“You look so handsome tonight, Prince Rhyian,” Bethany cooed breathlessly. Only the fact that she kept craning her neck to see if her friends were watching them kept Rhy from escaping the girl’s clutches to go find Salena again.
Salena, who hadn’t changed at all and who’d changed entirely. It was as if they’d been together only that morning and as if she was someone he’d never met at the same time. Fascinating, infuriating, endlessly seductive. The person who could both call him on his shit and make him laugh. How had he managed all these years without her in his life?
“Prince Rhyian?”
“You know I’m not really a prince,” he chided. “The Tala don’t have a hereditary monarchy.” Most of the time that didn’t bother him. Rhy’s parents were hale and hearty—and more than capable of ruling Annfwn. But having mossbacks call him “prince” only reminded him of how truly pointless his life was. All of his friends had goals and fine aspirations, and he had… nothing of note. No wonder Salena found him so contemptible.
“I think you aren’t listening to me at all.”
He looked down to find Bethany pouting, and gave her a charming grin that wouldn’t fool Salena for a moment. “So much noise and so many walls. It’s hard on us Tala, you know.”
Her brown eyes sparkled, and she gave him a coy look from under her dark lashes. “Then let’s get you out of this noise and go somewhere we can be alone,” she breathed.
Uh-oh. Far too late, he realized he was being well and truly stalked. He’d been so offended by Salena’s accusations that he hadn’t given credence to her warning. Also, he had no idea how to handle this, especially when he spotted King Nakoa KauPo—darling Bethany’s truly terrifying father—searching the dancers and pinning Rhy with his menacing gaze. The crowd parted as the king strode toward them, and Rhy turned Bethany in the dance so she could see. “I think someone is looking for you,” he said.
Bethany blanched, chewing her lip in girlish dismay. “Oh no! What do I do? He told me I’m too young to dance with men yet, but I’m not!”
Internally, Rhy sighed. Surely he could’ve avoided this somehow. Maybe by listening to Salena, an internal voice whispered. “I’ll handle this,” he told her, wondering when he’d become the adult and responsible one.
He danced her toward the sidelines, in Nakoa’s direction so the king wouldn’t take alarm thinking they meant to dodge him, then halted. He bowed gallantly to Bethany, waiting until Nakoa reached them to say, “Thank you for rescuing me, Princess Bethany Nakoa KauPo. I know you said you couldn’t dance, but you did so beautifully. Greetings, Your Highness.” Rhy transferred the bow to the king, certain he heard a low rumble of thunderous displeasure.
“Your devoted mother seeks your pleasant company, kiki,” Nakoa said, barely sparing the girl a glance as he stared down Rhy. Down being the operative word, as the King of Nahanau stood a good head taller than Rhy, who was far from short. Nakoa also outweighed Rhy by a considerable amount. If the man were a barrel, Rhy could fit himself inside. And Nakoa was an accomplished warrior besides. Rhy’s only hope of surviving a fight with the man would be to shapeshift—and then his parents would kill him for causing a diplomatic incident. There was no win here.
“Yes, Muku,” Bethany squeaked, abandoning Rhy to disappear into the crush with impressive agility and a noteworthy absence of concern for Rhy.
Rhy bowed to Nakoa, holding the pose a moment to show respect—he hoped—then straightened. “Happy Feast of Moranu, Your Highness.”
King Nakoa KauPo studied him with a stern expression, one as thunderous as the storms he could summon with a thought. Then he grunted, nodded once, and strode off.
“You got lucky,” a throaty voice purred in Rhy’s ear, and he spun, surprised anyone had managed to sneak up on him. Salena grinned at him, clearly pleased with herself. “Actually, Muku is a pussycat compared to Mom, but I was still ready to step in to defend your honor.”
He gazed back at her, rather astonished. He’d figured her for avoiding him the rest of the night, not coming to his aid. “I’m touched,” he said, then worried that it sounded too flip. “I know you have no reason to defend me, and plenty of reasons not to.”
