The waltz finished, and they seamlessly fell into the next dance, a little more demanding this time. She remembered this one from her lessons with Mor—it was lovely and sweeping and like being in a dream, until its final minute became so grand it always knocked the breath from her. Anticipation thrummed through her, brightening her eyes.
“You’re wasted at the Night Court,” Eris murmured as she twirled, skirts enveloping the two of them. “Absolutely wasted.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Another chuckle. Motion lurked at the corner of her eye, but she didn’t break her stare from Eris’s, didn’t halt her steps until—
“Move.”
Cassian’s cold voice cracked through the spell of the music, halting her. He stood before them, amid the sea of people twirling around and around, and even though most wore black, his armor and blades made him seem … different. Like a true piece of the night.
Eris looked down his straight nose at Cassian. “I don’t take orders from brutes.”
Nesta stifled her snarl and said coolly to Cassian, “Am I to understand that you would like to dance with me?”
“Yes.” His hazel eyes were burning with violence. Had he really believed what he’d seen on this dance floor?
Eris bared his teeth at Cassian. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”
It took all her concentration, every moment of Mind-Stilling, to keep from ripping out Eris’s throat. But Nesta shoved her fury down, to the place where she’d stifled her power. “No one likes a selfish partner, Eris.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian. Didn’t trust what she’d do if she beheld pain in his eyes at Eris’s insult. Feyre and Rhysand had given Eris one of her blades just to ensure his continued alliance. She wouldn’t jeopardize it. So she added with a croon, “Time to share.”
Eris threw her a mocking smile. “We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron.” He ignored Cassian as he aimed for the dais again.
Alone with Cassian, the packed dance floor teeming around them, Nesta demanded, “Are you happy now?”
His face was like stone. “No.” A glance over his shoulder showed her a tight-faced Rhys and Feyre, who were undoubtedly shouting at him mind to mind. But if she and Cassian lingered like this for too long, the spell she’d woven around Eris might be disrupted, and …
Cassian offered up his hand. Swallowed once.
He was nervous. This male who had faced down enemy armies, who had battled to the brink of death more times than she cared to count, who had fought so many dangers it was a miracle he lived … he was nervous.
It softened some crucial piece of her, and Nesta slipped her hand into his, their calluses rasping against each other. His hand slid around her waist, so large it spanned nearly halfway across. She gathered her skirts, and lifted her gaze to his.
Nesta fell back a step, leading him, them, into the dance, and Cassian went with her.
He was not graceful like Eris. He did not instinctively move to each beat like she did. But he kept up, willing to follow her into the music, into the sound and the movement, and his eyes did not, would not, leave her face.
Their steps quickened, and Cassian found his rhythm.
He spun her, and she whipped herself around, his arms waiting to catch her.
His hand on her waist tightened, his only warning as he launched them further, faster into the music. Cassian smiled at her, and the world faded away.
The music was no longer the most beautiful thing in existence. He was.
Nesta couldn’t stop it then.
The answering smile that bloomed through her at last, stealing across her face, bright as the dawn.
Cassian would only yield Nesta to Azriel, who swept her into a waltz as easily as breathing.
Wandering over to the wine table to pour himself a goblet, Cassian met the eyes of a few courtiers gawking at Nesta and let them see what would happen if they so much as approached her. They quickly fell away, and he leaned against a pillar, content to watch Nesta dance with his brother.
Mor was at his side a moment later, her lips curving upward. “Looks like our lessons paid off.”
Cassian kissed her cheek. “I owe you one.” They’d been training in secret these past weeks. Mor had been positively giddy when he’d asked for her help.
But her eyes were dark now, her face wan.
“How are you doing?” he asked neutrally, well aware of the people around them. What Mor had been and was now to them.
Mor lifted one shoulder, then let it drop. “Fine.” She nodded to Nesta. “I enjoyed seeing what she did.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “Though I suppose you didn’t. You just had to cut in, didn’t you?”