She imagined that there were still more memories of him that she’d forgotten. But now she was a little afraid of what she might remember, if remembering more meant feeling more than she already did.
It was hard enough to stand there across from him, not touching in a way that almost felt more intimate than touching. It looked as if it was taking all his strength not to reach out and graze her fingers with his. As if one brush of their skin might set off a riot of sparks or blow out every light in the hall.
She waited for him to walk away.
But Archer didn’t move.
For a second, neither did she. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left him now, if she turned her back, she might not ever see him again.
She’d felt butterflies when she’d kissed Apollo, but Evangeline had a feeling that kissing Archer would be earth-shattering.
Married, she reminded herself one more time.
And this time she finally turned to leave.
As soon as she moved, Evangeline felt as if she’d just made a mistake. Although she had no idea if the mistake had been getting too close to Archer or turning and walking away.
Evangeline tried not to think about Archer as she practically ran back to her suite. She looked over her shoulder only twice. He wasn’t there either time.
Upon returning to her suite, she found all evidence of the crime gone.
It was actually a little bit unnerving. It should perhaps have been more than a little unnerving, but after the events of the night, Evangeline wasn’t really capable of feeling more than she felt. Or asking too many questions about the oddness of it all.
There were guards waiting at her door, but at her arrival, they didn’t even ask her about where she’d gone or the man who’d been dead on her floor. A man that they’d clearly seen, for they’d already cleaned up the body.
When Evangeline stepped inside her suite, it was as if nothing foul had ever happened.
Her bed was once again covered in a fluffy quilt as pure as snow. There were no stains to be seen, not even on the floor, where a new white-and-gold carpet had been placed. Everything was crisp and pure and clean—except for Evangeline.
Archer had said, I’ll make sure the guards clean this up and keep it quiet. But this was all remarkably clean and quiet. Either the guards were exceptionally loyal to him, or . . .
Evangeline didn’t actually have any words to go after the or. Now that she was back in her room, she was feeling more of the shock that she should have experienced earlier.
Her pink hair was a riot; her eyes were overlarge, stuck in a state of fright; and there was blood on her nightgown and smeared across her cheek. She looked a mess.
Her hands shook as she cleaned the blood from her person and changed into a fresh pink gown. She tried to stop her thoughts from flickering back to Archer. He wasn’t hers to think about, and yet she kept picturing the way he’d looked in the hall, and how for a second, he’d seemed almost shy, almost scared, and almost hers.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The tower clock chimed three o’clock in the morning.
Evangeline startled back to the present. She closed her eyes, shook away the memories of Archer, and then returned to her main room—only to be startled again at the sight of Apollo.
He looked as if he’d just stepped inside the door to her suite. His eyes were hooded, his shirt was wrinkled, and there was blood spattered on his boots. It was only on his boots, but there was so much of it, soaking through the tan leather until they were practically red all over.
Death. It seemed to be everywhere tonight.
“Are you all right?” Evangeline quickly crossed the room. “What happened?”
Apollo pulled a shaking hand through his hair and closed his eyes, as if the memory of whatever had occurred was simply too much for him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
When he opened his eyes, they were bloodshot, and his jaw was covered in a layer of stubble that she’d never seen before. Apollo was always immaculate. The perfect fairytale prince. But in the few hours since she’d seem him last, something appeared to have changed.
Evangeline felt wrung out. She’d thought she wasn’t capable of experiencing more emotions, but she must have cared for Apollo more than she realized. She didn’t know what had happened, but she wanted to try and make it better.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
He looked as if he was about to say no. Then his eyes dropped. They moved to her mouth and lingered there, as if maybe he could think of one thing.
Her heart thudded nervously.
He didn’t move right away, as if he knew this wasn’t the sort of help she was offering. But maybe deep down it was; maybe this was what they both needed.
He needed comfort and she needed clarity.
He leaned in closer.
Her body trembled. She didn’t know why this felt so wrong when it should have felt so right. It should have been easy to lean into him, to put her hands on his chest as his arms went around her waist.
His fingers were shaking, which made her feel a little better. As if maybe nerves were normal.
The first press of his lips was soft, and so was the slide of his palms as they moved lower on her body. Wearing only her thin gown, she could feel so much more of him than she ever had when they’d kissed before.
Soon she was a little lost in the taste of his tongue and the press of his body against hers as they tumbled together toward the bed. Then her world was spinning sideways, plunging her into another kiss from another time.
She could feel a breeze at her back and the pressure of Apollo against her chest.
Evangeline’s heart became a drum, beating harder and faster as he pressed in closer. There were layers of clothing between them, but she could feel the heat coming off him. More heat than she’d ever felt. It was almost too hot, too hungry. Apollo burned like a fire that consumed instead of warmed. And yet there must have been a part of her that wanted to be scorched, or at the very least singed.
She wrapped both hands around his neck. Apollo’s mouth left her lips and dropped to her throat, trailing kiss after kiss down her—
A cold hand clamped on her shoulder and wrenched her free of the prince’s grasp. “I think it’s time we go.”
Archer pulled her toward the balcony stairs with supernatural swiftness. One moment, Apollo was all Evangeline could feel and then she was tucked underneath Archer’s hard arm, pressed close to his cool side as he ushered her toward the steps . . .
Archer.
Apollo quickly broke away from the kiss. “What did you say?”
Evangeline’s throat went suddenly tight. She must have accidentally said Archer’s name out loud.
“I just had a memory,” she blurted, and then of course she instantly regretted it. She could not tell Apollo she’d had a memory with Archer. She could maybe tell him about the first part, the kiss. But then he would probably ask why she’d said Archer, and she didn’t want to mention that he pulled her away afterward.
Although suddenly Evangeline was intensely curious as to why Archer had done that. And how could he have? Apollo was a prince. But she didn’t have time to wonder about the why of it all—not when Apollo was staring at her as if she’d betrayed him.
Jealousy far worse than what she’d seen earlier burned in his eyes. She could feel it in his hands as he clenched his fist in the back of her nightgown.