Winter

Seventy-One

Cress’s spine stiffened indignantly, at the same time a group of Lunar women chortled not far away. “Good eye, Luisa,” one of them called, followed by another: “If you spot any more pretty Earthens like that one, send them my way!”

Neither Thorne nor Luisa seemed to hear them. In fact, as Cress watched, aghast, Thorne slid his arms around Luisa’s body and drew her closer.

Cress clenched her fists, her shoulders, her entire body. She was appalled. Then annoyed. Then logic began to creep in and she realized that, while they were probably just toying with Thorne, they would not be so kind to her if they figured out she was immune to their glamours and manipulation.

Shaking with contempt, Cress backed into an alcove behind a pillar. There she waited, arms crossed and red sparks in her vision, as Thorne kissed the girl.

And kissed her.

And kissed her.

Cress’s fingernails had left painful crescent moon imprints in her skin by the time they finally pulled apart.

Luisa fluttered her lashes, breathless. “You’ve been wanting that awhile, haven’t you?”

Cress rolled her eyes skyward.

And Thorne said …

Thorne said …

“I think I’m in love with you.”

A nail pierced Cress’s heart, and she gasped, actually gasped from the pain of it. Her jaw fell, but she quickly lifted it again. The puncture wound in her chest quickly filled with resentment.

If she had to watch him swoon over anyone else she was going to scream. How was it possible that she was the only girl in the galaxy he didn’t try to kiss and woo and flirt with?

Well, he had kissed her that one time on the rooftop, but it had been as a favor to her and hardly counted.

She withdrew farther into the alcove, seething, but also hurt. That was it, then. He never would desire her, not like these other girls who caught his eye. Cress had to accept the fact that their kiss—the most passionate, romantic moment of her life—had been nothing more than a gesture made out of pity.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling?” said the woman. “And not a bad kisser, either. Maybe we can enjoy more of each other’s company later?” Without waiting for a response, she patted Thorne on the chest and winked, before swaying away down the hall.

The adoring peanut gallery, too, meandered off, leaving Thorne in the middle of the corridor, stunned. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark with what Cress assumed was lust, and his hair was messed where Luisa had clawed her hands into it.

Luisa. Who he loved.

Cress squeezed her arms tight over her chest.

After a long, bewildered minute, Thorne shook off the lingering effects of the manipulation and looked around, turning in a full circle. His hand smoothed down his unkempt hair.

“Cress?” he asked, not too loudly at first, but then, with growing worry, “Cress!”

“I’m here.”

He spun toward her and his body sagged with relief. “Spades. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. That was—”

“I don’t want to know.” Pushing herself away from the wall, Cress started down the hallway.

Thorne chased after her. “Whoa, hey, hold on. Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She swung her hands in a wild gesture. “You have the right to flirt with and kiss and proclaim your love for whoever you want to. Which is good, because you do. All the time.”

Thorne kept pace easily beside her, which irritated her even more given that she was already winded from walking so fast.

“So…,” Thorne said, his tone teasing. “You’re jealous?”

Cress bristled. “You do realize that all she wanted was to get a laugh at your expense, right?”

He chuckled, annoyingly good-natured when Cress was so furious. “Yeah, I get that now. Cress, wait.” Thorne grabbed her elbow and forced her to stop. “I know they can’t do it to you, but the rest of us can’t choose not to be controlled by them. She manipulated me. It wasn’t my fault.”

“And I suppose you’re going to say that you didn’t enjoy it?”

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. “Er. Well…”

Cress ripped her arm away from him. “I know it wasn’t your fault. But that doesn’t excuse everyone else. I mean, take Iko!”

“What about Iko?”

She dropped her voice to mimic Thorne. “‘I really know how to pick them, don’t I?’”

He chuckled, his eyes glinting at her mockery. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Her new body is gorgeous.”

Cress fixed one moment’s worth of intensive glaring on him.

“That was clearly not the right thing to say. Sorry. But I’d just gotten my eyesight back.”

“Yeah, and all you wanted to look at was her.”

Thorne blinked, and sudden comprehension dawned in his eyes, but Cress stormed away before he could reply. “Never mind. Let’s just—”

“Pardon me.”

