His hand slides up my back, pulling me closer. Everywhere he touches is bliss. Complete, utter bliss. The hand on my shoulder sinks lower. It slides down my breast before resting on my hip. Only my thin, satin dress separates us, but if I close my eyes, if I let myself forget everything that matters in both our worlds, I can imagine it disappearing, imagine being skin to skin with him.

My eyes shoot open when Kyol grabs my arm. Aren holds on a moment more, his lips and hands lingering as if this is his last breath. As if this is the only breath in his life that has ever mattered. Then he locks eyes with the sword-master.

“You have competition now.”

He backs away before Kyol can kick his ass and gives me a smile that sends hot aftershocks coursing through my body. I take a step toward him, but he disappears into the crowd.

SEVENTEEN

“MCKENZIE?” KYOL’S HAND tightens on my arm. “Are you okay?”

For a handful of heartbeats, I stare at the path Aren took. Humans have blocked it off now, but I can almost see him there. I can still taste him, still feel the lingering heat from his touch.

An edarratae leaps up my arm. Kyol’s edarratae. He lets go of me quickly, as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. Still unbalanced, I stare into his face until my world stops spinning, until the silver storms in his dark eyes ground me.

It’s over. I wait for a rush of relief, but it doesn’t engulf me. Instead, it trickles in.

“Kaesha?” Kyol’s brows are lowered with concern—concern for me—but he should be worried about himself. The tech in this ballroom is wreaking havoc on his chaos lusters. They’re all but constant on his skin.

I shake my head, dislodging the memory of Aren’s kiss. “You need to get out of here.”

“McKenzie.” My name comes out on the end of a shaky breath. There’s so much pain in his eyes I take a step back. Could Aren have done something to him? He doesn’t look hurt. He looks more solid and stoic than ever.

“Come on.” I tug on his hand again. This time, he gives me a somber nod and follows. Walking seems to settle him. After only a few steps, he’s the one leading me.

His pace increases once we’re outside, half trotting down the stone steps to the lower terrace. A handful of humans are out here. We hurry past them, heading toward the back of the gardens, toward the cemetery where Lorn fissured me and where Aren fastened diamonds around my neck.

Shit. I have to get rid of this necklace. If the Court finds out it’s imprinted, they’ll find Aren.

Aren. God, he’s a fool, trusting me with something like this.

Kyol’s face is hard, troubled, as he scans the garden’s shadows. I have to jog to keep up with his long stride.

“Kyol.”

He doesn’t slow down.

“Kyol, stop.” I dig in my heels, forcing him to turn. “What’s wrong?”

“I . . .” He sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry, kaesha.”

That injured look is back, injured and . . . guilty?

“I’m okay, Kyol. Really.”

“Jorreb,” he forces out the name. “He hasn’t . . . didn’t . . .” He cups the back of my head, lowers his forehead to mine. His dark hair is cut manageably short, but it’s still long enough to run my fingers through. I shouldn’t, not out here where fae might be watching, but I want to comfort him, and I’ve missed his touch, his scent, his entire presence. He’s broad and muscular—more muscular than Aren—and I feel small in his shadow, safe, even though he still seems off-balance. Beneath my hands, his muscles tighten as if he’s bracing for a blow. “Did Jorreb force himself on you?”

It takes a moment to understand what he’s asking.

“No,” I say, almost offended by the question. “He never hurt me.”

I realize those last words are a lie right after I say them and, seconds later—after Kyol tucks my hair behind my ear and his fingers slide down my neck—he discovers the truth. He frowns, his silver eyes dipping to my throat.

I pull my hair back over my shoulder, but it’s too late. He felt the upraised skin.

“What did he do to you?” he demands, both hands exploring my neck, searching for other scars.

“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “I was hurt. He healed me.”

“Healed you?” He stops his inspection abruptly. “Jorreb is a healer?”

“Yeah,” I say, wondering if I’ve just revealed information I shouldn’t have. But then, why should I worry what I tell Kyol? It’s not my job to protect Aren, and don’t I want this war to be over? Don’t I want the Court to win?

Ah, hell. This isn’t good. My loyalties are so twisted up inside I don’t know what I want anymore. The rebels have faces now, personalities. They’re not so bad, and what if some of what they’ve claimed is true? Sethan might not be a false-blood. He might be a true Descendant of the Tar Sidhe. There could have once been seventeen provinces instead of thirteen. And maybe the fae’s magic isn’t fading as much as the Court thinks, and the gate taxes aren’t entirely fair.

Maybe. I’m sure of so very few things these days. A headache pulses between my eyes.

“I want to retire.”

Kyol grows very still. “Retire?”

I didn’t plan to mention this so soon, but it’s too late to take it back. Besides, this was my plan before Aren abducted me. It sounds like an even better idea now. I’ll stay out of the Realm’s war. I’ll go back to campus, convince my professor to let me retake my final, and then I’ll graduate and get a job. I’ll be normal.

“Yes. Retire.” I meet Kyol’s eyes, but his mask is in place. I can’t get a gauge on his emotions. “I was planning to before Aren took me.”

He lowers his gaze as he runs his hands down my arms. He slips his fingers through mine. “I’ll . . . I’ll talk to Atroth.”

There’s a noise in the bushes behind me. Kyol spins, putting himself between me and the danger.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need to prepare for a fight. A moan of pleasure accompanies the next rustle of the underbrush and two pair of bare feet scrape across the dirt. Humans.

“Take me home,” I whisper.

Kyol’s arm tightens around me. “It’s not safe to go home. The rebels could find you there. I’m sorry. They should never have learned your name. We don’t know how they did, but . . .” He draws in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

It’s obvious he feels responsible for what happened. That doesn’t surprise me. He always takes his responsibilities seriously, and he hates to see me upset. This isn’t his fault, though, so I smile and start walking, keeping our hands clasped.

“Where are we going, then?”

“Another human who works for us lives nearby,” he says. “He’s sending a car to pick you up. You can stay with him until you find a new home.”

“Is he a shadow-reader?” The Court has five of us. We don’t usually work together, but I’ve met the others.

“No,” Kyol says. “He only has the Sight.”

Which means the Court uses him in full-blown battles, the kind Kyol tries to keep me away from. Fortunately. I hate it when my shadow-reading expeditions turn bloody, when the rebels attack instead of run or surrender.