I tried to imagine that scenario—going to Hereswith with him. Staying in my old house with him and his brother. Walking streets I knew like the lines on my palm, and pretending it all meant nothing to me.

“You should have.” My voice was husky, full of longings he would never understand.

“And I’m weary of trolls and dusty journeys and missing Clementines and having to deal with my brother’s snark,” he said, and the space between us closed a little more.

I had to tilt my chin to look up at him. “And what can I do about that?”

“Distract me.”

He shouldn’t challenge me with such a thing. I could give him all sorts of distractions, and I raised my hand and grasped the ribbon that held his hair at the nape of his neck. Slowly, I pulled it loose, and I listened to his breaths quicken as his dark hair spilled around his shoulders. Not once did he look away from me as my hands deftly unfastened the top two buttons of his waistcoat. My fingertips traced the faint scar my rapier had left on his cheekbone.

I stepped back to regard him. “Yes, you look much better as a rogue.”

Surely, that comment would offend him. But he laughed, and the sound was golden, incandescent. I longed to hear it again, as soon as it melted away.

“Come, the distraction is not over yet,” I said, inviting him to follow me from the library. “Go set a pot of tea to boil, and then meet me in the drawing room.”

“What for?”

“That would spoil the fun, now, wouldn’t it?”

He only arched his brow, but a smile lingered on his mouth. And I hated how I suddenly wanted to taste it.

Phelan took the corridor to the kitchen; I stepped into the drawing room and found the cards. I stoked the fire in the hearth and lit a few candles by magic, and then I sat in a high-backed chair and waited for him to arrive with the tea. He must have used magic as well to prepare it, because he arrived sooner than I anticipated. The mirth that had been in his eyes just moments ago waned when he saw Seven Wraiths laid out on the table.

“Honest to gods, Anna . . . I’m tired of this game,” he said, setting the tray down. “It’s all Deacon wants to play, night after night, and—”

“As I know,” I replied. “But I have something important to say to you, and I think it will help if we are holding the cards.”

He only sighed and poured us each a cup of tea, settling into the chair across from mine. I had a strange feeling that he would do just about anything I asked of him, and it made my hands tremble. He watched as I dealt, and the silence was thick as we studied our cards.