Page 80 of The Starlight Savior

“Not the mist?”

“That’s second.”

“And yourself?”

“Well”—Conor laughed—“I come third.”

Saige nodded, hiding her smile. “Well,” she sighed, “if you want me to trust you, be your friend, I don’t think I can handle any more secrets.”

Conor’s face softened. “I get it—”

“Or secrecy. From the start, it’s been clear you know a lot more about me than I’ve ever known about you. Or this world you live in. But that stops now. You either want to be friends or you don’t. But that comes with opening up to each other. I’m sure you’re well aware that I didn’t get the opportunity to have that in Brevil.” Saige’s laugh was empty as she shook her head. “I’m surprised I lasted that long on my own anyways.

“But if you’re asking me to trust you or get to know you, then you should respect me enough to let me get to know you too.”

“Anything for you,” Conor drawled.

She yelped as he pulled her back into his arms, wrapping a hand around her waist and placing a hand in hers. He pulled her into the crowd of dancing couples. The violin surged as the beat quickened. Swaying along to the music, a smile spread on his face.

“I haven’t heard much about King Vospella’s son,” Saige said wearily, eyeing their group clustered in the corner. The only indicator of Prince Markus’s existence was the empty chair by the king and queen.

“He joined the northern clans against King Vospella’s wishes,” Conor explained. “He and Sebastien are quite close.”

“Against the king’s wishes?” Saige inquired.

“There are expectations that the only Vospella heir should be here, in Athalos. Joining the northern clans puts his life and the bloodline at risk. But Markus tends to do what he wants.”

“He seemed…” Saige sifted through her words carefully. “…interested in me.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Conor mused. With a jolt of his arm, Saige spun out into the crowd. Her hand gripped his tightly. As the music swelled, Conor tugged her back into his arms, her head dizzy and cheeks flushed.

“So you wish to be more open with me?” Saige asked, squeezing his hand with hope.

“Of course.”

“Why did you act so odd around Sebastien?”

Conor chuckled. “Out of all the things, that’s what you want to know first?”

“Have to start somewhere, don’t I? And your younger brother is quite intriguing.”

“You can imagine being the sons of the general, there would be some tension. Especially when the youngest is seen as more…useful. Stronger. More powerful.”

“And you aren’t? Strong or powerful?”

Conor’s already colored cheeks deepened. “Some may think so. But we are often useful in different ways, as you can see.”

“So you and your brother competed?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s secretive,” Saige teased, “but a great effort at baring your soul.”

Conor spun her into another circle, letting her gracefully fall back into his chest. The music quickened a beat, enticing more people to join. Boots, heels, and slippers hit the marble floor of the great hall.

“Another part about being the general’s son is people will often try to pull things from you. Share the wrong thing, or even ability, and your life is at risk. I was taught at a young age to keep myself guarded in order to ensure my family’s safety.”

“Sebastien doesn’t seem guarded.”