His silence was answer enough.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I breathed. “Actually unbelievable.”

  “You were holding his hand,” he said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice now. “Right there in front of everyone. Looking at him like⁠—”

  “Like what?” I demanded. “Like he’s my friend? Because he is. That’s all he is, Varyth. A friend who needed support while his—” I caught myself just in time, swallowing the words that would out Fenric and Linc’s relationship. “While he was worried.”

  Varyth’s eyes narrowed. “Worried.”

  “Yes.”

  “About you.”

  “No, not me, you idiot.” I closed the distance between us, anger making me reckless. “I mean yes. He’d just found out Lincatheron and I had faced Xyliria. He was worried about both of us, and as his friend I held his hand. Because he’s nice and worries about the people he cares about. His friends.”

  Varyth stared at me like I’d just told him the sun rose in the west.

  I crossed my arms. “So all that?” I gestured vaguely back toward the castle. “All that possessive bullshit in the training yard? That murderous look when I was sitting on Fenric’s chest? Completely misplaced.”

  His throat worked. Swallowed hard. “I thought⁠—”

  “You thought wrong.” The words came out rougher than intended. “There’s nothing between Fenric and me except friendship and a shared appreciation for thoroughly humiliating overconfident warriors.”

  Varyth’s hands were shaking. Actually shaking where they gripped the stone railing behind him.

  “I’ve been planning his murder for a week,” he said quietly. Conversationally. Like he was discussing the weather instead of premeditated homicide. “Since I saw you holding his hand in that courtyard.”

  Despite the fury simmering in my veins and the confusion tearing through my chest, laughter bubbled up. “You’ve been planning Fenric’s murder.”

  “Very thoroughly.” His eyes locked on mine, molten and fierce. “I had nineteen different scenarios. Each one more violent than the last.”

  “That’s deeply unhinged.”

  “I’m aware.” He pushed off the railing, closing the distance between us. “Do you know what it did to me? Watching you with him? Thinking you’d chosen—” His voice cracked. “I saw the way he smiled at you. The way you made him laugh. How comfortable you were with him, how easy it all seemed⁠—”

  “Because we’re friends,” I repeated, my voice raising now, the words echoing off stone. “Because I can spar with him without drowning in guilt or confusion or wanting to simultaneously murder and kiss someone until neither of us can breathe.”

  Varyth went very, very still.

  “Isara.” My name came out broken. Desperate. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you’re an idiot.” I was close enough to touch him now, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. “I’m saying I spent the last week looking for you because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands in my hair and your mouth on mine and the way I came apart in your study before I panicked like a fucking coward⁠—”

  “You didn’t panic.” His hands found my waist, tentative, like he was afraid I’d bolt. “You froze. There’s a difference.”

  “Feels the same from where I’m standing.”

  “It’s not.” His grip tightened, pulling me closer by inches. “Freezing means you were scared. Panic means you wanted to run. But you didn’t run, Isara. You just... stopped.”

  “Because I felt guilty.” The words tasted like ash. “Because touching you felt like betraying—” I couldn’t say the name. Couldn’t force it past my lips when Varyth was looking at me like that, when his hands were burning through my clothes and making my skin sing. “I felt like I was doing something wrong.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m furious.” I grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric hard enough to wrinkle. “Because you spent a week avoiding me instead of letting me explain. Because you saw me with Fenric and decided that meant I wanted him. Because you just apologised for kissing me like it was a mistake instead of the best fucking thing that’s happened to me in—gods, I don’t even know.”

  His eyes went wide. As though I’d just ripped something vital out of his chest and held it up to the light.

  But he still didn’t move.

  Didn’t reach for me, didn’t speak, just stood there with his hands frozen at my waist and his mouth slightly open like he’d forgotten how words worked.

  So naturally, I decided to be an absolute menace about it.

  “Unless,” I said, letting my voice drop into something dangerous, something that tasted like smoke and recklessness. “You’d prefer I walk away right now. Maybe I should go find Fenric after all.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare." The words came out in a snarl.

  And then his hands were in my hair and his mouth was crashing into mine.

  I made a sound—half gasp, half moan—and kissed him back with everything I had. Every ounce of frustration and confusion and want I’d been shoving down for the past week came pouring out in the way my hands tangled in his hair, the way I pressed against him hard enough to feel every line of his body against mine.

  His hands slid from my waist to my hips, gripping with bruising intensity as he walked me backward until my spine hit the balcony rail. The stone was cold against my back but he was molten against my front, all hard muscle and devastating heat as he deepened the kiss with a growl that vibrated through both of us.

  “Fenric?” he managed against my mouth, teeth dragging over my bottom lip.

  “Friends,” I gasped, arching into him as his mouth moved to my jaw, my throat, that spot below my ear that made my knees weak. “Just friends.”

  “I’ve was ready to kill him,” he murmured against my lips, teeth grazing my bottom lip hard enough to make me gasp. “Every time I saw you smile at him. Every time you touched him.” His mouth moved to my jaw, trailing fire down to my throat. “I was going to make it look like a training accident. Very tragic. Very unfortunate.”

