Cassian’s fingers idly smoothed her hair. “Good morning to you, too.” He glanced toward the mantel—the small wooden clock in its center, then lurched upright. “Shit.”

Nesta frowned. “You have somewhere to be?” He was already hopping into his pants, scanning the floor for the rest of his clothes. Nesta silently pointed to the other side of the bed, where his shirt lay atop her dress.

“Snowball fight. I’ll be late.”

Nesta had to unload each word of his statement. But she could only ask, “What?”

“Annual tradition, with Rhys and Az. We go up to the mountain cabin—remind me to take you there one day—and … Well, it’s a long story, but we’ve done it pretty much every year for centuries, and I haven’t won in years. If I don’t win this year, I will never hear the end of it.” All of this was said while shoving himself into his shirt, leather jacket, and boots.

Nesta just laughed. “You three—the most feared warriors in all the land—have an annual snowball fight?”

Cassian reached the door, throwing her a wicked grin. “Did I mention we take a steam in the birchin attached to the cabin afterward?”

From that wicked grin, she knew he meant completely naked. Nesta sat up, hair sliding over her breasts. His eyes dipped lower, a muscle pounding in his neck. For a heartbeat she hoped he’d lunge for her again. Indeed, his nostrils flared, scenting the need that boiled in her just at the sight of his gaze roving freely over her body, the way every part of him tensed.

But Cassian swallowed, grin and wickedness fading as he cleared his throat. “After the fight, I need to do a comprehensive inspection of the legions in Illyria for a few days. I’ll be back after that.”

Without so much as a farewell kiss, he vanished.

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile. But he didn’t object when she brought her Symphonia to the ring each morning for some extra motivation while exercising. The priestesses had marveled at the gift, a few of them dancing to the music, but Nesta had only been able to think about how much time and effort Cassian had put into it. How he had known what such a present would mean to her.

Her entire body ached with need, setting her teeth on edge. Three days without him might as well have been three months. She’d become desperate enough for him that her hand now slid between her legs in the bath, in bed, even during lunch in her room. But release left her empty, as if her body knew it needed him in her, filling her. She’d asked Azriel every day when he’d be back, and Azriel had only said, Soon, before conducting their lessons.

Maybe she’d gone mad. Maybe that was what that iron wall around her mind had been—the thing that kept her sanity in check. Surely it wasn’t normal to think of a person this much, need them this much.

It was that worry that hounded her as they wrapped up lessons, panting and sweating despite the frigid morning thanks to the Valkyrie sprints they’d been practicing: ten seconds at a full sprint, thirty seconds trotting, another ten seconds sprinting … For fifteen minutes straight. Once they could get through it, they’d add in their shields. Then swords. All of it designed to build their stamina and focus on controlling their breathing between bursts of attack and retreat. All of it utter insanity that couldn’t quite dull the edge of Nesta’s fretting as she asked Emerie and Gwyn, “Do you want to stay over at the House with me tonight?” She motioned to the archway. “Have a read-in or something?”

Gwyn blinked, considering. She had not set foot outside of the library save to come to these lessons or to use the practice ring to hack at that ribbon. But she said, “I’ll ask Clotho.”

Emerie smirked at Nesta, as if aware of why she needed company. “Sure.”

That evening, Nesta and Emerie read in companionable silence in the private library, waiting for Gwyn. Emerie had sprawled across the armchair, legs dangling over an arm, her back against the other. Without looking up from the book in her lap, she said, “Cassian must be really good at sex, if you’re so tied up in knots while he’s gone.”

Nesta cleared her throat, dispelling the memories of his mouth, his strong body, the way his silken black hair fell on either side of his face as he lay over her, swaying as he pounded into her. “He’s …” She made a low noise in her throat.

“I figured,” Emerie said, chuckling. “He’s got the Walk.”

“The Walk?”

Emerie smirked. “You know, when a male knows how to use his cock well and struts around with that swagger that basically declares it to everyone.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’d hope he knows how to use it well after being alive for five hundred years.” She snorted. “Though I’ve met plenty who proved that wrong.”

Emerie arched a brow for her to continue, but a knock sounded on the library door. Gwyn’s head popped in, and she scanned the room before entering. She bore a small bag, presumably of what she’d need for the night. Nesta had already asked the House to prepare a bedroom for all three of them to share, and she’d entered the private library to find it transformed: by the window against the far wall, a worktable and chairs had been swapped for three cots, each laden with blankets and pillows.

Gwyn smiled, though her pulse pounded wildly against the column of her throat. “Sorry I’m late. Merrill made me go over a paragraph with her ten times.” Gwyn sighed. “Please tell me all the chocolate is for us.”

The House had stocked the table between the armchairs with piles of chocolate: truffles and confections and bars of it. Along with cookies and small finger cakes. And a platter of cheeses and fruit. And carafes of water and various juices.

Gwyn surveyed the table. “Did you go to all this trouble?”

“Oh, no,” Emerie said, eyes glowing. “Nesta’s been holding out on us.”

Nesta scoffed, but Emerie said, “The House will get you anything you want. Just say it aloud.” At Gwyn’s raised brows, Emerie said, “I’d like a slice of pistachio cake, please.”

A plateful of one appeared before her. As well as a bowl of whipped cream topped with raspberries.

Gwyn blinked. “You live in a magic house.”

“It likes to read,” Nesta admitted, patting a stack of the romances. “We’ve bonded over that.”

Gwyn whispered to the room, “What’s your favorite book?”

One thumped on the table beside Emerie’s cake, and Gwyn squawked in surprise. But then rubbed her hands together. “Oh, this is delightful.”

“That smile means trouble,” Emerie said.

Gwyn’s grin just widened.

Two hours later, Nesta found herself fully clothed in a bathtub in the middle of the private library, the entire thing filled with bubbles. No water, just bubbles. In matching tubs on either side of her, Emerie and Gwyn were giggling. “This is ridiculous,” Nesta said, even as her mouth curved upward.

Each one of their requests had gotten more and more absurd, and Nesta might have felt like they were exploiting the House had it not been so … exuberant in answering their commands. Adding creative flourishes.