She sobered, giving him a thoughtful look. “I never wished you ill, Rhyian. Well,” she amended, giving him a grin, “not beyond a few fantasies of your painful demise.”
He laughed. “I deserved that and more.” Taking the chance, he held out a hand. “Shall we have our dance?”
This time she placed her hand in his, and he deftly slipped them into a space between whirling dancers. She moved with sensual grace, and the way his hand settled into the narrow of her waist felt far too familiar, reminding him sharply of those long-gone days. But those watchful eyes held little of the wide-eyed wonder she’d had in that first blush of womanhood. Salena the girl had embraced everything life had to offer with uninhibited joy and delight. Now the deep blue, bordered by a fine line of deepest storm gray, regarded him with a mixture of cynicism and uncertainty. She was waiting for him to hurt her again, and honestly, he was expecting that eventually, too.
“I’m sorry I said that about Bethany. It was cruel and wrong.”
He shrugged a little. “You had reason to think it. We both know I’m far from faultless that way.”
She was quiet for a bit, and he savored the feel of her against him. They fit still—possibly even better—after all this time. She had a hand on his shoulder, her gaze focusing there for a moment as she brushed something away. “It was kind of you,” she finally said, and he suspected it wasn’t what she’d been thinking about saying. “Considerate, of Bethany’s feelings to dance with her, with all of her friends watching. I realize that now. I just… didn’t expect that from you.”
No, of course she wouldn’t. He’d been far from kind and considerate back then. “It has been seven years. I’ve grown up since then.” He had to smile at her dubious expression. “Some,” he qualified. “Not entirely.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the stories,” she quipped with a saucy smile that faded at the edges as she looked away, realizing what she’d revealed.
That slip, however, more than anything else, gave him some hope that she might not have so thoroughly cut him out of her life as she’d like it to seem. Slipping his hand more to the center of the small of her back, he eased her just a little closer, dropping his mouth to near her temple. She smelled of distant rain, of sweet skin and nostalgia. Of moonlit nights and the flowers of Annfwn. Of his own innocence, and a time he hadn’t loathed himself. “Tell me the truth, Salena—have you been seeking out stories about me?”
She made a small sound, of distress or desire, he wasn’t sure. “No,” she said, her voice firm and breathless at once. Her breasts, so temptingly displayed in that luscious gown, rose and fell, brushing against him in a way that threatened to make him lose his mind. “But,” she said on a light gasp, “one can’t help hearing things, can one? The more salacious, the more people love to chatter on.”
Daring more, he brushed her temple with his lips. Not quite a kiss, but terribly, agonizingly close to one. “Tell me what you’ve heard,” he purred against the delicate shell of her ear. “The most salacious tidbit.”
She laughed, throaty and sensual. “Oh no, I don’t think so. Your enormous ego needs no further stroking.”
“Maybe that’s not the enormous part of me that does need stroking.” Needing to taste her, he licked just that little curve of her ear, and she shivered in his arms.
“I’ve seen your ‘part,’ remember,” she replied, pulling back to establish more formal distance between them, narrowing her eyes, “and it is not enormous.”
“You wound me cruelly,” he said. “I was a barely more than a boy. I told you, I’ve grown.” He lowered his voice to tempt her closer. “And I’ve been practicing my selective shapeshifting.”
Her lips parted in shock at his wickedness, and he enjoyed the glimmer of interest in her eyes—until she punched him in the shoulder. “Liar. You have not,” she scolded.
“You don’t know,” he protested, but laughed, spinning her so she had to use her hand on his shoulder to steady herself instead of punching him again.
“I do know,” she replied, almost primly, when he slowed them again. “Even this ignorant mossback knows that selective shapeshifting requires painstaking practice and that only the most talented—” She broke off, a furious blush crowning her cheekbones. “I didn’t mean…”
“That’s all right,” he replied, making sure to sound bored, which was easy since he’d become essentially numb to any references to his lack of talent and inexcusable refusal to apply himself. “You are far from the first or only person to make note of my startling lack of shapeshifting ability.”
