Page 85 of Find My Way Down to You

“Tell me what happened inside,” he requests.

My throat burns with frustration and anxiety. I glare at him. “Why do you care, Cary? You left me alone at the ball—”

“Henri was with you.”

“—and you didn’t invite me here in the first place,” I continue. “Nothing I do matters to you.” I hate the disappointed noise my voice makes on that last word. Middle C struck on an out-of-tune piano.

He scans my face. “Did you drink something?”

I roll my eyes. “It was just pomegranate juice.”

Cary lets out a breath. “Nothing isjusthere, August. Not for mortals.”

His words settle like bricks in my stomach. Is that why I’m sweaty, fighting every second for focus? Is that why I couldn’t shut my mouth anytime Milos asked me a question? I did it to get more information out of him. But also, I felt…compelled to answer him.

“Shit,” I whisper.

Cary frowns back at me and I finally take him in.

He’s not wearing the same coat and boots from earlier.Light twinkles over the silvery details around the shoulders and chest of his onyx suit jacket. Constellations, like Poppy’s dress. The shirt underneath is only halfway buttoned. I glimpse the definition in his pale gold chest.

Is that where he disappeared to? To change his outfit? Why and for who?

“We should go.” He grabs my wrist.

I let him pull me.

Backtracking through the maze takes us longer than it should. Every few feet, Cary stops, then starts again. As if he’s lost. I stumble behind like a dazed child.

Once we reach the entrance, I feel the full heat of his fingers on my skin. I need him off. Before it’s the only thing I can think about.

“You can stop touching me now,” I growl out.

He whirls around, glowering. His grip loosens. I snatch my arm away.

“Why did you come here?” he asks. “What are you looking for?”

Panic flares in my chest. Does he know about London?

Cary’s expression hardens even more. He nearly spits, “Do you want my brother? Do you prefer him?”

“Prefer him to what?” The surprise in my voice is undisguisable.

He steps closer. I back into the labyrinth’s wall. Gold blisters in his eyes as he snarls, “Be honest with me, August. You want a prince, is that it? Someone with a crown? A throne? Apermanent place? Is he enough for you?” His questions come so fast, so sharp. “Do youwanthim?”

“No!”

“Then what?” He pins me with his stare. “What do you want, August?”

This time, my name on his tongue is like thunder in a storm. The cry of an ocean. His breath is hot against my face. I smell him—sugar and salt and rich earth. His expression is twisted, half angry, half something else.

I want to run away from him. I want to punch him.

Ihatehim. Who he is—Death’s obedient scowling minion.

I hate how…

How my body reacts to his nearness. Ache and need coiled around my muscles. I hate that my eyes can’t look away from him. The hard lines of his jaw, defined cheeks. The wrinkles in his forehead that match the ripples of a sea.