Cora was sitting in front of the window of the wagon, staring at the lights of Caloir shining beneath as they went down the hill. They looked like a bunch of fireflies in the night, glittering around and filling her with a warmth she'd never known before.

She'd never left Beilyn before—not counting the small adventures Harry had taken her on—and she didn't know if it excited or scared her to know that, days away of travel from her home, there were places as beautiful as that city.

She watched it come closer and closer, blinking brighter and brighter, until they made a turn and it disappeared from view.

After a while they stopped, and Harry entered the wagon holding the white box he'd picked up some days before. Cora shot up in surprise, retreating into the corner as he put it down on the bed.

"Get changed," he told her, "I'll send Thalia in to help." He left without waiting for her reply, and she stepped closer to the mysterious box, a frown on her face.

The box was for her?

Cora opened it and pulled up the fancy fabric inside. It was a sunset red dress, elegant and refined, heavy in her grasp. She put it on the bed, and its golden embroidery shone in the light of the candles.

A note fell on the floor, and she picked it up.

Be like fire tonight, was written inside in crimson ink, bright and beautiful, but deadly all the same.

A smile curved her lips, and she closed her hand around it just as Thalia entered the wagon.

She took the dress she'd left on the bed and draped it over the chair. "Take that off, I'll help you."

Cora obeyed, not wanting to give her any more reasons to find fault in her. She put on the red dress, the rich fabric feeling so foreign on her body, and Thalia went up behind her, helping her lace it up before making her sit on the chair. She brushed her hair with a wooden comb and clasped it behind her head with an intricate gold hairpin.

Her fingers stilled on her shoulders. "Why are you sad?" she asked. "Don't you think it's a pretty dress?"

Cora glanced up. She could see her reflection on the glass of the window, the night on the other side. "I just wish I didn't feel so much like a pawn." She was struck by the truth of her words in the moment she spoke them, and it almost left her breathless.

She was only there because Harry needed her to work for him. Because he knew a way to utilise her, and she was letting him do it. She'd never felt so much like a means to an end before.

Thalia hummed. "Everyone is a pawn, don't you think?" She fixed her hair one last time, and then she let her stand up.

Cora turned around, only then noticing that she was dressed even more elegantly than usual. Was she coming along as well?

They put on their cloaks and walked out. Harry was waiting for them outside, and Cora felt as if someone had punched her in the gut in the moment she saw him.

He'd swapped his usual plain-looking shirts for a richer one, embroidered with lace and little pearls that shone in the candlelight. Matched with the elegance of his midnight blue coat, he looked like nobility embodied. Beautiful and dangerous all at once—that was the truth to who he was.

"Don't you look like a treasure?" he murmured as soon as his eyes landed on her. His eyes seemed to glint in the night, his eyelashes made longer and darker by the shadows and something like stardust on his eyelids. Whether it was fay fashion or her own brain playing tricks on her, Cora couldn't tell.

Her cheeks went up in flames. She'd never been one to cow under flattery, but when it came from Harry, whose looks were so breathtaking he didn't seem real at all, she couldn't help but feel honoured.

He glanced between them. "Both of you do."

Thalia ignored him and got on her palfrey.

Harry got on Saiph and then offered Cora a hand. "Up you go, too."

Cora decided not to ask why Thalia got her own horse and she didn't and took his hand, letting him help her up as well.

The ride to Count Watillon's house wasn't particularly long, but it left Cora enough time to rethink everything about that night.

"Why does he want to dine with you? Are you friends?" she asked Harry all of a sudden, and he let out a faint laugh.

"We are most definitely not friends."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm wealthy and my fame precedes me, I suppose."

If Cora hadn't been sitting in front of him she would've glared at him. How could someone be so proud and still manage to come off as mysterious? "He's rich and powerful, he doesn't need to be your friend."

"But nobility has always liked to make influential friends, don't you agree?"

She couldn't disagree. "Is there anything more I should know about tonight?"

Harry shifted behind her. "That's all," he replied, and she nodded, going silent again.

When they arrived at Count Watillon's mansion they were let inside, and a stable boy came up to take their horses.