  “You’re insane,” I managed, my head falling back to give him better access.

  “You make me insane.” His teeth found my pulse point, biting down just hard enough to draw a sound from my throat that should have been illegal. “Seeing you with him. Thinking he had what I—” He broke off with a growl, pressing me back against the stone railing. “I’m glad I can cross that off my to-do list.”

  “What, murdering Fenric?”

  “Among other things.” His hands slid down to grip my thighs, and then he was lifting me, settling me on the railing with my legs wrapped around his waist. “Though I may still maim him on principle.”

  “Don’t.” I pulled him closer, revelling in the solid weight of him between my legs. “He’s been through enough.”

  Varyth’s laugh was dark and feral against my throat. “Oh, I don’t think so. Not nearly enough for making me think—” His hips rocked forward, and the hard length of him pressed against me in a way that made coherent thought impossible. “For making me believe you wanted him instead of me.”

  “I never wanted him,” I breathed. “I wanted you. Even when I was trying not to. Even when I thought I shouldn’t.”

  His mouth found mine again, and this kiss was different—slower, deeper. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were molten, pupils blown wide with want.

  “I’ve been planning a murder too,” I admitted breathlessly.

  He raised an brow. “Have you?”

  “Yes. Yours. For being an insufferable, cryptic bastard who speaks in riddles and won’t just say what he fucking means.”

  His grin was absolutely lethal. “I want you,” he said, each word deliberate. Clear. “Have wanted you since you first walked into my castle covered in blood and radiating murder. I want to take you to my chambers and worship every inch of you until you forget your own name. I want to hear you scream mine until your voice breaks. Is that clear enough?”

  His words shattered something in me.

  That tightly wound thing I’d been guarding behind sarcasm and restraint? Gone. Melted under the weight of his words, of the promise laced between every syllable.

  Still, I wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet.

  “I don’t know…” I dragged the words out, slow and dangerous, my fingers walking up the front of his shirt one button at a time. “I think I need you to be more specific. You want to worship me? Sounds like a lot of work.”

  Varyth’s jaw twitched. “Isara.” A warning. A plea.

  I grinned. Bit my lower lip like I knew what it did to him. Because I did, and I was going to use every weapon I had. “You sure it’s me you want? I mean, Fenric does have that charming smile⁠—”

  His hands snapped to my thighs, grip bruising as he yanked me forward so I was flush against him, every inch of his body screaming restraint that was rapidly fracturing.

  “Don’t,” he growled against my neck, lips brushing skin. “Don’t say his name while I’ve got you like this.”

  My breath hitched. “Why not? Worried I’ll compare⁠—”

  His mouth devoured the rest of the sentence.

  And I let him.

  Gods, I welcomed it.

  I barely had a moment to register the shift before Varyth suddenly spun us around. The world blurred. A gasp caught in my throat. My spine met stone.

  One of Varyth’s hand braced against the wall beside my head, the other cupped my breast through my tunic.

  My hands worked hastily at his shirt, yanking at buttons, baring skin. I pressed my palms flat to his bare chest, nails scraping down, hard enough to leave lines of red.

  Varyth’s hips drove forward, grinding into me with a curse so raw it cracked.

  “Isara,” he groaned, my name shattering on his tongue. “We need to stop. Now. Before I⁠—”

  His words died the second I moved. Rolled my hips against his, challenging that control with every inch of my body. Varyth’s mouth collided with mine again. His kiss was a storm. There was no space. No breath. Just him.

  My nails scraped down his chest again, following the lines of muscle, and he shuddered. A full-body tremor that betrayed how close to the edge he truly was.

  His hand slid beneath my shirt. Rough, calloused fingers ghosted over my stomach, and then higher, finding my breast with possessive certainty. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I whimpered, my body arching into the touch.

  A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest, his breath hot against my throat. “You feel that?” he whispered. “How your body begs for me?”

  Yes.

  I arched into him, lost in the sheer force of him. Of this.

  My hand slid lower, unstoppable now, knuckles brushing the hard lines of his abdomen. Gods, he was wrecking me.

  But I would drag him down with me.

  And gods, the sound he made when I palmed him through his pants—filthy, desperate, trembling at the edge of total surrender.

  That was the sound I’d waited for.

  “Isara,” he growled. Desperate. Starving. “Fuck, Isara.”

  I grinned and tightened my grip, stroking the hard length of him through the fabric, watching his composure fracture.

  His hips bucked into my hand.

  “More?” I whispered, licking the shell of his ear. “You want to fall for me, Varyth? I’ll make you crawl.”

  His breath hitched, harsh and broken, when my hand curled harder around him, stroking him through the thin barrier of fabric like I knew exactly how to shatter him.

  Varyth’s eyes were wild—silver nearly devoured by black, feral heat blazing as his gaze dropped to my lips, my throat, lower.

  “Fucking stars,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine again. Desperate, claiming, tongue sliding deep as if he could taste the filthy promise in my words.

  His hand fumbled at the waist of my pants, impatient fingers working the fastenings.

  I gasped against his mouth as the fabric loosened, hips rocking forward into the hard line of him. His hips surged in response, grinding into the pressure of my palm.

