Page 90 of House of the Iron Reaper

“He had not touched bahk in years,” I tell them. “No matter what the reports say, I knew him. Personally. And none of you have any idea what he went through.”

They do not reply. They do not even look at me, their eyes askance, looking for a way out of this conversation. I have more to say—so much more—but before I can get myself in trouble with mother, I turn and stomp away.

I look around the ballroom and find no sight of the person I actually do want to see.

“Do you know where Deyanara went?” I ask a dragon from House Copper lingering by the punch bowl.

When he gives me a quizzical look, I point my fingers from the top of my head, mimicking horns and stand on my tiptoes to make myself taller. A look of recognition crosses his face and he points to a side door.

I dodge several other dragons trying to get my attention and choose to ignore my mother and Ronan dancing in the middle of the room—a bit too fucking closely—pushing through the side door to step outside. I find Deyanara sitting on the steps, alone, head tilted up to look at the stars.

I quietly sit next to her and watch the sky.

The stars are scattered above us, like shattered crystal across black velvet. The moon hangs high and full, setting Deyanara’s dress aglow.

She does not speak nor move. I want to reach across and lean my head on her shoulder, but I do not. Something feels wrong.

Nerves eat away at my stomach.

“Is something bothering you?” I ask tentatively. Why does it feel as though my heart is on a chopping block and Deyanara is holding the knife?

“Yes,” she eventually says, voice quieter than usual. “I am expected to end this engagement and never see you again.”

I nearly do not hear her over the ringing in my ears. My stomach falls through the ground. It takes every nerve in my body not to panic.

“And… are you?” I intend to ask firmly but it comes out as a whisper.

Deyanara turns to me quickly and her brows slam together.

“No,” she says and I very nearly burst into tears with relief. “No, of course not.”

“Oh. I see,” I say, and then I do burst into tears.

“Novalie!” Deyanara exclaims, alarmed.

Her arms wrap around my shoulders as she pulls me into her side. I put my face in my hands, half to stem the tears and half in embarrassment.

“D-Do not s-scare me so!” I stammer, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” she says, rocking me. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to. I thought you would know. I thought you would find the idea as ridiculous as I did.”

“I do! It is ridiculous!” Tears drying, my indignation starts to grow. I sit back to look up at Deyanara. “Who told you to do such a thing? Lysandra?”

Deyanara glances away and confirms it. I growl and bury my face in her neck. My eyes are still wet—ridiculous.

“You make me softer,” I tell her, voice muffled. “I was never this soft before. I had not cried since I was a child.”

Deyanara rumbles with a laugh, her arm tucked around me. Her thumb strokes the bare skin on my shoulder.

“Well, you make me sharper,” she says.

“We are even, then, I suppose,” I concede, mumbling. I think of Lysandra again and my irritation crests like a wave.

“She has no right,” I say into Deyanara’s neck. “There is absolutely no reason why she should keep us apart.”

Deyanara rests her cheek on the top of my head, her hand running lightly down my arm. When she sighs, my hair ruffles.

“She does not want me to abandon my House,” she says quietly.