They were taken to a parlour and a servant took their cloaks. Cora's gaze wandered from the multitude of nature-themed paintings hanging on the walls to the onyx statues in the corners of the room in amazement. She'd never seen so much art in the same place. Suddenly she felt small, despite the elegance of the dress she was wearing. She glanced from Thalia to Harry, wondering if she was the only one feeling that way. Thalia had braided her long dark hair in a way that hid her pointed ears, and Harry seemed to be using his hair to conceal his as well—not that they would be noticeable unless the count or one of his guards stood too close to him. Cora let out a sigh and looked away again, praying the rest of the night would go on well. She'd never been one to fear people—she'd always tried to see the best in everyone—but since she'd been thrown in that cell, the presence of more than a couple of humans around her put her on edge.

"Ah, my friend!"

Cora gasped, and her head snapped towards the voice. A middle-aged man was walking towards them with a wide smile on his face and an expensive doublet on. He sounded too cheerful, and maybe Harry's supposition had been right after all.

"It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Count Watillon," Harry replied. He didn't bow nor nod as it was custom when meeting nobility, and Cora didn't miss it. She could hear the emptiness of his words from where she was standing, but the count didn't seem to care.

"I see you brought some beautiful women with you," he stated, looking at her and Thalia, and she had to fight back the instinct to cower away behind Harry.

"My aide and advisor," Harry introduced them, and Cora also didn't miss the way he avoided speaking their names.

The count didn't notice. "It's lovely to meet you both."

Cora remembered the little she knew of etiquette and gathered her courage and bowed to him, offering him a faint smile. "It's an honour, sir."

He smiled back and pointed to a door in the large parlour. "Shall we dine?"

They were taken to an elegant dining hall, just a little smaller than the parlour. The decorated wallpaper was deep red, and the walls seemed to close in on them. The only furniture in the room was the long dining table, the chairs and a line of sofas running all around the perimeter of the room. The light was dim, and the air was cold despite the large fireplace burning on one side of the room.

A guard took his spot at the door as they took their seats, and dinner started.

Cora mostly kept to her own, not wanting to accidentally end up revealing more than she was supposed to. Harry hadn't given her much to go by, and it agitated her. She listened to the others make polite but inconsequential conversation, the sort that only leaves people's mouths to fill the silence. Around the second course she started relaxing a little as well, tricked by Harry's easy tone and Count Watillon's agreeable laughs.

Then, Thalia spoke.

"Forgive me, sir, but the days of travel have been long, and the chances to freshen up little. May I inquire about the location of the mansion's powder rooms?"

The count broke free of the conversation he was having with Harry—that included the best type of leather for reins and the optimal hour of the day for hunting deer—to reply to her. "Through the door, down the hall and beyond the stairs you'll find a guest powder room. I'll have a guard escort you."

Thalia stood up, offering him an easy smile. "Oh, it isn't needed, I can find my way there and back just fine."

There was a moment of silence after Thalia left. Then Harry inquired about the best tailors in Caloir, and the count was more than happy to share the best names and the most expensive fabrics. Cora watched them talk while taking bites of her food, amazed at how easily Harry could fall in conversation with a man so different from him. Her aunt had been right—he knew human customs too well not to have grown up among them.

A bang echoed through the dining hall. Cora flinched, and Harry and Count Watillon fell silent. A stable boy ran into the room, beyond all rules of etiquette and reason. He was breathing heavily, and for a moment Cora feared he would collapse.

"Sir!" he managed to let out in the end, turning to Harry. "Sir... uh..."

"Harry," Harry said, helpfully.

The boy nodded, standing straight at last. "Sir Harry, there's a problem with your horses. They're very agitated, they're waking the others and we can't calm them down, they've already kicked two of our—"

Harry sighed and looked at Count Watillon with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "My horses are complicated to deal with and require extensive care. I'd better see to them myself."

"Oh, but of course, Sir Harry," the count said with an understanding nod, and Harry stood up and left the room.

Cora tensed up when she realised she was completely alone with the count, now. Harry's words from the night before rushed back to her mind. She'd been quick to agree then, thrilled by Harry's faith in her, but now she wondered if she hadn't strayed too far from her path. She was raised in a hostel—she didn't have the culture nor the elegance necessary to entertain nobility.

