The orchestra swelled as he drew her onto the floor.

  His hand found her waist - not cautious, not hesitant. Firm. Warm through the thin silk of her gown.

  Up close, he noticed what distance had hidden....

  The blue of her dress wasn't simply blue. It deepened toward her hips, like midnight folding into itself. Silver thread traced across it in delicate patterns that shimmered each time she moved.

  The fabric clung just enough to outline her frame before loosening into soft layers that brushed his legs when they stepped.

  And her hair.

  Red - not dull, not copper - but alive, almost glowing beneath the chandeliers. And at the front, that single white streak, stark against the red, falling toward her cheek like a mark placed there on purpose.

  His grip tightened slightly.

  She felt it.

  "You're staring again," she said.

  "Can you blame me?"

  Their bodies aligned as the dance began. He didn't give her space to drift - he pulled her cleanly into the rhythm, decisive. She adjusted, matching him step for step.

  "You don't look like you belong to anyone," he said.

  Her brow lifted. "And you look like you're used to owning things."

  A corner of his mouth curved.

  "I've never tried owning something that could cut me."

  The turn brought her closer. Closer than necessary.

  The emerald of his coat brushed the bare skin of her shoulder. His fingers flexed against her waist - not wandering, but feeling. Testing the shape of her there.

  "You're bold," she murmured.

  "I'm distracted."

  That wasn't said lightly.

  His gaze dipped - to the hollow of her throat, where a thin chain rested against her skin. To the line of her collarbone. Then back to her eyes.

  The air between them shifted.

  "You weren't distracted before," she said.

  "I hadn't touched you before."

  That.

  That changed something.

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  She felt heat rise beneath her skin - visible now in the faint flush across her cheeks.

  The dance slowed.

  He drew her closer under the excuse of the movement. Their hips nearly brushed. Her breath hitched - small, but real.

  His jaw tightened.

  "You're not wearing many jewels," he said, voice rougher now.

  "I don't need them."

  "No," he agreed quietly. "You don't."

  His thumb shifted slightly at her waist - a slow glide over silk. Not improper. But deliberate enough to send warmth up her spine.

  "You're different when you're this close," he said.

  "How?"

  "You look less untouchable."

  "And do you prefer that?"

  His eyes dropped - finally - to her lips.

  "Yes."

  The word came softer.

  More honest.

  The music pressed them closer.

  She could feel his heartbeat now. It wasn't slow. It wasn't perfectly controlled.

  "You're not as steady as you pretend," she said.

  His gaze flicked back to hers.

  "And you're not as unaffected as you pretend."

  The orchestra thinned into strings.

  He guided her into a slow turn, then pulled her back sharply - closer than before. Her hand landed against his chest to steady herself.

  Muscle beneath velvet.

  Warm. Solid.

  For a second, neither moved.

  His hand slid higher along her back, just beneath her shoulder blade. The bare skin there met the warmth of his palm.

  Her breath faltered.

  "If I let go," he said quietly, "would you fall?"

  "Try," she whispered.

  He didn't.

  Instead, he leaned in.

  Not rushed. Not theatrical.

  Slow.

  Close enough that the tip of his nose nearly brushed hers. Close enough that her lips parted without permission.

  The ballroom disappeared.

  There was only the heat between them. The silk. The velvet. The scent of cedar and something darker.

  His fingers tightened once at her waist.

  He was going to kiss her.

  She knew it.

  He knew it.

  The music ended.

  Applause crashed through the silence.

  They froze - breath mingling - the moment shattered but not gone.

  He straightened slowly, like it cost him something.

  His thumb dragged once - barely - against her waist before he released her.

  "You're dangerous," he said quietly.

  But it didn't sound like warning.

  It sounded like surrender.

  She swallowed.

  "And you're not careful enough."

  A faint smile touched his mouth - softer now.

  "Not with you."

  The crowd pressed in again.

  He stepped back, but his eyes didn't leave her.

  "I'll see you again."

  She should have answered with something sharp.

  Instead she said, "I hope so."

  And that was worse.

  He bowed slightly - not courtly, not mocking - just enough to hide the way his jaw had tightened.

  And as he walked away, he exhaled slowly, as though he had just survived something.

  Across the floor, he glanced back once.

  She was still watching him untill a voice called her name....

  "Seren."

  Mariel appeared from nowhere, eyes wide, practically glowing.

  "You danced."

  "It was a political courtesy."

  "With him?"

  Seren picked up a glass from a passing tray. "He may have ulterior motives."

  Mariel leaned closer. "You've rejected dukes for less."

  "He's a visiting noble. It means nothing."

  "Your face says otherwise."

  Seren shot her a look.

  "It meant nothing."

  But later in the palace, when she stood alone near the balcony doors, her

  fingers brushed absently against the place at her waist where his hand had rested.

  And for the first time, she hoped -

  she hoped he didn't have another motive.