For the first time, I registered how little I was wearing . . . and how difficult it would prove to remove my cowrie necklace.

The sparkling shells hung to just above my stomach, secured in two places, with a clasp at my neck and with an unreachable knot at the center of my back.

“Um,” I said. “Could I have a hand?”

I didn’t look up, only heard him cross the room. His calloused fingers brushed the small of my back as he loosened the necklace. A thrill crept up my spine as his breath warmed my neck, pinning me in place.

He released the second clasp. The necklace fell noisily into my hands, and for a moment neither of us moved, the heat of our skin burning between us.

Then I moved away, unwinding the wrapper from my waist and slipping the shift over my head. The hem fell to my ankles, covering me at last—though the soft chafe of linen against my hips somehow made me feel more naked.

Shakily, I swabbed my face with rosewater from my nightstand. While I wrapped my hair in its satin scarf, Sanjeet freshened up at my washbasin. Water beaded on his curls as he raked them with his fingers.

The oil lamps smoldered low, making wisps of fragrant smoke in the air. An open arch led out to my balcony, where the hum of cicadas drifted in from the night.

“Well,” I said. “We should get some sleep.”

“We should,” he echoed.

“Busy schedule tomorrow. Sparring practice. Court sessions.”

“Full day,” he agreed.

And then my arms locked around him. His lips found my neck, collarbone, earlobe—every inch of me that could sing and shiver. When my hands peeled off his shirt, a crackle of energy danced across my skin. He was using his Hallow. Tracking the pleasure as it strummed through my body—targeting areas he knew would be weakest.

“That’s not fair,” I mumbled.

His voice was thick. “Neither was that necklace.”

He lifted me from the ground. I could feel his pulse against mine, pounding and erratic as he climbed the short steps to my sleeping dais and we fell toward the silk-covered pallet. As my council siblings tended to migrate between bedrooms, I had barely slept on the dais twice before . . . and I wasn’t about to now.

Sanjeet suspended himself above me on a clublike arm. His eyes burned shades of murky amber. My fingers found the peaks and caverns of his chest, savoring my favorite parts. Rosewater glistened on his burnished copper skin. His free hand caressed my lower legs, and my shift moved slowly up my thigh . . . until he stopped.

“Tar.” He was still. “Do you want this?”

I fought to gain control of my lungs. “I love you,” I squeaked, and he gave me that rare, butter-melting smile.

“I know, sunshine girl. But we haven’t done this before.” He dropped a kiss on my shoulder, and his fingers drew intoxicating circles on my leg. Still, he watched my face. “I want you to be sure.”