Count Watillon's eyes sharpened on her. "It looks like we're alone now, madame," he said, and she wondered why it sounded like a threat.

Her hands clenched the fabric of her sunset-red gown under the table. "It seems so."

"What is your name, if I may ask? I apologise for not inquiring on the matter earlier."

"C—" A memory rushed back to her. Wanted posters with her name sent to every nearing city, a group of soldiers playing cat and mouse with her and Harry. "—Claire."

"Ah, a gentle name for a refined soul, I see." Count Watillon lifted his glass and downed the dark liquid inside. It was the first time Cora saw such a precious material—the crystal shone in the light of the fireplace. "May I fill your glass again?"

She looked down at her half-full glass. "Oh, it isn't necessary."

He stared at her for a long moment. There was something of oddly feral in his gaze, as if he was trying to see beyond her skin. "How long have you been working for Sir Harry, Madam Claire?"

"A few months." A lie, but one not as bad as it could've been. Hopefully one she's be able to defend, if it came to it.

"And have these few months been enjoyable?"

Cora frowned. "I'd say so, sir."

He leant his elbows on the table. "And tell me, have you noticed anything peculiar while working for him?"

Nervousness rushed through her, and she pretended to take a sip of the wine to gather her thoughts. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"There's no need to get so defensive, my dear. I'm just trying to clear the mystery of his... circumstances. You must admit they're puzzling."

"Sir Harry works incredibly hard to put on his shows."

"Oh, I agree." Count Watillon smiled at her from the other side of the table. "Word on the street says they look magical."

"A lot of hard work and dedication," Cora insisted. "Besides, if I were to tell you his secrets, I wouldn't be a good aide at all."

"Naturally. I apologise for asking." He leant back on his refined chair and gestured to the guard on the side of the room to leave.

Cora pretended to take another sip of the wine and made herself eat a few bites of the food on her dish even though she was too on edge to feel hungry. The fire crackled in the hearth by their side, and the chandeliers above their heads stretched out shadows on the walls of the dining room.

"Have you heard of the legend of these lands, Madam Claire?" Count Watillon asked after a long moment.

Cora looked up at him. "A legend?"

He drank more wine, tasting it on his tongue before continuing. His eyes glinted in the dim firelight. "They say a demon roams around, bringing death and destruction to our cities. They say we're cursed."

Cora blinked. "I'm afraid I've never heard of such a legend."

He smiled. "It's but a legend, naturally. I've never been the religious type, and demons don't exist. Though... there used to be creatures capable of wielding such a thing as magic, a long time ago."

"Are you referring to fays, sir?"

"Ah, what a shame they all disappeared after that terrible war—but what a relief, too. Can you imagine how scary it would be if they still walked our lands?"

Cora cleared her throat, steadying her voice. "I agree. They're nothing more than the stuff of fairytales now, though."

"Are they?"

Her hand clenched around the glass. "Pardon?"

"It's but a question. You've undoubtedly seen many things, travelling so far for so long. Do you truly believe they are no more?"

Cora opened her mouth, but before she could come up with a way to deny the existence of people that hadn't vanished at all, Harry stepped into the room.

"I apologise for the delay, it took longer than I expected."

The tension broke, and Count Watillon turned to him. "Ah, Sir Harry! Are your horses all right?"

"As good as they could be. They get stressed easily, unfortunately. A cat must've run past." Harry gave Cora a long look as he sat back in his seat. "I hope I haven't interrupted any conversation of relevance with my return."

"Oh, not at all. I was telling your aide about the unfortunate tales that go around about these lands." He sighed. "Truthfully, the fire in the next city over hasn't helped them die down. I wonder if you've heard of it?"

Cora grabbed the fabric of her dress again, but Harry didn't let anything transpire. "In passing, yes," he replied. "What an unfortunate incident."

"Conner Everett, the man that died in that terrible occasion, was a good friend of mine," Count Watillon continued, "and I fear it hasn't been an accident at all."

"How so?"

Cora went back to eating her food, not wanting to give anything away with her reaction to the conversation between the two men.

"I've heard they've reprimanded a suspect, she was but a little girl," the count continued. "What a scary deal. I don't believe a girl could be capable of such a monstrous action, in truth. Which brings me to the reason I've invited you here tonight."

