Page 55 of Wild Flame

“Well, it is you I have to thank for it,” I murmured.

He smiled down at me. “You were made to wear it.” The words came out sounding like they held more weight than they should, but his expression gave nothing away, and so I dismissed it.

By some unknown signal I must not have been aware of, the musicians halted, and everyone cleared the dance floor as Malikand I stepped onto it. Nerves assailed me as I suddenly became aware of the eyes of the room on us. Blessedly, we weren’t alone for long though, as the Talonar warriors and their chosen partners also took to the floor.

“I don’t know the steps,” I said under my breath, feeling intensely vulnerable.

“There are no set steps,” Malik explained simply.

With that, the music started back up and Malik’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me close—nearly as close as we had been when we kissed—before settling on my hips. Then he began to move.

I felt flush and stiff as I tried to copy his movements, uncomfortable and uncoordinated. This was so different from anything I was used to. I avoided dancing at Halmarish functions, and when I did dance, it was never with such a captive audience.

“Relax,” Malik crooned in my ear.

“But all these people—”

“Do not matter,” he stated.

I looked at him.

“No one else matters. Just keep your eyes on me.”

I raised a brow, and he smirked.

“What I mean is, let yourself enjoy tonight. My people expect nothing less, and no one here will judge you for it.” He paused, and his nose scrunched up—the look more adorable than it had any right to be on such a fierce, masculine-looking man. “Well, except perhaps your father’s ambassador, and the statue who is glaring a hole into my back as we speak, and has a stick up his—”

“All right! Fine!” I interrupted, as he chuckled. “I will try to relax.”

He gave me a knowing look that was one-part teasing, one-part challenge. “That’s all I ask.”

And so I did.

After that first slightly awkward dance where I had to fight against the stiff formality of movement that I was used to, we danced to another song and another, and I began to relax. Other people eventually joined in, so it was not just the warriors and their partners. We stopped to drink—him wine and me water, since I had sworn off the stuff for the time being after myincident—and I even danced with Harun and a few of the other warriors. At one point, Zara and I both nearly fell down laughing as she tried to show me some dance moves, including swaying my hips like I had seen so many of the women here do. I failed miserably, of course, but had a good time trying, even if I was making a fool of myself. I felt free in a way I hadn’t in a long time. Possibly ever.

Mesmera, Azrun, and dozens of other dragons looked on from the sidelines, or from the high perches overhead that many of them favored when in their minor forms and their riders were otherwise occupied.

Then I was in Malik’s arms again, and this time the dance was slower, the music slightly more sensual.

I didn’t know why it had never occurred to me that Malik would be a good dancer, but it hadn’t. Zehvitians were a very hot-blooded and passionate people. And Malik was their prince. Of course, he would be an excellent dancer.

Dancing with the others had been fun and exhilarating, but dancing with Malik . . . I felt like I had come alive. With Malik, every motion and gesture and sway of my hips felt different, more weighted and charged with meaning. Every breath was a heady rush and any time those dark eyes met mine or his hand grazed the exposed skin at my side . . .

For what had to be the hundredth time that night, my face was flushed, and I glanced away, needing a moment to catch my breath.

What I saw didn’t lessen my blush, but rather increased it when my eyes fell on one of the warriors whose name I didn’t know, who was dancing so close to his partner I questioned whether they might actually be doing a little more than simply dancing.

“Why don’t we get some air?” Malik suggested, having obviously noticed my discomfort.

I looked back at him gratefully. “Let’s.”

I grasped my skirts as I stepped up onto the white stone floor of the gazebo, Malik offering his hand. Though I had visited the gardens many times, I had never actually entered the gazebo. It was small and circular, with only enough room for a few chairs and a simple cushioned divan. An intricate stone railing encircled the structure, at about waist height. I moved to it now, placing my hand on the stone that was still warm from the sun despite the late hour. Faint torchlight reflected off the nearby pond.

Malik came to stand beside me, his large presence filling my awareness. And for some reason it hit me then that we were truly alone here. Malik had dismissed our guards to wait for us at the entrance to the gardens. And something that felt an awful lot like anticipation and eagerness warmed my blood at the thought. My skin felt sensitive and alive in a way it only ever was around Malik. I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss we had shared. How it had felt to have his lips—his body—pressed to mine. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure he would be able to hear it.

“Do you remember that first day I found you here?” he asked, his rich voice warm in the peaceful night, pulling me backfrom my thoughts. “I heard the sweetest voice and followed it, thinking some forest sprite had stumbled into my garden. Imagine my surprise when I found you there. Your wild, beautiful hair spread out around you, shoes off and feet in the water . . . like the world had fallen away as you sang to the heavens.”

His voice was soft, almost lulling as he painted a picture with his words. It was like I was there, reliving the feeling I had that day. That light, happy weightlessness.