Page 63

"Obviously." She looked at me. "Those feathers are far too neatly arranged to have been entirely his doing."

Cillian gave an exaggerated sigh at Taryn's assessment.

Taryn circled him once, admiring the elaborate construction before returning to stand beside me.

"One of these years, I'll manage something equally impressive without having to sew a single feather," she announced. "I'm still convinced my ancestors left me some remarkable abilities. They simply haven't appeared yet."

"Perhaps they're waiting for the right occasion," I suggested.

"Exactly! That's what I've been saying."

Cillian lifted his eyebrows at me, clearly enjoying the conversation.

Taryn had long since accepted that Cillian and I were very much together, although she continued to take considerable satisfaction in having persuaded me to attend last year's masquerade. She knew about the mistaken identity and our rather complicated beginning, but we'd kept the extraordinary truth of his former existence between ourselves.

I suspected she'd have a great many questions if she ever learned that her best friend's boyfriend had once possessed real wings.

Fortunately, she was presently occupied with explaining the improvements she'd made to her witch costume.

Before long, a group of acquaintances summoned her toward a nearby table. She kissed my cheek, promised to find us later, and disappeared into the colorful crowd.

Cillian offered me his hand.

"Shall we?"

I looked toward the dance floor, where couples moved beneath the chandeliers to the music of a live orchestra.

"I was hoping you'd ask."

He led me into the dancers, guiding us easily between the elaborate costumes. His artificial wings swayed gently behind him, although the harness prevented them from moving with anything approaching the grace of the genuine articles.

As we settled into the music, I rested my hand against his shoulder.

"You're doing very well, considering you nearly took out a centerpiece on the way inside," I told him.

"That centerpiece was badly positioned." He drew me closer and guided us around a pair of dancers, his hand settling comfortably against my waist.

The musicians began a slower passage, and we moved together with the ease of people who'd spent countless evenings dancing in kitchens, living rooms, and occasionally between pieces of furniture that weren't nearly far enough apart.

I tilted my face toward him.

"Do you remember what you said to me when we first danced here?"

"Several things. I was trying very hard to impress you." He adjusted our steps to give a couple in elaborate cloaks room to pass.

"You were succeeding. I remember thinking you were the most remarkable man I'd ever seen. Those wings, the mask, the way you seemed so completely comfortable with everyone staring at you."

"I was having an excellent evening." He drew me through a slow turn. "Then a beautiful woman walked across the ballroom and made it considerably better."

I smiled, remembering how nervous I'd been as I approached him, certain I was doing something wonderfully reckless.

Now I could reach up and touch his face without wondering who he was or whether I'd see him again.

I slipped my fingers beneath the edge of his mask and brushed my thumb along his cheek.

"You're still rather extraordinary, Cillian."

"So I've been told." He kissed me before I could offer another observation about his modesty.