Page 186 of Heat of the Everflame

It was only one day.

Tomorrow, we would go home, and then everything would be better.

I tried to focus on my meeting with Yrselle. I scrounged up some ink and paper and scribbled the questions I wanted to ask: Who was my birth father, and what did he know? What had Umbros told her? What did the prophecy mean? And what did any of this have to do with the war?

But even that couldn’t keep my mind off the man across the hall. I shoved the papers aside, then ambled around the room, collecting my things in my satchel for the journey home.

Still, my eyes drifted again and again to my door.

At the sound of footsteps, I almost burst outside to greet them—but I was stopped by Taran and Zalaric shouting and a slamming door. I groaned and threw myself onto my bed, fully clothed and not at all tired.

For the next hour, I laid there, my mind spinning, then slowing, then settling. Much as I’d tried to ignore it, I was coming to a realization wholly against my will. Something I’d known for a while, if I was truly being honest, though I’d been too stubborn, too scared to admit it.

Even thinking on it now triggered every awful, self-doubting thought:Don’t do it. Stop. You’re being reckless again. Give it more time. You don’t want this. You’re going to regret it.

But deep down, I knew.

And running wasn’t going to make it go away.

I dragged myself out of bed and smoothed my wrinkled dress, then closed my eyes and tucked the Crown out of sight. This was aboutus. Diem and Luther, not a Queen and a Prince. I’d already let those lines blur too far.

Those titles might create other relationships between us—relationships that might look very different after tonight—but for now, it was long past time to put the privateusin its proper place.

I opened my door.

Crossed the hall.

Took a deep breath.

And knocked.

This time, I wasn’t giving up. It was the middle of the night, and most of the palace was likely slipping into a booze-induced slumber, but I would knock as loud and as often as it took. I might never find the courage again if I didn’t.

After two knocks, I heard his voice, indistinct and muffled. After a third knock, I heard him again—louder, but strained.

“Just a moment.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” I called out. “I only need a minute.”

Sounds of rustling and thumping rang out, followed by a silence so long I thought he’d fallen back asleep.

I knocked again. “Luther? I really think we need to t—”

The door opened, and my breath choked.

He was dressed the same as at dinner, but everything about him was wrong. His clothes were rumpled, jacket misbuttoned and boots unlaced. His gloves sat awkwardly over his cuffs, and his dark hair was sweat-soaked against his sallow skin.

“What happened?” he asked. His eyes quickly scanned me, his innate urge to protect sparking to life. “Is something wrong?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but all my carefully planned words vanished on my tongue.

“Can I come in?” I asked instead.

He started to move aside, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. “One moment.”

He pushed the door almost closed, then disappeared from sight. The shuffling and quiet grunts that followed needled my curiosity, and I peered around the door’s edge.

His room was in total disarray. Clothes strewn about, a chair knocked on its side, bedsheets crumpled in a pile on the floor. Luther stood at a table, hurriedly shoving items into a bag. I almost thought I caught sight of a strip of gauze...

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