The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(48)
Author: Marie Lu

Enzo raises an eyebrow at her. “No,” he answers flatly, and the patrons let out a round of laughter. Her father smiles indulgently.

Gemma laughs along, then rolls her eyes and slumps back down on the divan. “Well, just you wait,” she says. “Men aren’t so much more complicated than animals. I’ll figure it out.”

Her antics coax an affectionate smile out of Enzo, cutting briefly through his tension. “I don’t doubt it, my Star Thief,” he says, and she beams at him in the midst of more chuckles from the Daggers and nobles. I look on, trying to fight down my envy as Gemma laughs with her father.

One of the consorts claps her hands. “A game!” she exclaims. She passes out long golden necklaces to us. I’m not familiar with this, but apparently the others are—because they let out whoops and whistles. The consort notices my puzzled look. “Loop your necklace around the person you’re most fond of,” she explains with a smile. “The one with the most necklaces wins.”

The shouts and laughter fly fast and thick. Gemma attempts to steal everyone’s necklaces for herself, only to have Lucent toss them up into the air and knock Gemma onto a divan with a playful gust of wind. The aristocrats clap, applauding their powers and murmuring about how they will show them off during the Tournament. Several consorts loop their necklaces over Michel’s neck, making his grin as wide as his face. Even Dante, with his permanent scowl, lets a consort give him a necklace and wraps his arm around her waist.

Gemma offers me her necklace, as does one of the other male consorts. I blush, laughing along. Enzo watches us all with a calm expression. He twines his gold necklace around his fingers, deep in thought.

“Come, Your Highness,” Michel calls out at him, twirling his trio of necklaces around his hand. He grins. “Unless you’re most fond of yourself.”

More carefree laughter. Enzo gives him a small smile, then tosses his necklace up in the air. “For you, then,” he replies. Michel gestures at the necklace, and it vanishes in midair and reappears wrapped around his hand. He throws it around his neck with a triumphant grin. Enzo waves off the consorts attempting to give him a necklace and looks on as the others fight over the prizes, each one more enthusiastic than the last.

None of them know what’s going through my mind. None of them know that even as they celebrate, I am thinking about what to do with Teren, how to get to the Inquisition Tower to save my sister. How I will betray everyone in here.

I sway in my seat. The others don’t notice, but Enzo does—he turns to look at me. I put down my glass of wine and take a deep breath, but it’s no use. Darkness pools in the pit of my stomach, feeding ravenously on my fear. I can’t stay here.

It takes me a moment to realize that Enzo has risen to his feet. He strides over to me, offers me his gloved hand, and helps me up. I lean unsteadily against him. The others pause for a moment to look over at us, and some of the laughter fades.

“Are you all right, Adelina?” Gemma calls out.

I start to say something, but it’s hard to focus. Enzo wraps an arm around me and guides me away from the circle. “Carry on,” he tells the others. “I’ll return shortly.” Then he lowers his voice to me and leads me back inside the court. “You look like you need to rest,” he murmurs.

I don’t argue. As the noise of the others fades away, leaving only the echo of our footsteps up the stone path to the surface, I slowly come back to life. The darkness fades a little, replaced with the pulse of Enzo’s heart. His hand is hot against my side. My legs feel weak, but he keeps me steady. My head reaches to his shoulder and I’m reminded again of how tall he is, how small I am.

“I don’t think I’ve quite gotten over last night,” I murmur as we walk, trying to think of a good excuse.

“Don’t apologize,” Enzo replies. “Teren is not an Inquisitor to take lightly.”

I look at him. My curiosity rises. “Your fire didn’t hurt him,” I decide to say. “Have you . . . always known?”

Enzo hesitates. “I knew him when we were children.” There’s something strange about the way he says this, as if he feels a certain sympathy for Teren. “He’s the only Elite that Raffaele cannot sense.”

Raffaele. “Where is he tonight?”

“The madam informed me that Raffaele was called to a client’s home,” Enzo says after a moment. “I’m sure all is well.” But something about his tone tells me that Raffaele should have returned by now. I look back down, trying not to think the worst.

We reach the wall that opens to the courtyard fountains. A light drizzle has started, chilling the night air. By now, I’m able to walk on my own again, and I pause here for a moment to savor the quiet dance of rain on my skin. Enzo waits patiently. I tilt my face up and close my eye. The drizzle is cold, clearing my senses. The damp grass soaks the hem of my robes. “I feel better now,” I say. Partly true, at least.

He gazes out at the courtyard too, as if taking in the shine that the rain gives to the night scene. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. Finally, he turns back to me. He looks like he wants to ask what’s troubling me, as if he knows it extends deeper than what I’d claimed, but he doesn’t. Can I tell you? Would you turn on me?

Enzo watches me silently. The lanterns on the courtyard wall outline his face in a halo of damp, golden light, and the beads of water in his hair glitter in the darkness. He is such a startlingly different beauty from Raffaele—dark, intense, wary, perhaps even menacing—but I see a softness in him, a stirring desire. Something mysterious flickers in his eyes.

The spiced wine from earlier now gives me a sudden rush of courage. On impulse, I take my gold necklace off, then lift my arms and drape it over his neck. My hands brush past his crimson hair, the skin of his neck. I half expect Enzo to push me away. But he doesn’t stop me. His eyes are liquid dark and beautiful, slashed with scarlet, ringed with long lashes, full of an emotion deep and wanting. I swallow, suddenly aware of the attention I’ve stirred. Then I lean up on my toes, gently tug the necklace toward me, and bring his lips to mine.

I hover there for a second, heady with the rush of courage. He doesn’t move a muscle. To my surprise and dismay, warmth doesn’t surge through me at the connection between us. Not the way it had when he’d kissed me at the Spring Moons. There’s fear in his heart. He’s holding back his energy. This thought brings me back to reality, and suddenly I feel stupid. Our last kiss had been one of necessity, part of blending into the festivities. That was all. I pull away. Rain dances cold against my face. Stupid. I’m in no state to act appropriately right now—there are too many thoughts racing through my mind, and I am so exhausted from them. I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, so I just start to step away.