Harry stayed silent, allowing him to go on.

"I've heard many things about you, Sir Harry. Some deem you incredible, others dangerous, others incredibly talented, others dangerously untethered. However, there's only one thing I'm interested in. You're powerful."

Harry let out a chuckle. "I didn't expect praise when I came here."

"I believe your Fair is the most incredible achievement that has roamed these lands in a very, very long time. I know you prefer not to get mixed up in politics, but it's high time you join forces with the nobility of Andar and help us bring stability to these tumultuous lands. Think of this as a first step towards our future partnership."

Harry tilted his head, interest shining in his eyes. "What would you have me do, sir?"

"You see, that terrible fire has me stumped. I had a letter sent to an acquaintance of mine in the city whose business is to... know things, if you get what I mean, after that awful business ensued, requesting aid and information. However, he couldn't discover anything at all—you can imagine how troublesome that is. Now, I'm aware you must have a web of connections that stretches far and wide thanks to your many travels. Let's join forces. Help us find the culprit of this heinous crime."

Harry's eyes shot to him for a long moment. A log broke with a loud crack in the fireplace. Then, "It'll be an honour, sir. I'll try my best, though I can't assure you I'll be able to retrieve anything worthwhile. I don't deal with criminals."

The count smiled that wolfish smile again. "Just your agreement to help us as you can is more than I could hope for, Sir Harry. I hope this will be the start of a new era, for both you and me." He raised his glass, and Harry did the same.

Thalia stepped into the room, her long braid resting on her shoulder. "I see plans have been made while I was gone." She exchanged a look with Harry, and lowered her chin near-imperceptibly.

"I hope it wasn't unprofessional of me to deal with Sir Harry directly," the count said, an appearance of calm and elegance that seemed dangerously forced in his voice. "The conversation called for it before your return."

"I have the most complete confidence Sir Harry can hold his own, Count Watillon," Thalia replied, sitting down. "No harm was done."

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, the guard back at his post near the door. Cora watched the flow of the conversation, wondering at the situation she'd been put in. What had happened when both Harry and Thalia had been gone? Now she knew the reason of the count's invitation, but she couldn't understand what Harry stood to gain from it. Did he want to strengthen his bonds with the noble families of Andar? He'd never seemed to be interested in power, to her—and, most importantly, something told her making powerful friends of the human kind wasn't something he was interested in. Not with how strongly he felt about them. What game was he playing?

After dinner, the count offered them a room in his mansion for the night, and after an initial refusal, Harry was forced to accept not to displease their affluent host.

They ended up occupying two bedrooms in the same corridor, one in front of the other. Thalia took one and, before Cora could complain, Harry said his goodbyes to the guard that had accompanied them and guided her towards the other.

They walked inside, and Cora felt her heart pound in the second Harry locked the door.

It wasn't her first time sleeping in the same bed as him, but for some reason it felt different. At the Fair, they didn't have many options: she could either sleep with Harry or with someone she knew way, way less. But now, they were in a mansion. She didn't have to spend the night there, and yet there she was.

Harry let out a relieved breath. "I'd say it went well." He took off his blue coat and threw it over the desk opposite to the king sized bed. He brushed his long fingers through his brunette curls, a mischievous smile on his lips.

The moonlight and the red flames of the candles all around them were the only source of illumination, reflecting off his pale skin as if he too was made of the same substance of the moon. He looked otherworldly, beautiful and endlessly dangerous, and he made her head spin.

"I don't see how it could've gone bad," Cora replied, turning her head and catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like royalty. The firelight brought the red of her dress to life, and for the first time, she didn't look so out of place standing next to Harry.

"He could've found out we're all fays, for instance."

She glared at him from over her shoulder. "I thought Count Watillon didn't mind fays."

"Oh, he hates us." Harry shrugged. "If he'd found out he would've had us killed before dessert."

Cora clenched her teeth, unsuccessfully trying to mask her anger. "You did not tell me that." She took the elegant pin from her hair and put it on top of the desk, squeezing it before letting it go.

