I look at the hands and recognize them instantly. Jovan has a scar on his right pointer finger.
“You got the dress and shoes, I see,” the King says in his loud voice. The people around us share wide-eyed looks. I jam my foot on top of his booted toes. It has almost no effect in these soft sandals. Why did he say that? Now I’ll be insulted all night.
Sin and Jovan are having a stare off. I twist and look up at Jovan, but he ignores me, so I fold my arms and wait, foot tapping.
Sin finally breaks off his stare and after a final, glum look, he sighs and turns away. There’s a rumble from the hard chest behind me. Jovan’s scowling at the crowd around us. They suddenly find things to do.
“I’m having enough trouble convincing people we aren’t…you know, without you making announcements!” I hiss. His expression makes me falter. His eyes are dark and hot, scorching my skin. He plucks the flower out of my hair and chucks it on the ground.
“I knew that dress would look stunning on you, but those words don’t quite do it justice. You look unbelievable,” he says. I flush and look over him as an excuse to move my eyes from his.
He’s wearing a leather tunic. It’s black and tight with a few laces undone at the top. I swallow a few times as I take him in. A soft chuckle comes from the chest I’m having trouble looking away from. I wrench my gaze back to his, blinking at the dangerous smile on his face.
“I’ve danced with everyone I must for diplomacy’s sake. Will you dance with me now, for pleasure?” he asks.
I shake my head, “I don’t know how. We don’t dance on─” I gulp. “I don’t dance.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but doesn’t push the matter. For once.
I grab two drinks off a passing tray and hand him one.
He looks at it and sighs. “Fuck it.” He takes a sip.
I raise my eyebrows at him and he shrugs. “Don’t drink much,” he says.
I’m going to call him on his lie, when I realize it’s true. The only time I’ve ever seen him drunk was the night he first unveiled me.
My shoulders lose some of the tension I usually feel in his company as we continue to talk. After a couple of drinks he’s even as playful, as he occasionally is in private. It’s a shame he isn’t this free without the alcohol. But I understand, better than perhaps anyone else in this room, the pressures of having to act a certain way when you hold a position such as his.
“You’re monopolizing the prettiest woman in the room, Jovan. Give me a turn.” Ashawn approaches. Arla, who has been close by the whole time, flicks her hair and mutters something in reply. I have no doubt it’s uncomplimentary. Ashawn gives her a beaming smile until she turns away and then he rolls his eyes. A reluctant giggle is dragged from me. It’s the first good judgement I’ve seen him display.
“Brother, go away. You have to do your kingly duties for a while. The flock is growing restless,” he says. Jovan’s lip twitches in a smile.
He squeezes my hand as he leaves. My fingers move afterward, trying to remember the feeling.
“I hope he wasn’t boring you. I would have been here sooner to save you, but I was deep in preparations for tonight,” Ashawn says. It’s clear he’s had a fair amount to drink already. I follow him over to the cushions and he sits down, patting the spot next to him. I settle on the adjacent cushion and he laughs.
“Wait for it.” He points at Arla’s father, Drummond. I give him a strange look, and do as I’ve been directed.
A yell sounds across the room. Drummond turns. I cover my mouth with my hand and double over in fits of laughter. His trousers have split open - he isn’t wearing anything underneath. Ashawn chuckles beside me.
“Did you do that?” I ask in horrified amusement. He gives me a wink and gestures for drinks, handing me one.
“Don’t tell my brother. See you at the bottom,” he says. I look at him. What does that mean? He’s drinking as fast as he can. I follow suit after a few seconds.
“Tonight is my grand return. I’ve been remiss in my pranks for a while now,” he continues and looks down at the goblet in his hands.
“Because of your brother’s death?” I ask. It might be the least tactful comment I’ve ever made, but I feel safe asking. Every Bruma knows Prince Kedrick is dead.
He looks at me, surprised. “Yes. I guess so.”
We sip away at our drinks in silence. It doesn’t escape me this is completely wrong. I should hate Ashawn, and I know he hates me. The real me. I’m still sure he was behind hiring the three thugs who beat me last sector.
“And other things,” he says. I make a questioning sound, trying to remember what we’d been speaking about.
“There are things I’ve done in the last year I’m not particularly proud of. Things I wish I could take back and change. I did one terrible thing.”
My breath hitches. Is he talking about my beating? I chose my words carefully. “We all make mistakes. Especially when we’re grieving. What matters is we learn from them, try our best to fix them, and don’t make the same mistakes again,” I say and bite my lip before adding, “I would also point out a prince visiting the Outer Rings is not a good look for the King or for his rule.”
Ashawn gives me a tired smile. “I thought you must have seen me. I’m surprised you recognized me.” He chuckles and shrugs a shoulder. “The Outer Rings are fun. Since Kedrick’s gone, I feel there’s nothing for me to do. He was always my partner in crime.” Fun is the last word I’d use to describe the Outer Rings.