  But then—oh gods—his hand slipped inside.

  I moaned, the sound muffled against his mouth as his fingers slid beneath the fabric.

  His groan was pure sin. “Fuck, Isara.” His head dropped to my shoulder, chest heaving against mine, and I felt his whole body tremble as his fingers dragged deeper.

  Then his fingers shifted until the rough pad of his thumb circled right there.

  A strangled cry clawed its way up my throat.

  His mouth ghosted over my jaw as he worked that bundle of nerves in tight, devastating spirals, maddeningly slow. Just enough pressure to leave me gasping. Not enough to push me over.

  “You’re already shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I haven’t even started.”

  I smirked against his jaw, then nipped at it. “Maybe you’re just slow.”

  His breath caught. And then⁠—

  He sank a finger inside.

  I choked on a moan, my spine arching off the wall as pleasure skated up my spine like lightning on blood.

  “You were saying?” His voice was velvet and venom and fucking triumphant.

  I bit his shoulder through his shirt, hard enough to make him grunt.

  Another finger joined the first. My breath shattered against his neck as he thrust them into me. I gripped him hard, each pass dragging another broken, helpless sound from his lips. He bucked into my palm with that same frantic rhythm his fingers used inside me.

  His thumb never stopped moving. Not once. Circling in those tight, devastating spirals, pressing hard enough to steal my breath.

  “Fuck,” I gasped, my head slamming back against the wall. “Varyth.”

  He groaned against my throat. “I feel you, Isara. Gods, you’re perfect.”

  And still, my hand moved. Stroking the full, thick length of him through the fabric that strained to hold him back, dragging the heel of my palm over the tip just to hear the way he choked.

  His hips surged into my grip. “You’re going to make me come like this,” he growled, teeth sinking into the curve of my neck. “You’re going to make me fucking lose it.”

  His hand on my thigh flexed, holding me up as his thumb pressed harder, faster, perfect.

  “You’re not walking away after this,” he growled into my mouth, lips crushed against mine as his fingers thrust, again and again, deep and possessive. “You’re mine. Say it.”

  “I’m not saying shit,” I gasped, tightening my grip around him. “Not until you beg.”

  His fingers curled, and everything else dropped away.

  My climax tore through me, crashing through every nerve, drowning every thought until there was nothing left but him. My body trembled against his, my cry muffled as Varyth caught my lips with his.

  He swallowed my moans, his fingers slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last pulse, every tremor, until I was shaking, breathless, half-limp in his arms.

  When I finally came back to myself, Varyth was still holding me, his fingers buried inside me, forehead pressed against mine as his ragged breathing matched my own.

  I was trembling, my body hypersensitive, my mind blissfully empty. And I was still holding him.

  “Isara,” the plea was strained.

  I silenced him with a kiss, my hands fumbling to free him.

  I needed him. Inside me. Now.

  My fingers had just undone the last fastening when⁠—

  “Varyth?”

  The sound of footsteps followed quickly.

  Suddenly, time slowed.

  The air in my lungs turned solid as I saw Darian step onto the balcony, his gaze sweeping the space before hitting us.

  A ripple of undiluted horror crossed his face. The worst kind of horror.

  Pure mortification.

  His mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of shock as he registered exactly what he had stumbled upon.

  Varyth and I were pressed intimately against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist. Varyth had one hand under my tunic, the other down the front of my pants. My own hands were no better, currently frozen where they’d been unfastening his trousers. There was no room for doubt as to what we had been doing.

  Darian never floundered. Never. But he did now. Miserably. And then he made a noise. It was somewhere between a scoff and a pained groan.

  Varyth froze against me, his body going so still it’s a wonder he didn’t turn to stone. But before either of us could move or speak, two more figures emerged onto the balcony.

  Cindrissian.

  And Fenric.

  The blood drained from my face.

  Where Fenric looked ready to throw himself off the balcony to escape the agony of this moment, Cindrissian’s expression remained neutral.

  I did not breathe.

  Because although Cindrissian’s face was unreadable, his eyes were not. They found Varyth’s hands, where each rested.

  And narrowed.

  A long, unbearable silence stretched between us.

  Then, so completely void of emotion it was somehow worse than if he’d reacted at all, Cindrissian said, “I see you’re busy.”

  A vein in Varyth’s temple twitched violently. His grip on me tightened imperceptibly before he finally seemed to remember how hands worked and removed his from their incriminating locations.

  Slowly, he lowered me to the ground. But he didn’t just steady me. His hands lingered. Then he quickly refastened his pants, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity.

  I, meanwhile, had reached a level of shame and suffering so profound that I was preparing to launch myself into the nearest fire.

  “Well,” Darian said finally, his voice strangled with the effort of not laughing. “This is... educational.”

  Fenric made a sound that might have been a whimper. His eyes were fixed on the stone railing like it held the secrets of the universe and he needed to memorise every crack. “I think I’m blind. I’ve gone blind. That’s the only explanation.”

  “You’re not blind,” Darian said, in that same strangled tone. “Unfortunately, we all saw—” He broke off, shoulders shaking.