“Gendra and Zeph both say it’s not lack of ability,” Salena continued, blithely poking at the sore spot. “Even I can see Moranu’s hand on you. You’re Her chosen. If you’d just apply your—”
“Salena,” he broke in, cutting off her words ruthlessly, “if I want a lecture on my laziness and feckless ways, there are any number of people I can go to for that.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said quietly, after a few moments of fraught silence.
“You didn’t,” he said with deliberate lightness, sending her into a twirl and snagging her back closer than before. “You’d have to work much harder to match the casual gossip and direct remarks from my nearest and dearest that I hear on any given day.”
“Oh, Rhyian…” Salena searched his face, sympathy in hers. Now that stung.
“Feeling sorry for me?” he asked coolly, layering in haughty disdain. “Don’t. At least I can shapeshift.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, he wished them back. But it was too late. Salena’s expression chilled.
“Was that supposed to hurt?” she asked evenly. “I’d forgotten how well you do that, go from charming to cruel in an instant. Thank you for reminding me.” She stopped, yanking her hands from his.
Moranu curse his stupid tongue. “Salena, listen—”
“No,” she flung over her shoulder as she plowed a path through the dancers. “I’m done listening to you.”
He caught her arm but continued on the same trajectory. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he said through his teeth, “as you’ve avoided any real conversation with me for seven years.”
“There’s a reason for that,” she shot back, face set in furious lines. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
“What does that even mean?” Spotting a small salon off the main hall, Rhy poked his head in, verified it was empty, and dragged Salena inside.
“Stop dragging me around,” she spat as he closed and locked the door.
“Stop running away from me,” he snapped back. “Either that or stop blaming me for not chasing after you.”
She pulled up short, her fury cooling. “You have a good point. Just leave me alone, Rhyian,” she said wearily.
“I did,” he said simply. “Didn’t we both do that? We left each other alone for seven years, and it didn’t fix anything.”
She sat heavily on a plush chair by the fire, holding out her hands to its warmth. “Maybe some things are too broken to fix,” she said in a quiet voice to the cheerful flames.
“Your heart?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to ask sincerely or make a joke to lighten the mood, so his words came out somewhere in between, uneven and raw.
Salena looked up at him, no poise in her face, only sorrow, blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Don’t laugh at me. You know you broke my heart. You did it on purpose.”
He raked his hand through his hair, deeply regretting he’d forced this conversation. This was why he hadn’t gone after her to begin with. But, as always happened when Salena was near, he couldn’t seem to resist her siren call. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, knowing it sounded weak and cowardly as he spoke the words.
“What was it like, Rhyian?” she asked. “Here’s your big chance to explain.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Sometimes he didn’t even understand why he’d done what he had.
“Let me tickle your memory,” she said in a quietly lethal tone, standing and stalking toward him. If Salena were a shapeshifter, her First Form would be a predator for sure. Probably a wolf. “I gave you my virginity. After months of spending every moment together—as best friends and more. We were lovers in every sense but that. Intimate in every way.”
“I remember,” he said. He remembered those heady days all too well.
“You were so romantic, so attentive, you made my head spin. I thought you loved me.” Her voice cracked as the tears spilled over, and Rhy, wracked with guilt, stepped toward her. She stopped him with an upraised hand and a ferocious glare. “I know you never said it, but I thought ‘Oh, Rhyian, he’s just not expressive that way. It’s the Tala nature.’ I made all the excuses for you, so you didn’t have to. No, don’t say anything yet.”
Her fury had returned, building as she finally said everything she hadn’t before. Rhy sat, burying his face in his hands, telling himself he’d asked to hear this. That he deserved having his heart cracked open and fed to the fire.
“You showed me love, Rhyian,” she continued, the words burning. “In countless small ways. I thought I didn’t need the words, but that maybe you did. So I told you that night. Do you remember that night?”
It was seared into his memory. Lifting his head, he made himself meet her fulminous gaze, the sense of a distant storm gathering. Lightning about to strike. She had her hands clenched into fists. “I will never forget that night,” he said, more or less evenly. “It meant something to me, too.” He took a deep breath and made himself give her the truth. “Because I was in love with you.”