Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(38)

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Valoria?” I guess, cringing at the way I slur the name. I’ve had three glasses of wine before, but maybe it’s not mixing well with the calming potion.

“No, my sister is always easy to pick out of a crowd.” Hadrien smiles, the kind that lights his eyes from within, the kind he always gives to me in particular. “I’m afraid I don’t know the young woman’s name.” He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it even though the breeze was already doing that for him. Maybe he knows how perfectly imperfect he looks with pale strands falling across his eyes. “I’ve never seen her before, which is strange, because she seemed to be about our age. But she’s very insistent on speaking with you.”

I run through a list of names in my head, though it pounds with the beginnings of a headache. Master Cymbre? No, Hadrien knows her. Elibeth? But Hadrien knows her, too. One of Kasmira’s crew, perhaps?

“Here, join me.” Hadrien presses a glass of dark elderflower wine into my hands, chasing away the mystery of who would be asking for me tonight. “A little something to raise our spirits in these troubled times.” His hands are on my waist, keeping me steady. I hadn’t realized how much I was swaying.

I clink my glass against his and drain it quickly, drowning my thoughts of how Evander would’ve snarled to see Hadrien holding me like this. “Happy birthday, Highness.” I lift my glass again, but it’s nearly empty. A lone drop splashes my cheek.

“Hadrien,” he corrects me again. He pulls a white handkerchief from the pocket of his leather trousers and dabs my cheek dry. “And if you really want to make it a happy one, you’ll—”

“Yes.” My heart’s hammering a staccato beat, at odds with the gentle waltz the fiddlers have just begun to play. “I’d love to dance with you, Hadrien.”

The prince blinks, closes his open mouth, and takes my hands.

I’m not sure how we wind up in the middle of the dance floor, or how I let Hadrien pull me so close that I’m forced to gaze deep into his eyes. They’re the darkest brown I’ve ever seen, like Evander’s were the darkest blue.

I want to ask him if he’s ever seen his sister’s inventions. Or if he creates things in secret, too. But I’ve never asked for secrets from a prince, and if I move my lips too much just now, they might catch on Hadrien’s, and that would create a whole new mess I’m in no state to clean up.

“How have you been, Sparrow?” Hadrien whispers, his mouth near my ear.

Now I can see the many stares I expected. Even the Dead have turned their masked faces our way, and their silence is palpable, leaving only the music.

“No different than I was when you asked this afternoon in my chamber,” I answer at last. Hadrien pushes me away so I can twirl in time with the chorus, then pulls me in with a force that makes my head spin. “You’re the only one who’s asked lately, though.” I try to take a deep breath, but it’s not easy with the prince’s arms hugging my waist like the corsets the noblewomen wear. “Thank you—for caring.”

Hadrien shakes his head, looking solemn. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I care for every living person in this rich and beautiful land, Sparrow.”

I twirl away from him again, meeting his eyes from the distance created by our outstretched arms. His face is the only thing I see clearly amidst a swirl of colors and shapes. “You say my name a lot.”

He pulls me back to his arms, stumbling a bit on the impact of our collision. Quickly recovering his footing, he flashes a dazzling grin. “Maybe that’s because I like the sound of it.”

We dance for a few more minutes until someone—Hadrien, I think—presses another glass of wine into my hands. I’m losing track of how much I’ve had, and my stomach is churning, but the wine warms me all over, and the fiddlers’ music sings through my blood.

This is it. Living.

If only Evander were here to do it all with me.

I blink back the sudden tears pricking my eyes and look around for another servant bearing wine.

Hadrien’s hands are on my waist again. Now they’re cupping my face, pulling me in for a kiss, and I clumsily take a step back.

But before I can object to his apparent habit of kissing people without their permission, Hadrien’s face melts away, replaced by Jax’s in a single confusing blink. The sight makes me shiver. “Is that really you?” I demand, remembering the potion’s tricks even through the haze I’m in.

“You’ve either had too much to drink, or not enough.” Jax’s gruff voice and rough but steady hands assure me it’s him. “So the question is, do you need me to fetch you some water? Or something stronger?”

I rest my head on his chest, inhaling the now-familiar scent of his sweat. This is my last night before I enter the Deadlands. My last night to feel truly alive. I can’t stop now and head inside when the moon is paper white and young and full.

“Neither,” I say finally. “Let’s dance.”

We take it slow, though the music’s pounding beat is fast. As I catch sight of Her Majesty by the cake again, something Hadrien said comes back to me. “Jax?” I have to shout to be heard over the fiddles and pipes. “Did you notice someone looking for me earlier—a girl?”