There’s no doubt that, like Kedrick, he’s inherited the trait of saying whatever he’s thinking. Maybe he can open up to a stranger with more ease than someone he knows. His confession has something to do with his young age and the amount of alcohol in his system.
“What about joining the King in his work?” I ask. Ashawn gives me a bitter look.
“My brother doesn’t want me around,” he mutters and rises quickly. I accept his help to stand, making sure I keep my parts covered.
I sway a little as I straighten and place a hand on his arm. I turn it into a consoling pat.
“I think you’re incorrect, Prince Ashawn,” I say. He looks at me and I detect the slightest bit of hope in his eyes. I smile at him and call out to Blizzard who is passing by.
“Don’t touch the fruit punch,” Ashawn whispers before handing me over.
I attempt to talk to Blizzard, but his attention is riveted on the musicians.
“Look at his guitar,” he says with longing. Most of his other comments regarding machine heads and fret board have confused me, but this one I can understand. His guitar is on its last leg. He could probably afford one if he didn’t give all of his money away.
Jovan is talking to Macy. I’m feeling courageous. I beckon him over. He raises his brow incredulously.
“I hope you’re ready to play for the assembly,” I say to Blizzard as the King approaches.
“What?” Blizzard splutters next to me.
“Did you just beckon me?” Jovan asks in a soft voice. I shiver as he bends his head to the crook of my neck. I remember my purpose and take a half step back, gesturing at Blizzard.
“Jovan, this is Blizzard. He plays guitar and has a beautiful voice. Can he play us a song on Tomi’s guitar?” I ask. Jovan snaps his head to me. The warning in his gaze confuses me. I feel like I should understand what he’s trying to tell me, but my mind is a little fuzzy. He waves one of his minions over and murmurs to them. Blizzard follows the guard, throwing me a look of nervous excitement.
“I think I better stay with you now,” Jovan says.
“Why?” I ask. He doesn’t answer as he tugs me after him. I pull my hand free.
“You should spend more time with your brother. He thinks you don’t want him around.”
Jovan grabs my hand again and weaves through the plush seating to the cushions in the far corner.
“What? He said that?” he speaks over his shoulder.
“Pretty much,” I say. Jovan looks thoughtful as he pulls me down beside him. I rearrange the skimpy parts of my dress when I see his gaze trailing down the strip of bare skin from my neck to the bottom of my stomach. I tap my finger where it’s resting on the thin chain over my hip. The movement catches his attention and I quickly stop.
Blizzard starts playing, blissfully distracting Jovan. People closest to the stage turn to watch. I close my eyes and listen.
“He’s very good. I would not have thought it of someone from the Outer Rings,” he says.
I grin at him. “You thought the only thing he was good at was brawling?” I ask. “You’d be surprised.” His interested expression encourages me. “Avalanche, for example, is an amazing cook. If he wanted to stay here, I’d recommend him for the kitchens.” I point at Shard. “Shard is amazingly intelligent. He has an ability to remove himself from a situation emotionally and consider it objectively. Ice, would make a great spy. And Blizzard cares so much about helping people in the Outer Rings it destroys him a little every time he can’t save someone,” I say.
“And what about the one who died?” he asks. My breath falters.
“Flurry? All he wanted was a kiss and a good mattress,” I say. My voice cracks and I blink back tears.
Jovan bends his head down and kisses my palm. My breath falters for an entirely different reason. I look up at him.
“I am sorry for my part in his death,” he says. Something uncoils at his words. Had I been blaming him, deep down?
“Does this mean you’ll close the dome?” I ask, grabbing drinks from a tray. Although we’re at the back, the staff goes out of their way to serve the King.
He shakes his head as he takes one. “No, that couldn’t be done. It has kept crime rates down for over a hundred years. It wouldn’t be feasible. I do, however, plan on offering an out to those who participate with honor.”
I rest my hand on his arm, feeling hard muscle. It’s a start. “Thank you.” That means more than his apology for Flurry’s death.
He frowns as he looks at my arm. “You’re cold.”
“No, I’m warm enough.” I look down and see I have raised bumps over my arms. I must be colder than I thought.
“You have goose bumps,” he says.
“Goose bumps?” I ask, looking at my arm. “Why would you call them that?”
He laughs. “You know what? I have no idea.” He starts tugging off his tunic.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. Is he insane? Jovan laughs again. I giggle, too. The sound is infectious. Some of that hidden charisma he possesses in droves is peeking out.
He hands me the tunic. “Put this on.” I look at him like he’s crazy and just in case he missed my look, I tell him.
“You’re cold, put it on. Some of the other women have a tunic on,” he says. I glance around and see he’s right. Many women wear them. And none of the half-naked males appear cold in the slightest. The First is the warmest time of revolution for them.
“Please.” The undercurrent in his tone has me reaching for the tunic. I ignore the few gasps as I take it.
