Tahl scowled.

There were way too many people at this party. He doubted many would agree with him, based on the increasing volume of music and laughter, and the number of couples drunkenly fondling each other right in the middle of everything. But Tahl felt simultaneously suffocated and exposed in the clear, open air of the castle grounds, surrounded by fairies instead of trees. And he felt ridiculous in these clean, pressed clothes. New ones, without any patches whatsoever. Their black dye was so fresh he looked sketched in ink, except for where he’d rolled the sleeves to the elbow, and unbuttoned the shirt so he could breathe. He was freshly washed and shaven and, he thought, essentially unrecognizable.

He looked good, probably. A few women had smiled at him, but he’d felt too overwhelmed and frustrated to react. So he frowned, and watched, wandering a little aimlessly toward the edges of this seething throng, and searching the faces for one that might be familiar. When he finally caught sight of one, the shock of it made him turn his back to her, and run an agitated hand through his hair.

Her.

She almost certainly hadn’t seen him. Black clothes hardly stood out in this sea of color and light, and while he was tall, he wasn’t towering over everyone. No, he was just another man in a big herd of them, like a zebra blending in with other zebras. And even if she had seen him, there was no way she was going to talk to him.

“Hello lover.”

Tahl felt all the blood drain out of his head. He might have even felt his soul leave his body, a little. He definitely felt his throat tighten and his mouth go dry, a sheen of sweat instantly coating his palms.

He turned to face her. She had the air of a cat watching a mouse. Walk away, a rational inner voice instructed. DANGER: VERY CRAZY. But like a watched mouse, Tahl found himself frozen on the spot – even though he was not a mouse, he was a man, a demi-god, a hunter, and a head taller than her, among other things. And what was she? Just a woman.

Just a woman wearing…that dress. Just a woman he’d had an extremely memorable encounter in a pool with. Just…

“Elina,” he greeted stiffly, after a pause. He meant to keep his eyes firmly above the chin, but she’d extended a champagne flute toward him, and well, that ran a direct line from her hand up her arm to her neckline. His fingers closed automatically around the stem of the glass, brushing hers. He withdrew it, frowned at it a while.

When his eyes lifted back to hers, they were guarded; his mouth was a tight, skeptical line. He might have asked if she were planning to drug him, but what was the use?
“…Thanks,” he said instead, sliding his free hand into his pocket. The muscles of his forearm and jaw were visibly tense.

Well, now what?

“You look…” That was the most obvious place to start, wasn’t it? And a number of adjectives came to mind. Glamorous. Sexy. Magnetic.

Dangerous.

He looked away, apparently absorbed by the fairies dancing and mingling in the distance. “…like you’re enjoying castle life.” Tristan had probably given her that dress. She’d probably put it on in his bedroom, her clothes from the night before strewn everywhere, something lacy hanging from a lamp. Tahl imagined she was messy that way, careless with people’s personal space, making herself at home wherever she went. Claiming everything as hers.

Tahl didn’t know if that was a woman thing or just an Elina thing. He didn’t know why it bothered him, either. Jealousy, maybe, but it had been a long time, and their last conversation hadn’t left the best taste in his mouth. He took a hesitant sip of the champagne, and from his expression, wasn’t sure he liked that taste much either. What was it with rich people and their weird booze?

What was it about princes?