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“I’m not done. Kestrel … do you really want to marry the prince?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.”
“Want and need aren’t the same.” His mouth hovered near hers. “Tell me. Is this engagement really your choice? Because I don’t believe it. Not unless I hear you say so.”
The glass against her back was a blaze of cold. She shivered. He was so close. All she had to do was uncurl her fingers from the balustrade and lean forward into him. It felt inevitable, like an overfull cup ready to spill.
The rasp of his unshaved cheek brushed hers. “Do you?” he said. “Do you want him?”
“Yes."
“Prove it,” Arin murmured into her ear. The heat of him settled against her. His palm squeaked against the glass by her head.
“Arin.” She could barely speak. “Let me pass.”
His lips caught at the base of her neck, slid upward. “Prove that you want him,” he said into her hair. His kiss traveled across her cheek. It brushed her forehead, then rested right on the golden line that marked her engagement.
“I do,” she said, but her voice sounded like she was drowning.
His kiss was there, waiting near her lips. “Liar,” he breathed.
Kestrel's mind never stopped weighing, calculating - and right now it was raking over the possible outcome of Arin's momentum. She would lean forward and give in. And then someone would walk in. The image fell apart and Kestrel's hands came up.
"Arin," she said, and she winced at her own voice, how transparent it was with what she wanted. He leaned in closer, and her hands went to his chest, but gentler than the shove she'd intended.
She felt Arin's breath under her fingertips as he leaned in and kissed her. The kiss was chaste, a brush of closed lips over closed lips. She stayed still. When Arin felt no reaction he pulled back slightly. Not enough.
"Arin," she repeated, but instead of sounding stern she sounded breathless. He looked at her, half-lidded, and she knew she'd made a mistake.
His mouth closed over hers again. It was too easy to part her lips for him, to bring her hands to his face, feel the stubble on his cheeks. She was straining on her toes to meet him halfway.
Arin's hands were on her hips now, steadying her. She wanted him to press closer, and between kisses, like he'd heard her, he crowded her against the balustrade.
He pulled back slightly, and she followed him instinctively, chasing his lips with her own. A single hand came to her face, tipping her chin up gently.
"You don't want him," he said with a note of relief, searching her face. Whatever he saw made his eyes darken and he kissed her again, hungrier, and she was almost embarrassed at eagerly she responded, noises catching in her throat, her hands spread on his back. She wondered if he would remove his jacket.
She felt greedy, like she knew she was about to wake up soon from a good dream, and was trying to stay rooted in it.
"Kestrel," Arin said. His mouth was at her throat. Her name reverberated across her skin. She gripped his arms for balance.
"What is he holding over you?"
And it was over. Kestrel stiffened. Arin pulled back.
"Nothing," she said. Arin looked skeptical. "Arin, it's a strategic marriage. I would be empress-"
"You never cared about being empress." A bold statement, too confident for someone who had known her for a short time. And yet he was right.
"I have always cared about having power."
"Not like this. You collect power like trinkets, in small pieces."
"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think you do."
"Kestrel, why are you marrying him?"
She wanted to ask him why it mattered, why he couldn't just touch her again, but he was holding carefully back despite the flush on his face.
"How could I turn it down?" she asked.
There were footsteps too close for comfort, beyond the velvet curtained entrance to the balcony. They both went silent. Someone was growing closer. Kestrel's first instinct was to push Arin and put distance between them.
Instead, Arin turned so his back pressed against her front. Too close, one hand braced on her hip, shielding her. This was exactly the problem. He acted in a manner that was too unafraid, valuing his honor and truth to the point of recklessness.
The Herrani minister of agriculture pulled back the curtain. Arin seemed to release a breath. There was a moment as the minister's eyes adjusted to the darkness. "There you are," he said, relieved. "You were gone for a while, Arin, what-"
Then he saw Kestrel and grimaced. "You are a fool," the minister said. Kestrel couldn't tell who he was talking to.
"Tensen," Arin said. "I know-"
"Stop," Tensen said, angry. "Lady Kestrel has been missing for the same amount of time as you."
Arin guided Kestrel out from behind him. So Arin trusted Tensen, Kestrel thought. Beyond what was required for a minister- governor relationship.
Tensen looked between the two of them, his gaze sharp. "Arin, fix your hair and tuck your shirt." Kestrel felt herself turning violently red. She looked down.
"There's no time for embarrassment." He said. "Arin, return now, from the left entrance and tell people you're ill from the journey here. Lady Kestrel, we will need to find a powder room. You'll enter later from the main entrance."
Arin squeezed her hand and left.
Kestrel was whisked back into dancing as soon as she returned. She thought she caught glimpses of Arin in the crowd as she spun around the floor with one senator or another, but she couldn't be sure.