"There was no reason to make you worry unnecessarily." He walked up behind her and put his jewelled hands on her shoulders, staring at her through the mirror. "I needed you focused." He let his fingers travel down her arms, offering her a troublesome smile.

Cora wondered if he too had noticed how right the sight of them together was that evening. But her stormy feelings clashed with that perfect image.

"I had the right to know." Her eyes were cold, her body tense. She shrugged away his touch and turned to look at him. "I needed to know we were in danger. You made me believe we were safe, why did you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, as if he couldn't comprehend the reason behind her annoyance. "Because I knew you would do what I asked of you perfectly. And you did."

"I don't care, Harry!" Cora exclaimed. "You put me in a dangerous situation and I could've ruined everything, you didn't even tell me what your backup plan was in case things turned sour! Did you have one at all?"

"Of course I did."

She didn't know if that reply soothed her or made her even more furious. Harry had been the one to ask her to come along, and yet he hadn't even bothered to tell her what he was planning on doing. Like she was nothing more than a pretty decoration at his arm, like his rings or necklace.

"And why, exactly, didn't you tell me?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she pushed him away, forcing him to give her some space.

"I asked you if there was anything else I had to know multiple times over the past few days, and you told me everything was fine every single time! You said we were safe, you lied to me!"

"We are safe!" Harry hissed back. "The count doesn't suspect a thing."

"We are not safe, we were just lucky!"

"Do you not trust me, Cora?"

"Why would I? You lied."

"I didn't lie to you, I didn't think it was important."

"You didn't think it was important to tell me we were entering the wolf's den?!"

The golden pin was projected off the table and slammed against the wooden column of the canopy bed. Cora took a step back just in time as it flied between them and looked at Harry, a stunned look on her face.

"Are you trying to intimidate me?"

A frown formed on Harry's face, and he looked at her like he never had before. "That wasn't me."

She let out a shocked laugh. "Of course it wasn't you, you're right, maybe I should check the bathroom and see if Thalia's hiding in there," she said sarcastically, her anger making her braver and more aggressive than she'd ever been. "There's only one fay in here, and it's you."

"Technically, there are two fays in here," he replied, looking at her pointedly. He picked up the gold hair pin, showing her it was shattered in half. "And one is a rather angry one."

Cora took a step backwards, hitting the desk. He was lying. He had to be lying. She couldn't do magic, she'd never been able to. That couldn't be on her.

He put the pieces down next to her, seeming to be just as confused as she was, and then got out of the room, leaving her to stare at the damage she'd supposedly created.

It wasn't her. It couldn't be her. At the same time, though, she could feel something shimmering inside her, as if her outburst had awoken something that had been dormant inside her for far too long. She shook her head; it was ridiculous. Harry had to be making fun of her.

Cora moved the broken pieces away and turned to face the mirror once more, taking advantage of him not being in the room to take off her dress.

It took a couple of tries to undo the bow that secured the fabric on her back, but right as she was about to give up and wait for him to come back, it fell apart. She pulled the dress off her body and stepped out of it, straightening her white underskirt. Its fabric was much thinner and it reached just under her knees, and she felt a little exposed. She was incredibly glad she'd decided to wear that instead of her usual undergarments, that, although less appropriate, would've definitely been appreciated more by a certain man that wasn't in the room at the moment.

She walked to the bed and lay down over the blankets, putting her head on the soft pillow and turning to face the lit candle on the nightstand, her anger melting away as confusion took its place.

Could it really have been her?

Even though she couldn't see it, she was painfully aware of the broken pin on the desk on the other side of the room.

If she'd truly made it fly, could she blow out that candle, too?

Feeling a little ridiculous, she stared at it, trying to force the fire to die out with her mind.

The flame kept dancing before her eyes mockingly, unbothered.

She tried harder, and still she got no reaction. Maybe it was all a mistake. She wasn't magical.

Harry walked inside again, sending her a curious glance. She looked away quickly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was unsuccessfully trying to use magic, and he didn't comment on it, opting for taking off his boots and lying down next to her instead.

For a few moments there was only silence, and Cora went back to staring at the flame.

Then, his arms were around her body and his mouth in her hair. She could feel him right behind her, and she wasn't sure she knew how to breathe anymore. The forest smell that she'd learnt to recognise as just him was clouding the air all around her, wadding her senses, her surprise making her pliant under his lascivious touch.

