And then Naari walked into the room.
Kiva leapt backwards, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. She was panting lightly, feeling as if she’d run a lap around the training yard, embarrassed by her reaction but also still experiencing the magnetic pull toward the prince.
“Ready for the party?” Naari asked, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Where’s Tipp?”
Kiva shook off what she could of her stupor. “He’s, uh —” She fumbled for a response, having been so preoccupied on the walk back to the palace that she hadn’t considered what excuse she might use. It was on the tip of her tongue to say he was sick, but Naari and Jaren would want to check in on him, and they’d also know Kiva would struggle to leave his side if that were the case.
“He went to Silverthorn with you, didn’t he?” Naari pressed, reminding Kiva that there were guards watching the River Road — but apparently their eyes had been elsewhere today, missing the abduction that had occurred on the road up to the academy. “Did you come back together?”
It would take Naari all of two seconds to discover if Kiva lied, with numerous people — including the gate guards — having seen her return alone. Licking her lips, she answered, “It was his first time there, and he wanted to stay longer. Rhessinda — my healer friend — offered to show him around while I came back to get dressed.”
Naari frowned toward Tipp’s open bedroom door, before shrugging and saying, “I’ll keep an eye out and let you know when he returns.”
Kiva’s stomach knotted, but she murmured her thanks. She only had to stall until morning. Then she could talk to Tipp and, hopefully, convince him to keep her secrets.
“You look nice, by the way,” Naari said to Kiva.
Jaren made a strangled sound, the first noise he’d uttered since arriving, but Kiva kept her eyes on Naari and replied, “So do you.”
The guard was wearing her customary black, but she’d traded her leathery armor for a pantsuit, the cuffs and collar threaded with the barest hint of gold, like an added afterthought for meeting Mirryn’s color scheme. To finish, Naari wore a simple but still dainty mask, the golden flecks standing out in stark contrast to her dark skin.
“I don’t like these events,” Naari said, running her hands down her sides. “I can only conceal so many weapons in this outfit.”
Kiva’s eyes bugged out, since she couldn’t see any weapons on Naari, and she was afraid to wonder where, exactly, she’d managed to conceal them. Jaren, she knew, was wearing a dagger at his waist, a glint of steel having peeked out from beneath his jacket when she’d first opened her door to him, but aside from that, he appeared unarmed as well.
“But since every Royal Guard we have is on patrol tonight,” Naari continued, “and Mirryn ordered me to take the night off, I suppose I’ll just have to put up with it.” She pulled a displeased face. “Never mind. Shall we go?”
She didn’t wait for them to answer before striding back toward the door. Kiva made to follow, but Jaren’s hand caught her forearm, halting her.
“Naari’s wrong,” he said, his voice husky, his blue-gold eyes blazing a path of flames everywhere they touched her skin. “You don’t look nice.” He leaned in, causing Kiva’s breath to hitch as he pressed his lips just beneath her ear and whispered there, “You look exquisite. You are exquisite.”
Shakily, Kiva said, “It’s the dress.”
Jaren chuckled, his breath against her skin causing goose bumps to rise. “Trust me, it’s not the dress.”
“Are you two coming?” called Naari’s voice from the hallway.
Jaren pulled back with a muted oath. “Do you think anyone would care if I murdered my own Golden Shield?”
Kiva bit back a smile. “Hypothetically?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“I can hear you!” Naari called.
Jaren sighed and placed a hand on Kiva’s back, guiding her toward the doorway and muttering under his breath, “Maybe not so hypothetically.”
Upon arriving at the masquerade, Kiva discovered the circular ballroom had been fully transformed. People were everywhere, dressed to perfection in shades of blue and gold, delicate masks hiding some of their features better than others. Multiple luminium chandeliers sparkled from the golden ceiling, a string orchestra played from a balcony high above their heads, and at their ankles swirled a layer of misted cloud — kept in place by elemental magic, no doubt, as were the floating specks of light dotting the air, like starbursts hovering among the dancing couples. On the far side, the glass wall had been opened to a reveal a balcony beyond which the Serin lay, its surface dusted with enough luminium candles to make it sparkle brighter than the moonlight shining down on the city.