A palace guard blocked their path, one arm held out, stopping Cress in her tracks. She gasped and backed into Thorne, who latched on to her elbow. Her mouth ran dry. She’d been so incensed she hadn’t noticed the two guards stationed in the hall.

“We are asking that all guests begin to make their way to the great hall so the coronation ceremony can begin without delay.” The guard nodded in the direction they’d come. “Please proceed this way.”

Cress’s heart was hammering, but Thorne, calm as ever, pulled her away with a casual smile. “Of course, thank you. We must have gotten turned around.”

As soon as they turned a corner, Cress yanked her arm out of Thorne’s hold. He let his hand fall without argument. They were in a hallway that was quieter than the main corridor, though there were still a handful of guests drifting about.

“Stop here,” Thorne said, and she did, letting him back her against a wall. He towered too close to her, and to anyone it would look like they were in some intimate conversation, which only served to make Cress’s anger flare again. She clenched her fists and stared resolutely at his shoulder.

Thorne sighed.

“Cress. I know you’re upset, but could you pretend not to be for a second?”

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not angry. She was not hurt. She was not heartbroken.

When she opened her eyes again, she morphed her expression into what she hoped looked like cheerful flirtation.

Thorne raised an eyebrow. “That’s uncanny.”

Her voice still had a sting to it, though, when she said, “I’m a girl too, you know. I may not be as pretty as Iko, or brave like Cinder or bold like Scarlet—”

“Wait, Cress—”

“And I don’t even want to know what dumb thing you said when you met Princess Winter for the first time.”

Thorne clamped his mouth shut, confirming her suspicion that he had said something dumb indeed.

“But I’m not invisible! And yet you flirt with every single one of them. You’ll flirt with anyone who so much as looks at you.”

“You’ve made your point.” The teasing glint in his eye was gone, and Cress’s contrived smile had left her too. Though he had one hand near her hip, he was no longer touching her.

“This is what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it?” Her voice wavered. “In the desert. When you were going on and on about how I’m so sweet and how you didn’t want to hurt me and … You were trying to warn me, but I was too much of a … a naïve, hopeless romantic to even listen to you.”

His eyes softened. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. Tears were blurring her vision. “I know. It’s my own fault I’ve been this stupid.”

Thorne flinched, but the movement was coupled with a glance around, which prompted Cress to do the same, swiping at her eyes before the tears could gather. The hallway had almost cleared, and the few remaining guests weren’t looking their way.

Reaching around Cress, Thorne pulled open a door that she hadn’t even noticed and within half a blink ushered her inside. She stumbled from the quickness of it, catching herself on a plant stand beside the door. They were surrounded by flowers and greenery of every imaginable color, their perfume thick and steaming in her throat. The ceiling rose several stories high and was made of the same leaded glass as the windows in the main corridor. Sofas and reading chairs were set in small groupings throughout the room and straight ahead they faced a series of desks overlooking the lake beyond.

“Good,” said Thorne. “I thought I remembered seeing something about an atrium. We’ll wait here until the halls clear. I’m hoping we can cross into one of the servant halls and avoid any more run-ins with guards for a while.”

Cress filled her lungs to near bursting and let it all out, but the breath did nothing to refresh her. She stepped into the room, putting much-needed space between her and Thorne.

She was an idiot. He had never once given her any indication that a real relationship could be in their future. He’d given her every chance to get used to this fact. But despite all his attempts to dissuade her from falling in love with him, her heart was still shattered.

What was worse, a kiss from a Lunar, of all things, had shattered it—and Thorne really couldn’t be blamed for that.

“Cress … listen…”

His fingers brushed her wrist, but she jerked away. “Don’t. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She wiped her nose with the flimsy wing material of her ridiculous costume.

Thorne sighed and from the corner of her eye she caught him running a hand through his hair. She could feel his gaze burning into the back of her neck, so she turned away and pretended to inspect an enormous purple blossom.

He knew now, of course. She had given all her feelings away—had probably given them away a long time ago, but he’d been too concerned with hurting her to let on that he knew.

She could tell he wanted to talk more. She could feel unspoken words hovering in the air between them, suffocating her. He would apologize. He would tell her how much he cared for her—as a friend. As a member of his crew.

She didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever, but especially not now, when there were more pressing issues to deal with.

“How long are we waiting here?” she asked, and though her voice was tinted with emotion, it had stopped shaking.

She heard a rustle and a quiet click of a portscreen. “A few more minutes, just to make sure they’ve rounded up the slower guests.”

She nodded.

A second later, she heard another sigh. “Cress?”

She shook her head. The little antenna balls bounced in the corner of her eyes—she’d forgotten she was wearing them. She dared to face him, hoping her face didn’t convey the misery underneath. “I’m all right. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Thorne had situated himself against the closed door, his hands stuck in his pockets. His expression was tumultuous. Shame, maybe, mixed with doubt and nerves, and something else that was dark and heady and made her toes tingle.

He considered her for a long moment. “All right,” he said, finally. “I don’t want to talk about it, either.”

She started to nod, but was surprised when Thorne pushed away from the door. Cress blinked and stumbled back, startled by the sudden movement. Three, four steps. The backs of her thighs hit one of the desks.

“What—?”

In one movement, Thorne lifted her onto the desk and pressed her back against an enormous potted fern and—oh.

Cress had built a thousand fantasies around their rooftop kiss, but this kiss was something new.

Where before, the kiss had been gentle and protective, now there was something passionate. Determined. Cress’s body dissolved into nothing but sensation. His hands burned her waist through the skirt’s thin fabric. Her knees pressed against his hips, and he pulled her closer, closer, like he couldn’t get her close enough. A whimper escaped her mouth, only to be swallowed by his. She heard a moan, but it could have come from either of them.

And where, on the rooftop, the kiss had been cut too short by the battle raging on around them, this kiss went on, and on, and on …

Finally, when Cress was starting to feel faint, the kiss was broken with a needy inhale. Cress was trembling and she hoped he wasn’t about to set her back on her feet and inform her it was time to get on with their work, because she doubted she could walk for two steps, much less to the other side of the palace.

Thorne didn’t pull away. Rather, he slipped his arms around her back, and here was the gentle protectiveness she remembered. His breathing was as erratic as hers.

“Cress.” He said her name like a vow.

Cress shivered. Licking her tender lips, she forced her hands to un-bury themselves from his hair and moved them instead to his chest.

Then she forced herself to push him away.

Not enough to break out of his embrace, but enough that she could breathe and think and brace for the lifetime of regret she was about to bring on herself.

“This…” Her voice caught. She tried again. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

It took Thorne a moment, but then his dazed look hardened and he pushed himself back even farther.

“I mean, it is,” she amended. “Obviously, it is.”

His relief was obvious, and warmed every inch of her body. The quick, teasing grin spoke volumes. Of course this was what she wanted. Of course it was.

“But … not to be just another girl,” she said. “I never wanted to be just another one of your girls.”

The smile vanished again. “Cress…” He seemed torn, but also hopeful and unguarded. He took a deep breath. “She looked like you.”

She hadn’t realized she was watching his mouth until her eyes snapped up to meet his. “What?”

“The girl in the hallway, the one that kissed me. She looked like you.”

The kiss with the Lunar girl felt like eons ago. The memory caused a surge of envy, but Cress did her best to stomp it back down.

“That’s ridiculous. She was brunette, and tall, and—”

“Not to me.” Thorne tucked a strand of Cress’s hair behind an ear. “She must have seen us walking together. Maybe she saw how I looked at you or something, I don’t know, but she knew … she made her glamour look like you.”

Lips parting, Cress envisioned herself hidden in that alcove again. Watching Thorne’s expression of bewilderment. Of desire. The way he’d kissed her, and held her …

“I thought I was kissing you,” he confirmed, brushing her lips with his again. And again. Cress’s fingers found his lapels and she pulled him closer.

It didn’t last long, though, as another memory resurfaced.

She yanked away. “But … you told her you loved her.”

His expression froze, desire giving way to alarm. They hovered in that moment for an eternity.

Finally, Thorne gulped. “Right. That.” He shrugged. “I mean, I was … we were—”

Before he could finish, the door swung open behind him.