Page 63 of The Rook

“Tempest.” She forced herself to meet Pyre’s gaze, which was uncharacteristically serious. He pointed toward one of the balconies, which was unoccupied. “Could we speak privately for a moment?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Now was the time to tell him.

As they escaped through the throng of people, she tried desperately to work out how to word what she had to say. Each step they took up the stairs, her pulse leapt. By the time they reached the wintry air of the balcony, however, her mind had gone completely blank.

Pyre closed the glass doors behind them, cutting off the noise of the masquerade. It was just the two of them, surrounded by delicate, silvery lights and the darkness of a northern evening. She followed Pyre to the edge of the balcony, where an iron and stone wall protected them from a precipitous fall. A healthy fire roared in the pit, cutting the chill. She glanced down and gulped—precipitous was an understatement. She could not see the ground.

“Scared of heights, Temp?” Pyre teased. “To be honest, I’m not all that great with them myself.”

“I’ve ridden a dragon,” she said dryly. Her brows furrowed. “If you’re not fond of heights, why build a palace in a mountain?”

Pyre pushed his mask up, an incredulous expression on his face. “Come now. You can’t honestly believe thatIbuilt this place, do you? It’s centuries old!”

Tempest felt foolish, and her cheeks burned at the comment. “I didn’t mean you, I meant why choose this place as your palace?” she admitted. “Has the Dark Court always been here?”

“As long as the capital has stood.”

She shook her head. “Unbelievable. How has it managed to survive for so long? An organized underworld older than most reigning families in Heimserya and its neighbors. It’s—”

“Definitely a bit intimidating,” Pyre finished for her, smiling softly. He turned his gaze to the sky. The storms had cleared, leaving a pure, unfettered night-time sky littered with stars and a far, full moon. He sighed heavily. “I owe you an apology.”

“You do.”

He cracked a smile. “Never one to beat around the bush. That’s what I like about you.” He sighed. “Tempest, I’m sorry I lied about my other form. I should have told you about Mal before you arrived here. I just… don’t trust many people.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, pointing at her mask. “What about this? I thought you said that was a test of whether you could trust me. I didn’t tamper with the box.”

“If only things were so simple.” He laughed. He turned to face her, molten eyes keen on hers. When he raised a gloved hand to remove the wolf mask from her face, she did not protest. “I do trust you, though. But I had… other reasons… to keep you at bay.”

Pyre stroked Tempest’s cheek tenderly, causing her heart to constrict painfully.

“Your presence here, among my people, has done more good than you could ever know,” he continued, still stroking her face. “I know we do not always agree on my methods—we probably never will—but know that your decision to help the rebellion will bring positive change to so many people as a whole. Speaking of the greater good is always difficult, but—”

“War is difficult,” she said, smiling sadly, leaning into Pyre’s touch without truly realizing it. “You said that before.”

“You must know I was speaking the truth.”

“Yes, but the truth is—”

“Difficult,” Pyre interrupted.

Neither of them spoke for a long, tense moment. Tempest’s skin pebbled, and nervous energy churned in her belly. She wasn’t sure if she was to fight, run, or kiss the dangerous man in front of her. The latter would be a mistake for the both of them.

“But, despite all this, I know the truth,” he whispered. “I was naïve before.”

Pyre leaned forward and kissed her. A press of warm, hungry lips on hers, the flick of a tongue, and the graze of pointed canines. She flushed hot and then cold. Her body longed to melt into the kiss. Longed for her to let the kitsune wrap his arms around her and make her forget about everything.

But her conscience was stronger.

“Stop,” she mumbled.

“Never,” he whispered, nibbling at her bottom lip, his hands framing either side of her face.

Tempest dug deep and pushed him away a few inches. “No more!”

He examined her face, and her pulse doubled its speed. “What is it, love?” he asked, his voice low and raw with desire. “After everything that’s happened… I know this isn’t one sided. You at least feelsomethingfor me—”

“Destin proposed to me,” she said woodenly. “And I—I said yes.”

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