Page 112 of Glow of the Everflame

I nodded. “All is forgiven. Friends?”

“Friends,” he agreed. “Advisor?”

“Don’t push your luck, Corbois.”

We shared a friendly smirk, and despite myself, I got lost in his smile all over again. I wasn’t even sure how long we’d been staring at each other when the sudden silence yanked us back to the present.

I looked over to see Lily and Teller watching us, the latter frowning and the former looking as pleased as a cat with a saucer of cream.

I bolted to my feet and down the stairs. “You two should go, Taran and Alixe will be here soon.”

They nodded. Teller and I exchanged a heavy look, an entire conversation passing between us through a series of furrowed eyebrows, pressed lips, and subtle tilts of our heads. At the end of it, he squeezed my shoulder. “Tonight’s going to go great. And you won’t even need the Challenging, because you’ll kill them all with your dancing instead.”

I swiped at him. He grinned and darted out of reach, only for his expression to pale as he approached a stone-faced Luther.

Luther pulled Lily in for a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, all the while holding Teller’s gaze in a fearsome glare. He moved into the center of the stairs, requiring Teller to awkwardly contort his body to squeeze past Luther’s imposing frame. When Teller finally brushed past him, Luther released a menacing snarl, and Teller bolted for the exit.

My lips pursed as I struggled not to laugh. Luther caught my eye and winked. “That was for making fun of my Queen.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure it hadnothingto do with his interest in your little sister.”

A guilty smile tugged at his lips as he descended the stairs and stopped a few inches away. “I can help you with the dancing, if you’d like.” He offered out his hands. “I’ve certainly had to do enough of it over the years.”

My eyes moved down to his awaiting arms, and I had to yank hard on the reins to hold still. I pictured the two of us moving together, his hands on my waist, our faces a breath away...

“No,” I choked out, retreating a step. “Thank you, but, uh, I’ll—I’m fine.”

He nodded and dropped his hands, and for several painful moments that stretched on like hours, the two of us stood side by side, shuffling our weight and saying nothing.

Luther stared at the dungeon entrance, awaiting Taran and Alixe’s arrival at any moment. With his attention elsewhere—a rarity in my presence—my eyes found themselves scouring his body and taking him in.

Fine. I could admit it. I was attracted to him. His muscled physique, his stone-carved features, his brooding stare, that endearing smile he only shared with me. Every last feature, even his scar—gods,especiallythe scar—seemed hand-selected for maximum effect.

But he was a Descended. They were all attractive. Even the ones I despised were so beautiful I sometimes found it hard to look away.

That’s all that this was: Lust. Physical attraction. Primal, biological urges. Just my body’s natural reaction to being thrust into close proximity to so many gorgeous people.

Then why does flirting with Aemonn or Taran feel harmless, but one glance from Luther and I’m swimming in shark-infested waters with a bucket of bloody chum?

My skin flushed despite the damp cold of the dungeon. I pulled at the low neckline of my tunic, fluttering the fabric to force a breeze over the beads of sweat forming along my neck.

The movement caught Luther’s attention, and his focus drifted to my collarbone. “Did you mean what you said last night about scars?”

My mind replayed the dinner conversation.

And if Luther were my King...

I cleared my throat. “Which part, specifically?”

“You don’t believe we should have our scars healed away?”

“Of course I don’t.” My expression soured at the reminder of Iléana’s nasty words. The thought of Luther without his scar tore at something in my heart. “They would have to hold me down kicking and screaming to remove mine.”

The corner of his lip quirked, and I got the sense he was picturing that very image.

My fingers ran over the mark near my throat, the one Luther’s eyes kept darting to when he thought I wasn’t looking. “My scars make me happy. They’re all memories.”

“Aren’t they unhappy memories of being hurt?”

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