Page 122 of Elemental Becoming

I smooth the wrinkles from my gown, tame my hopelessly disheveled hair as best I can, and carefully restore the color to my lips. Thane straightens his tunic, runs a hand through his hair, and somehow looks even more devastating than before.

Together, we step back into the ballroom.

A few eyes flick toward us—curious, amused—but thankfully, no one seems entirely certain what kept us out on the balcony so long.

A MERE COMMODITY

SIXTEEN

As the saying goes, ‘Courtly diplomacy is the grand illusion of letting someone else have your way.’ It is a tedious, civilized farce where one smiles at a belligerent ally, praises the extravagant cut of their robes, and softly reminds them that a single stroke of your quill could end all their privilege.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

Thane leads me onto the dance floor, weaving through the crowd until we reach the center. His hands find my hips. I slide my arms around his neck. As the music swells around us, it’s like we’re the only ones left in the room.

“Are you feeling . . . at ease, my lord?” I ask, unable to resist the jab.

Thane groans. “Please do not ever call me that.”

He chuckles, then lowers his voice near my ear, husky with barely restrained amusement.

“And yes, there is . . . ease. But we’re not done.”

His grin sharpens, sending desire twisting low in my stomach.

“I will have you tonight.”

My thighs clench instinctively, heat flashing through me. Gods. I could still feel him.

“So,” a voice cuts in smoothly, “how are the young lovers feeling?”

I jolt, turning sharply toward the interruption—only to find Rowena gliding across the dance floor, her grin all sharp edges and mischief. Sera moves beside her, the picture of composed tolerance, as though long accustomed to—and entirely resigned to—her wife’s chaos.

“Rowena,” Thane mutters, his voice carrying the weary acceptance of a man who has suffered this torment his entire life.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” Rowena says breezily, spinning perfectly in step with Sera.

“By all means, continue. Just do everyone a favor and spend a few minutes on the dance floor first. Let the guests get a proper look at the two of you before you disappear again.”

She pauses for effect.

“That way, everyone can politely pretend they have no idea where you disappeared to.”

I stifle a laugh, pressing my face briefly into Thane’s shoulder. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest.

“Rowena, let them be,” Sera sighs, though the fondness in her voice is unmistakable.

“Let them be?” Rowena gasps, clutching a hand dramatically to her chest. “Sera, my brother—the stoic warlord—is wrapped around a goddess disguised as a mortal. Like a damn romance novel come to life!”

Heat rushes to my cheeks.

A goddess.

The word echoes louder than anything else Rowena said. Louder than her teasing about Thane. Louder than the laughter around us.

My mind doesn’t see the Spiritborn. It sees the girl who raced through muddy fields with dirt beneath her fingernails, hair too wild to tame, and clothes patched because there was no money for new ones.