Page 25 of Elven Crown

A few spectators grimaced or winced at the memory of those jolting shocks. Others held their breath or leaned forward for a better view.

The scent of burning hair thickened in the air, but Rowan’s only reaction was to widen his eyes at the puzzle box, shake out the hand zapped by one of its traps, and barked out a loud, crass laugh that echoed across the room.

He only looked up at Rebecca one more time, as if expecting to see her smiling along with him, like this very serious puzzle with extremely serious consequences had brought back a certain level of nostalgia.

She understood what that felt like, not to mention the pang of memory and regret flooding through her like the last dwindling vestiges of a bad dream. The sound of Rowan’s unabashed laughter, the twinkle in his hazel eyes, the way his grin flickeredat the corners while he aimed it up at her on the dais—all of it brought her back.

All of it was painful.

How many times had he laughed just like that in their past, when it had been only the two of them? How many times had she laughed with him?

Rebecca forced herself to return his easy amusement with a darkening scowl. She glared back at him until he finally looked away and went back to solving the puzzle box, laughing the whole time.

She couldn’t encourage his recklessness during The Striving, or his amusement in these little games, or his epically proportioned confidence in himself. Not that he hadn’t earned it.

But if refusing to share his good mood now made Rowan suspect something was wrong—or perhaps even that The Striving saved the most difficult task for last—she might be able to warn him of the coming danger that way.

At the very least, it might make him suspicious enough of her foul mood to expect something worse waited for him. Then what she’d added to that potion wouldn’t blindside him.

It was wishful thinking, but at this point, it was all she had.

Rowan just kept laughing as he worked on the puzzle box. Minutes later, he began humming to himself—some ancient, eerily haunting tune Rebecca vaguely remembered from their afternoons spent in the gardens at home.

When she recognized it, she couldn’t get it out of her head. Nor did she want to hear it. That melody brought back too many memories. Too many old, lost things. Too many possibilities and wasted potential she’d chosen to leave behind her forever, and for a very good reason.

Then she realized how tightly she clenched her fists in her lap while that elven tune echoed around the gym. How badly shewanted to leap off the dais and throw Rowan to the ground just to make the humming stop.

To distract herself, she gazed across the gym, taking in the intensely focused expressions of the others all watching the same thing.

While Rowan’s laughter at another burst from the puzzle box momentarily interrupted his humming, Rebecca’s gaze pulled back toward Maxwell again, through no fault of her own.

When she first found the shifter, he wasn’t looking at her. For once,

She found that odd and strangely uncomfortable, unnerving, as if something had gone horribly wrong as a result of an infinitesimal change in what had become her new normal.

Normally, Maxwell was the one staring at her first. Now, though, he glowered at Rowan, his arms folded as he stood among his security team beside the closed gym doors. He didn’t even seem to blink, he was that focused on the Blackmoon Elf, as if he could will Rowan into failure from afar with nothing but unbridled disapproval.

Of course it bothered him that Rowan still treated this whole thing like one big joke. Rebecca didn’t like it, either.

Just as she found herself wondering whether Maxwell would decide to dig into Rowan’s background as dauntlessly as he’d tried to dig into Rebecca’s, the shifter cleared his throat in the expectant silence and looked up toward the dais.

To meet Rebecca’s gaze.

With his stare came that warm, heavy allure racing through her, racing across her body—that same tingling pull flaring between them every time they were around each other, as if the sensation itself were a third party that never left them alone.

It hit her with full force this time, overpowering and beckoning and challenging Rebecca all at once. Until now, it had beenmore of a welcome sensation, though she’d been dealing with it instead of wanting it to return or wishing it away.

Now, though, mixed with the tension of excitement and anticipation of every other magical in the room dutifully focused on Rowan, this thing overwhelming Rebecca’s body every time she and Maxwell so much as looked at each other felt for the first time like a burden.

It made her too hot, too uncomfortable. It only added an extra weight of temptation and confusion to the situation she already didn’t appreciate, like wearing a heavy winter jacket to a summer picnic.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

If she couldn’t focus on The Striving now because the shifter posed too much of an irresistible distraction, she might lose her window to act. Rowan might need her, if she’d taken her meddling too far.

Maxwell hadn’t done anything or said a word. So why, with his silver gaze setting her on fire, did it feel now like he was forcing her to choose?

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