Page 78 of A Song of Shadow and Starlight

He points up to the ceiling, though his eyes remain locked on me. "My room is right above yours. Finn's is on the fourth floor as well. There's a bathroom on this floor and a larger one with a soaking tub on our floor. Feel free to use either one. I know how you feel about your baths."

"And the fifth floor?" I ask, knowing I counted five levels of windows upon arrival, and I also need to distract myself from thinking of our time together in the hot springs at Hotel Zulmara.

Atlas grins. Whether he knows what I'm doing or not, I can't be certain of, but he says, "I'll show you the fifth floor."

We pass the fourth floor and even though I want to see what Atlas’ bedroom looks like, I refrain from asking to see it. The fifth floor isn’t as elegant as the other floors and is unfinished and unfurnished. The windows brighten the space and there is a white curtain that stretches the width of the level, but other than that, it’s unimpressive.

"We train up here." Atlas offers the answer before I can even ask the question. "We don't always feel like leaving the house, so we practice up here." He points to a few black mats leaning against the wall. "We set those down on the floor and practice hand to hand combat. We use the mats to swallow the noise. Eris hates it when we rough house late at night."

I immediately picture practicing hand-to-hand combat up here with Atlas in the dead of night and my heart flutters. His hands on me, on top of me, feeling his shadows lick up and down my body…

I turn away before he can notice the flush in my cheeks and point to the white curtain. "What's back there?"

"That's where I practice my craft." He says softly. "Do you want to see it?"

"Yes," I nod.

He brushes past me, and my heartbeat quickens at the brief contact. He is willingly showing me a piece of himself that I'm sure a lot of people don't get to see. For some reason it excites me, igniting a fire inside me. Pulling the curtain back, he lets me slip inside and my mouth drops. Easels, paint, countless brushes, smocks, and tarps, all organized neatly in the bright art studio.

"You're an artist?" I ask.

He bobs his head. "I paint and occasionally sketch with charcoal. Nothing fancy," he shrugs, "but it's nice to do something constructive with my hands rather than…"

I know when he trails off that he's thinking of the people he has dealt with to protect his family, to keep his people safe, and I nod in understanding, so he doesn't have to admit it aloud.

"Can I see what you're working on?" I glance around the space but don't see any canvases out.

"Since I haven't been home in a couple of months, I don't have anything new to show you."

"What do you do with the pieces once you finish them?" I ask, watching him lean against the wooden beam in the center of the room. His dark hair falls over his face and I fight the urge to run my fingers through those locks.

"Some of them, my mother takes and hangs in her house in the Arden District. Other pieces, I donate to businesses to display or sell to profit off the money. Tronovians can be a very proud people and won't readily ask for help if they're in need. But if they won't take my money, I'll give them something they can sell."

"Are you a famous artist?" I don't even attempt to hide how impressed I am and that draws a smile from him.

"I might have a good reputation in the art community."

"So, your mother has some of your art and you donate the rest? Do you not keep any of it for yourself?"

"I keep my favorite pieces here."

"They're displayed here?" My eyes widen and I'm eager to dart through the house again to find which ones are his. "Which ones are yours?"

"All of them."

"You mean, every piece of artwork in the house is something you've created?"

He nods in confirmation, but doesn't offer more.

I think back to my tour and remember seeing all the painted landscapes and charcoal sketches in the dining room, library, and even over the mantle in my bedroom. I'm curious to find out if he paints places he's been to or if it's all in his head. I know there must be more pieces in the house that I didn't see or failed to notice.

"Which one is your favorite?"

He flashes a coy smile, and there's a playful gleam in his green eyes. "That's for you to figure out, Princess."

I roll my eyes and fold my arms over my chest. "Are you this difficult with everyone or just me?"

Atlas straightens from his lazy position and stalks toward me. When he reaches me, his face hovers above mine, andstars, I want him to pin me against the wall like he did on the river cruise in Bava and let his shadows dance across my skin. I want to feel his lips crash against mine, but I want him to kiss me because he wants to, not because he's trying to outwit Soul Eaters by blending in with the Brothel District clientele.

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