Page 54 of A Witch and Her Dragon
“Lyra,stop.” Alina is suddenly between us, halting our dance mid-step. I steady Lyra when she stumbles. “That’s enough.”
Lyra blinks, looking between me and Alina with obvious confusion. “What? You said we could—”
Before Lyra can get another word out, Alina snatches my hand in hers and pulls me swiftly aside, dragging me away from the dance and the big flickering bonfire. When I glance back over my shoulder at Alina’s roommates, I find Lyra wearing a small sly smile, and I wonder if perhaps she was baiting Alina all along.
If that’s the case, it seems to have worked.
Alina leads me around the far side of the bonfire, her thin fingers clasped firmly about mine. She’s never held my hand like this, especially in so public a venue, and the touch sends my chain growing warm about my throat.
As we move through the crowd, I feel a tingle go down my spine. When I turn my head, I catch Tristan watching us from a distance away. A few young men and women linger about him, talking and laughing, but his eyes are on us.
When he sees me looking, I expect him to turn away, ashamed at having been caught staring. But he doesn’t. He holds my gaze, and something about the way he does it makes my dragon gnash its teeth, though the alcohol has softened its anger.
I send him a sharp glare in return, and eventually, Tristan glances away. I don’t believe Alina even noticed him looking.
Even now, she’s still holding my hand, though there’s no need—I’ll follow her wherever she wants to go. Not that I’m complaining.
She leads me back toward the castle, but instead of taking the stairs to the grand double doors, we veer off, following a winding path toward the gardens along the back of the academy. There are fewer students and visitors here, but floating candles still guide our way, drifting along like glowbugs in the dark autumn night.
“Your Highness,” I start, trying to get my wits about me enough to stop whatever it is that’s happening right now.
“Stopcalling me that.” Her blue eyes burn as she glares at me over her shoulder. And they’re sharp enough that I lapse into silent curiosity.
Where is she taking me?
At this time of year, many of the raised beds have already been harvested, with withered stalks left behind to rot and feed the soil over the cold winter. The dry plant matter crinkles in the breeze drifting around us as Alina leads me toward the greenhouses lining theback of the garden.
When she does at last release my hand, I find my fingers longing immediately to take hers up again, to be twined through hers, woven together like threads in a tapestry.
Get a grip, I tell myself.
I really shouldn’t have had that mead. It’s making my head pleasantly funny—in a way that is certainly not appropriate around the princess.
And yet I can’t bring myself to resist when Alina pulls open the door to the greenhouse and beckons for me to step inside after her.
As soon as she closes the door behind us, the autumn sounds—a gentle wind, leaves rustling on branches and across the ground, the far-off din of festivalgoers—fall silent. The greenhouse is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s pleasantly warm, with a humidity to the air that makes me loosen the collar of my high-necked tunic.
The sharp look in Alina’s blue eyes softens as she regards me, the tension in her tight shoulders releasing with a sigh.
“What are we doing in here?” I ask. In the silent greenhouse, my voice feels too loud.
“I—” Alina bites her crimson lip and casts her gaze down into her mug of mead. From here, I can see she’s barely had anything to drink. “I just wanted to get away.”
I tip my head. “Because of Lyra?”
Her eyes meet mine again. She holds my stare for a moment, then turns away from me and sets off into the greenhouse. The plants housed in here are still vibrant and full of life, protected as they are from the bite of autumn’s cold. Alina drifts through them slowly, reaching out at times to rub a petal between her forefinger and thumb or to bringher nose close to breathe in the rich floral scents. The skirt of her long black dress drifts along the ground, whispering against the earth as she walks.
“Back home, I spent a lot of time in the garden. It provided a respite, a sanctuary where I could just get away.”
My fingers long to reach out and twine through her hair. In an effort to resist doing just that, I slip my hands into the front pockets of my trousers, my boots thudding softly on the dirt as I follow along behind her. “I didn’t know that.”
“No, I imagine not.” She reaches out to touch another petal. I hope she knows what these plants are; some look poisonous. “You didn’t know anything about me.”
I knew plenty about her, not least of all the fact that she’s my mate. But I don’t say this, don’t even allow it the chance to dance along my tongue. Instead, I glance away.
“I knew of you,” I finally bring myself to say. “I saw you around.”
Actually, I tried very hardnotto see her around. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in close quarters with her, to be put into the position I now find myself in daily.