“Here, you don’t want to mess your hair up.” He guides it over my head. “Your hair looks beautiful. It’s the same color as the gems on your shoes.”
Had he personally selected my shoes? I thought he’d ordered a minion to do it. I peek at him and give a tentative smile. I need more liquid courage for the conversation’s current direction.
“Where’s the dress from?” I ask.
He searches my face for a long while and then looks out over the slowly dancing crowd. It’s thinned considerably, couples no doubt ducking away to find a private corner or room. Sin dances with Arla. I grin and shake my head, not hurt in the slightest. Shard doesn’t seem happy about it, though. He stands by the goblet table, glaring their way.
“Shard, my friend, you’re better off,” I mutter.
“What?” Jovan says and I shake my head.
Ice and Blizzard are nowhere to be seen. I don’t think too long on what that means. Avalanche is scarfing back food at the table and, surprisingly, talking to Rhone.
“Do you know why every person, except Wrath, has refused to join my Watch?” Jovan murmurs, wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger, the one with the scar.
“Yes,” I say, a bit confused by the sensation he’s creating.
“Are you going to follow up that comment?” he asks.
I shrug. “What will you do for it?” I mimic his past answer.
He grips my face while I sit there bewildered, and moves in close. It’s like a gate lifts and I’m drowning in the hunger of his gaze.
“What do you want me to do?” he says softly. It’s his dangerous voice. I lick my dry lips. I can’t think of anything. I don’t know what his “pear” is.
“They’re too loyal to the barracks owners. Most of us were saved by Tricks and Alzona. They don’t feel like they can leave honorably, though most want to.” I reach my hand up and pry his hand off my chin, finger by finger. Jovan chuckles at my attempts and makes no move to help, or resist.
I yawn a little. His tunic feels like a blanket, still warm from his body. “Bedtime?” he asks. I giggle at how stupid the term sounds coming from his mouth.
He pulls me up.
People stare as we walk out. I know exactly what they’re thinking and I can’t bring myself to care. I wave at my friends. Shard raises an eyebrow at me. I raise one back and giggle again. What’s his problem?
Jovan and I climb the stairs, grabbing at each other when we weave too close to a wall or an armored decoration. We collapse outside my door, gasping with laughter after he walks into a wall.
I get up once I find my legs and start to shrug off his tunic. He stops me. “No, you keep it until tomorrow. That’s how it works.”
How what works? Our gazes meet and I forget my question. He places one hand on the wall behind me. I catch my breath as he leans in.
Errant party-goers shout down the hall, breaking the moment. He pushes back with a sigh.
“Goodnight,” he growls and walks off without another glance. I know because I watch him until he disappears around the corner.
I tug off the tunic, back in my room, and hang it over the chair. I lean against one of the bed pillars, head swimming. Is it wrong to be disappointed he didn’t come in with me? That he didn’t at least kiss me. What would have happened if he did come in here?
A nagging voice - the one I like to ignore - gives me the answer.
The side door creaks open and then shuts. Still resting on the pillar, I keep my eyes closed, taking quick, shallow breaths. Light footsteps sound until the person stops in front of me. I know who it is. I know what he wants. Do I want this, too?
I open my eyes and look at him.
I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. He crosses over to me in one long stride. I know my expression is just as hungry as his.
He lifts me up so I’m standing on the bed seat, his hands high on my ribs beneath my breasts. He pulls my head forward and I grasp his face and kiss him. He slips his tongue into my mouth and I don’t think about why, I just copy him, smelling his clean, male scent. His hands are everywhere. Sliding down my back, skimming over my flat stomach, stroking my arms. He pulls back and runs his fingers between my breasts, continuing down the length of the line in the middle of my torso.
“Olina, are you sure?” he murmurs into my skin. “We’ve both had a lot to drink. We can do this another time.” I know he’ll go if I ask him to. I think of the clambering men back on Osolis and then Jovan, and I know what’s about to happen is right. I’m sick of worrying over every detail. Tonight I’m just going to feel.
I reach up and grasp the chain behind my neck in answer to his question. In the bravest move I’ve ever made, I pull it over my head and let it drop. His guttural groan has me dancing inside. My gasping breath fills the room and is only interrupted by his growling between frantic kissing. The rest of my dress is off. He pushes me onto the bed and looks his fill as he takes off the rest of his clothing. A thrill of nervousness goes through me as he moves toward me over the furs of the bed. He grabs my bent knees and pushes them apart.
“Jovan,” I say, with a nervous tremble in my voice.
“Let go, Olina,” he murmurs. “Trust me.”
I do trust him. Some instinct has me tilting my hips upward. I gasp at the sensation and try not to push back.
“Relax, baby.” Suddenly, when I think I can’t bear it anymore, he freezes. I look up through hazy eyes to see his horrified look.
“You’re a—” he gasps. I can’t move. Something inside warns me not to move. Jovan shudders above me, as much as I tremble.
“I can’t stop,” he whispers, tortured, and plunges forward.