She would never have come upon him without him being aware otherwise.

She’d heard it, the quiet sobbing of music as she’d made her own wanderings. She’d followed it like a child follows a piper, then stood just inside the doorway, stunned and enchanted.

So, Moira thought, this is how he looks when he’s peaceful, and not just pretending to be. This is how he might have looked before Lilith had taken him, a little dreamy, a little sad, a little lost.

All that had stirred and risen inside her for him seemed to come together inside her heart as she saw him unmasked. Sitting alone, she thought, seeking the comfort of music. She wished she had Glenna’s skill with paints or chalk, for she would have drawn him like this. As few, she was sure, had ever seen him.

His eyes were closed, his expression, she would have said, caught somewhere in the misty place between melancholy and contentment. Whatever his thoughts, his fingers were skilled on the strings, long and lean, seducing the instrument into wistful music.

Then it stopped so abruptly she let out a little cry of protest as she stepped forward with her candle. “Oh please, continue, won’t you? Sure it was lovely.”

He had preferred she come at him with a knife than that innocent, eager smile. She wore only nightrobes, white and pure, with her hair unbound to fall like the rain over her shoulders. The candlelight shifted over her face, full of mystery and romance.

“The floors are cold for bare feet,” was all he said, and rose to set the instrument down.

The dreamy look was gone from his eyes, so they were cool again. Frustrated, she set the candle down. “They’re my feet, after all. You never said you played.”

“There are a lot of things I never said.”

“I have no skill at all, to the despair of my mother and every teacher she hired to school me in music. Any instrument I picked up would end by making a sound like a cat being trod on.”

She reached over, ran her hand over the strings. “It seemed like magic in your hands.”

“I’ve had more years to learn what interests me than you’ve been alive. Many times more years.”

She looked up now, met his eyes. “True enough, but the time doesn’t diminish the art, does it? You have a gift, so why not accept a compliment on it with some grace?”

“Your Majesty.” He bowed deeply from the waist. “You honor my poor efforts.”

“Oh bugger that,” she snapped and surprised a choked laugh out of him. “I don’t know why you look for ways to insult me.”

“A man must have a hobby. I’ll say good night.”

“Why? This is your time, isn’t it, and you won’t seek your bed. I can’t sleep. Something cold.” She hugged her elbows, shivered once. “Something cold in the air woke me.” Because she was watching him, she caught the slight change in his eyes. “What? What do you know? Has something happened. Larkin—”

“It’s nothing to do with that. He and the others are well enough as far as I know.”

“What then?”

He debated for a moment. His personal desire to be away from her couldn’t outweigh what she should know. “It’s too cold in here for nighttime confessions.”

“Then I’ll light the fire.” She walked to the hearth, picked up the tinderbox that rested there. “There was always whiskey in that painted cabinet there. I’d have some.”

She didn’t have to see to know he’d lifted a brow, a gesture of sarcasm, before he crossed to the cabinet.

“Did your mother always fail to teach you that it would be considered improper for you to be sharing a fire and whiskey alone with a man, much less one who is not a man, in the middle of the night?”

“Propriety isn’t an immediate concern of mine.” She sat back on her haunches, watching for a moment to be sure the turf caught. Then she rose to go to a chair, and held out her hand for the whiskey. “Thanks for that.” She took the first swallow. “Something happened tonight. If it concerns Geall, I need to know.”

“It concerns me.”

“It was something to do with Lilith. I thought it was just my own fears, creeping in while I slept, but it was more than that. I dreamed of her once, more than a dream. You woke me from it.”

And had been kind to her after, she remembered. Reluctant, but kind.

“It was something like that,” she continued, “but I didn’t dream. I only felt... ”

She broke off, her eyes widening. “No, not just felt. I heard you. I heard you speaking. I heard your voice in my head, and it was cold. It will be I who does for you. I heard you say that, so clearly. As I was waking, I thought I would freeze to death if you spoke so cold to me.”

And had felt compelled to get out of bed, she thought. Had followed his music to him. “Who was it?”

Later, he decided, he might try to puzzle out how she could hear, or feel, him speak in her dreams. “Lilith.”

“Aye.” Her eyes on the fire, Moira rubbed a hand up and down her arms. “I knew. There was something dark with the cold. It wasn’t you.”

“You could be sure?”

“You have a different... hue,” she decided. “Lilith is black. Thick as pitch. You, well, you’re not bright. It’s gray and blue. It’s twilight in you.”

“What is this, an aura thing?”

The chilly amusement in his tone had a flush creeping up her neck. “It’s how I see sometimes. Glenna told me to pursue it. She’s red and gold, like her hair—if you have an interest in it. Was it a dream? Lilith?”

“No. Though she sent me one that may have been a memory. A whore I f**ked and killed in the filth of a London alley.” The way he lifted his glass and drank was a callous punctuation to the words. “If it wasn’t that particular one, I f**ked and killed others, so it hardly matters.”

Her gaze never wavered from his. “You think that shocks me. You say it, and in that way, to put something cruel between us.”

“There’s a great deal of cruelty between us.”

“What you did before that night in the clearing in Ireland when you first saved my life isn’t between us. It’s behind you. Do you think I’m so green I don’t know you’ve had all manner of women, and killed all manner of them as well? You only insult me, and your own choices since by pushing them into the now.”