“That dress is pretty. I’ve always thought dresses were impractical but this . . .” He lets his fingers trail down my side. “It clings just right. I think I like impractical.”

He makes sure he brushes my skin when he reaches behind me to fasten the necklace. His breath is warm on my neck. I don’t know if he’s having trouble with the clasp or if he’s lingering on purpose, but my body reacts to his touch. My eyes drift shut.

“Stop,” I say suddenly. “Aren, stop this.”

He fastens the clasp and removes his hands. “Stop what?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

“You want to stay with me.” He says it as if it’s fact.

I shake my head. “It’s your edarratae, Aren. That’s all. It manipulates my emotions, makes me think I want things that aren’t good for me.”

“I agree.”

“And it doesn’t matter what you . . .” Wait. “You agree?”

“Taltrayn’s not good for you.” He moves toward me. I back through the open gate and into the gardens. “The Court’s not good for you. They’ve manipulated you.”

The earth gives way to my heels. Aren reaches out, taking my arm to keep me balanced. Frustrated, I shake him off.

“What do you want from me? You want me to refuse to go? You need me to get Lena back and to have any hope of the Court letting Naito go.”

“I want you to admit I’m not the monster the Court’s made me out to be. Admit that you trust me.”

“Trust you? Are you kidding me?” I sweep my hair away from my neck and jab a finger at my scar. “You almost killed me!”

“Humans will hear you if you continue to yell.” He closes the distance between us again. “And I apologized, nalkin-shom. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He runs his fingers through my hair, combing the dark locks back over my scar. “I’m very sorry.”

“We should get to the reception.” I need to walk, need it so badly I’m shaking. He regrets what he did—I know he does—but I can’t meet his eyes when he looks at me like this. His emotions are too raw, too strong. Too confusing.

His thumbs slowly move to my pulse. “I wish we’d found you first. Your loyalty to Taltrayn . . . It’s astounding.”

“Aren—”

“I know,” he says, taking a step back. “I know.”

He doesn’t press further. He keeps his distance, staying a foot or two away as we turn and walk through the gardens. The night air cools the heat in my skin. I keep my eyes off Aren and focus instead on the wedding guests who are outside enjoying the weather. I try to watch them without looking like I’m watching. I’m always paranoid when I’m with a fae around humans, even when the fae chooses to be visible. Since 99.9 percent of the population doesn’t have the Sight, most people still won’t be able to see his chaos lusters, but that .1 percent chance still worries me.

The landscaper who designed this garden could rival King Atroth’s, but instead of being accented by magic, lights shine on bursts of colorful flowers, on meticulously shaped hedges, and the occasional tree or decorative boulder. A string of lights lines both sides of our footpath. The simple tech plays with Aren’s edarratae. Not much. Just enough to draw my attention. I wish I didn’t like looking at him. I wish I wasn’t comfortable by his side.

A cool mist tickles my skin as we pass a stone fountain. A lion, its mouth open in a roar, plunges through a curtain of water. We walk behind it, heading to the steps that lead to the reception. It’s not until the first notes of music reach our ears that Aren stiffens. He’s still moving forward, but his gait loses some of its confidence.

“You can wait out here if you want,” I say, climbing the steps, hoping I look somewhat steady and graceful in these damn heels.

“Would you wait with me?”

I reach the upper terrace, glance over my shoulder. He’s standing at the base of the stairs, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

“I have to find Paige, tell the bride and groom congratulations.”

I’m not sure if Paige will even count this as going to the wedding, especially since we missed the actual ceremony. The reception is supposed to last until midnight but by the looks of some of the guests, they’ve been here for hours, drinking and having a good time. It’s honestly not my fault I’m late, though, and at least I’m here.

Aren climbs the stairs, his edarratae growing more chaotic with each step he takes.

“It should only take a few minutes,” I say, hoping he’ll stay behind. I don’t like seeing the lightning this erratic. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He reaches the terrace, gives me a lopsided smile as if nothing’s bothering him. He really shouldn’t go inside, not with the lights, the cell phones, and other tech. The longer he’s exposed to it, the more disoriented he’ll become.

“We’re meeting Kyol in the garden,” I tell him. “He’s not going to be in here, especially not with Lena.”

“I don’t want to take that chance.”

But he’ll take a chance letting the tech mess with him. That makes perfect sense.

I roll my eyes, turn, and enter the mansion.

I knew Amy’s wedding was going to be extravagant when I Googled the location. This definitely doesn’t disappoint. The ballroom is beautiful. The interior wall is painted with a mural of cherubim in the clouds while the outer wall is made up entirely of glass, allowing guests to look out over the gardens and fountains. A live band is playing a cover of a Bryan Adams love song—not the one from Robin Hood—and the dance floor at the foot of the stage is packed with people. I glimpse the bride and groom in the middle of the crowd as I walk the perimeter, scanning the ballroom for Paige.

Aren stays by my side. He’s careful not to come in contact with the other humans, but me? He brushes against me every chance he gets. I seriously need to relax. This is almost over. I just need to make it through the night.

“McKenzie,” a familiar voice calls from behind me. “Where the hell have you been?”

I turn, an apology on my lips, but Paige throws her arms around me before I can say I’m sorry.

“You call in the dead of night and then you hang up on me? What happened?”

“I, uh . . .” I didn’t prepare for this, didn’t think about it at all. “I took a trip to see . . .” What’s in Georgia? “Things. And the pay phone cut out.”

Paige steps back. She clearly doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go for now, choosing instead to turn her attention to Aren, who’s standing quietly at my side, hands once again shoved into his pockets.

“You’re not Kyol,” she says. Blunt, that’s Paige.

Something flickers across his face. “No. I’m not.”

Paige looks at me. “I thought if you brought anyone, you’d bring Kyol.”

“No. This is Aren. He’s . . . an acquaintance.” I can’t bring myself to say more than that. I should have, though, because Paige is inspecting him with new interest now. I might as well have jumped onto the band’s stage and shouted, “Aren’s available!” into the microphone. Paige is cute and spunky, even in a long, pink satin bridesmaid’s dress. It’s actually not that hideous, and with her blond hair pulled into messy but chic pigtails, she pulls it off.