"You're doing it wrong," he murmured into her ear, the warmth of his breath hitting her skin and making her tremble, sliding his long fingers down her arm, "try with words, it's easier that way."

"What words?" Her question was faint, and she was sure he could hear it too but couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't think, could hardly breathe. All she could focus on were all the spots of her body that were touching his.

He let out a hum and brushed back her blonde hair, and all of a sudden she could see him in the corner of her vision. "It doesn't matter." His grey-green eyes were more magnetic than she'd ever seen them as he let his hand travel down her waist. "Make it easy."

"Easy, like what?"

"May the flame fade away into the night," he whispered, brushing his lips over the shell of her ear. She didn't know what he was getting at by acting like that, but she shuddered nonetheless. She couldn't care about anything that wasn't him, right then, right there.

"May the flame fade away into the night?" The statement felt odd in her mouth. The fire of the candle, once again, didn't waver.

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer to his body. "May the flame," he let his hand graze her arm, up and down, again and again in a torturous motion, each stroke making her toes curl and her skin tingle, "fade away into the night."

Cora nodded, her head spinning. "May the flame fade away into the night," she whispered, staring at the candle even though she could barely see it, her attention drawn to the man behind her. "May the flame—"

Suddenly Harry's lips were on her throat. He kissed her collarbone and then went up, and up, and up. She shivered, relaxing in his arms, goosebumps forming in the wake of his touch.

"Fade away," he encouraged her to continue when she went quiet, his mouth pressed against her skin.

"Fade away—"

He peppered her neck in kisses and then let his lips travel over her jawline. He took her chin with his hand and turned her face towards his, staring her down like a predator before kissing her cheek. "Into the night," he murmured against her mouth.

Cora side-glanced at the candle, even though she couldn't care less about it in that moment. "Into the night."

He closed the distance between them and slammed his lips against hers. Her entire body jolted, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he intertwined one of his legs with hers, clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

It was nothing like the first time they'd kissed. Then, it'd been an accident, over as soon as it'd happened, one she'd regretted a thousand times over the following few weeks. Now, though, there was intention. He'd meant to kiss her, he'd meant to hold her so close to him and press his mouth to hers. And when she'd responded to the kiss, she'd meant it too. And while she was certain she would end up regretting it regardless, she couldn't bring herself to stop.

His tongue grazed the seam of her lips, and all she could do was unravel under him. He explored her body with his hands as they shared that kiss, foolishly sliding them up her dress to touch her bare skin, and she intertwined her fingers in his hair, her breath hitching in her throat when he squeezed her thigh. He slid a finger down her jawline, soothing her before kissing her again.

Her body turned on under his touch, every kiss delivering a new spark of lightning to her soul. Her skin was burning and her heart was speeding; the glinting light of the fire painted dark shadows over them.

She broke away and then kissed him again, she kissed him until she was sure her lips would bruise and her heart would fail. Every spot he touched on her body seemed to be set on fire, and she was sure she was about to die. There was no way she'd survive him kissing her like that, like he meant it, like he wanted it.

And shockingly enough, she wanted it too. There was nothing she wanted more. That realisation was enough to freak her out, but she was too bewitched by his lips to care.

She was sure he would bring her to her demise. He was her demise, he'd always been. He was slowly driving her insane, more and more with every passing instant, and there would be nothing left of her by the time he was done.

The heart her own existence was wrapped around was burning, just like fire, just like the blaze she'd once witnessed. Its echo was reverberating in her ears and its warmth was mirrored by his kisses, setting flame to her body in ways she'd never known.

Then, just as quick as it'd started, it ended. Harry left one last peck on her mouth and let her go, and all of a sudden she felt so cold.

The look in his green eyes was mischievous, and a bit surprised, too. As if he hadn't meant to kiss her again and again, but couldn't bring himself to truly mind. He didn't say a word but stood from the bed and went in the bathroom, leaving her there, freezing and alone. She sat up, the fire he'd started inside her dimming into nothing, confusion written in every inch of her being.

She was so lost that she almost didn't notice when the candle on her nightstand was blown out together with the flame inside of her.