Before she could ascertain its source, he grabbed her and lifted her from her feet. He held her so that his head was even with her stomach. Dropping the sword, she looked down at him.

“Dancer?”

He didn’t answer. He held her tighter.

Confused, she ran her hand through his braids as he walked her out of the ring and toward the glass wall that looked out onto the sea. Then he slowly slid her down his body until she stood in front of him. He whispered in her ear, but it was Andarion so she had no idea what he was saying.

“I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

He cupped her face in his hands and stared at her with a love she couldn’t fathom. “You are and will forever be the Ger Tarra of my heart.” He gave her the sweetest, tenderest kiss she’d ever known.

Closing her eyes, she breathed him in. His fangs scraped her lips ever so slightly before he deepened the kiss. Every hormone in her body went into overdrive.

“Should we leave you two to some private time?”

Horrified, she pulled back to see Fadima, Shahara, and Desideria staring at them.

Desideria grinned. “Who wants to take bets that we will have a little War Hauk in about thirty-six to forty weeks?”

Worse, the guys and Dancer’s grandmother came in just in time to hear that last bit.

In that moment, she wanted a black hole to appear and suck her in.

Unabashed, Dancer kept her in the shelter of his arms as he faced them. “What?” he challenged.

Darling held his hands up and grinned widely. “All I’m saying is, given last night, I don’t never want to take crap from you about me and Zarya again.” He pinned Dancer with a meaningful stare. “Know what I mean?”

The blush on Dancer’s face said that he got it. But she had no idea what Darling was referring to.

And that wasn’t the most important thing on her mind. “Do you have news?” she asked Dancer.

“Only that the Phrixians have declared war on The League and are on their way to sign a treaty with Cairistiona.”

“Really?” She looked over to Maris. “What happens to you? Are you back in their family?”

He shook his head sadly. “For now, they’re honoring the fact that I’m an Andarion ambassador. But the horrible, awful part is that I shall have to dispense of my snazzy Phrixian battlesuit, and be forced to wear drab to battle in. My people will take issue with me in their uniform since my ex-father decommissioned and disinherited me rather rudely.” He tapped his bearded cheek as if something new occurred to him. “Wait!” He smiled at Nykyrian. “As an Andarion ambassador, am I privied to wear an Andarion warsuit?”

“Sure. Why?”