, I officially denounce all moonroot.
He laughs. “Does that sound like something I’d do?”
I punch him in the shoulder.
“It was a good letter,” he says. “Proper, concise. Though I’d personally have skipped the bit about how strong and capable I am. How I make you tea and keep you on your toes … make you swoon at every touch. It was a bit much, V.” He eyes me.
I glare. “You’re something else.”
“I know. And now so does Nico.”
He’s joking, but also he’s sort of not, and I’m not sure what to make of it. But the way we get on together, the effortless banter we have, even when it should be uncomfortable, is familiar. Calming in its own right. When I look over at him, wondering if he feels it too, Dorian’s staring straight at me, hair a perfect mess, hands shoved in his pockets. And suddenly things aren’t so light between us anymore.
Too soon, the humor wears down and we’re left with the awkward truth that we spent a wonderfully blurry evening kissing on his floor and then he stayed in my cave with me all night. All of that, only for me to wake up in the middle of the night and the first thing I did was think of and write to Nico.
I slow my pace because I swear he’s got something to say. He slows too until we’re stopped and facing one another. Dorian’s breath is warm as it rushes over the top of my head and those glassy blue eyes of his are as they always are down here in the shadows of the tunnels: dark, closer to silver than their usual light sea blue.
I’d be lying if I denied the reawakening of butterflies in my stomach. Poor things, they have no idea what they’re up against.
When he takes my hand, they find out.
And I can’t help but hook my fingers between his, take in his warmth and strength.
He stares down at me. “I don’t need to know what was in the letter.”
I nod, all words and oxygen escaping me.
“I don’t want to know.”
Liar.
“It was…” My words falter just as he leans in to kiss me. And, I swear, when his lips touch mine—gentle yet wanting so much more … more than, I worry, I’m capable of giving at the moment—everything around us crumbles to the ground. But in a good way.
His arms around the small of my back, strong hands pulling me into him, we make our way to the cave wall so I’m perfectly pushed against the rock and he’s expertly pushed against me.
In this moment, even minus the excuses of too much moonroot, it’s right.
All kissing and breathing and no words because there’s too much to say and feel that kissing makes the most sense right now.
Until … a couple of soldiers come marching down the tunnel.
Quickly, we compose ourselves. Resume walking, still hand in hand.
Dorian leans in. “I need to admit something.”
“What?” I’m horrified over what he’s about to tell me. Did something more happen than I realized? Did I say something terrible? Or worse, admit my undying love for both him and Nico?
“Are you sure you want to know?”
I swallow. Hard. “Yes.”
He exhales …