Vin had never had cause to visit the Serpent section of the palace, and had no hope of navigating the maze, but with Kaveh at his side, the guards seemed disinclined to give him trouble when he asked for directions to Lord Oshiro’s suite.

It was a power game, and Vin had expected no less. Hamilton wanted to see him, but he wasn’t going to make it easy by providing a guide. This was no different than any exchange with Hamilton, a fight for who would be on top. Hamilton wanted to force Vin into the weaker position. Too bad for Hamilton that Vin had changed. If he needed help, he was happy to ask. It cost him nothing.

If Vin told himself that over and over again, at some point, it might become true.

When he reached the door to Lord Oshiro’s quarters, he didn’t ask the guards on either side for permission to enter. He didn’t knock. He simply kept walking, pushing the door open in front of him, smirking ever so slightly as one of the guards stepped towards him, as though to try to stop him, and flinched back immediately at Kaveh’s low growl.

Vin kicked the door closed behind him after Kaveh had come through to discourage any further initiative on the guards’ part.

Immediately inside was a receiving room, overly-decorated as was Serpent fashion, and beyond that, a sitting room with a table set for dinner. Hamilton was there, at the sideboard, pouring a glass of something amber. He smoothly turned and offered the glass to Vin just as Vin stepped into the room.

Hamilton hadn’t changed. Was that even possible? Or had Vin’s mind redrawn him over and over until he couldn’t imagine anything but the man he now saw before him. Tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a warrior’s physique—that much, Vin was certain he remembered. An angel’s face that his glittering mask did nothing to conceal. Skin the same warm amber as the whiskey he held in his hand. Skin that would be soft beneath Vin’s hand. Skin that had warmed to his touch so many times.

Years apart, but all the steps of the dance that had existed between them came flooding back into Vin’s mind, sharp as if they’d been together only yesterday. Hamilton’s smile was note-perfect, but Vin could feel the tendril of nerves, could see the bare edge of hesitation as Hamilton extended his glass. It was weakness, and Vin knew just the words to summon to exploit it. He knew every wound that Hamilton hid beneath the surface and how to stab into them with precision.

But he was no longer that man. Truly.

“Naveen,” Hamilton said after the silence had stretched to an awkward length. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“It’s Vin now. I go by Vin.”

Having by now gotten the message Vin wasn’t going to take the glass from his hand, Hamilton pulled it back to sip at the whisky himself. “Vin. Really. Isn’t that what Julian used to call you when he was three?”

The last thing Vin felt the need to do was justify his new name, so he stayed silent. If Hamilton wanted to play games, he was going to have to do the work.

Just a hint of a smile from Hamilton acknowledged he knew what Vin was doing, but he said nothing, instead walking over and dropping to one knee in front of Kaveh so they could bump foreheads. Kaveh had always adored Hamilton. Hamilton wrapped his arms around the lion, sinking his hands deeply into Kaveh’s mane and scratching. Kaveh rubbed against him, hard enough Hamilton almost toppled over.

Which only made him laugh. “At least someone is happy to see me again.”

That was pointed, meant to prod a reaction from Vin. Except Vin was suspicious there was some genuine sentiment in that statement that Hamilton was trying to hide behind flippancy, and it was the real sentiment that drew a response from him. “I am happy to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“Yes.” Hamilton stood and walked to the table, speaking with his back to Vin. “I could tell by the endless correspondence and frequent visits.”

That had been meant to hurt, but it was a fair blow, and Hamilton was all smiles again as he sat. “Please do join me.”

Dinner was what he had agreed to, so Vin had no excuse not to do as he was told. He sat down across from Hamilton.

Back at the beginning of the interval, when Vin had first met Yeijiro, one of the early things Yeijiro had confessed was just how bad a Serpent he thought himself. While Vin wasn’t in the habit of rating anyone’s qualifications to belong to their own clan, he had certainly noticed that Yeijiro didn’t match well with the typical Serpent, and Vin hadn’t needed anyone to tell him that. Not when he’d spent so many years of his life around the quintessential, catalog-perfect Serpent who was sitting in front of him right now.

Another lesson Vin hadn’t needed Yeijiro to teach him—that the way you disarmed the perfect Serpent was through pure, unhesitating honesty. “I’m not here to fight with you.”

Hamilton’s masks had never done much to cover his face. He had never needed them to. He was always in absolute, perfect control. Which meant that he wanted Vin to see that slight, disbelieving tilt of his eyebrow. Even as he said nothing.

Perfect control. Except when Vin had broken it. When Vin had driven Hamilton to his knees, made him beg and plead, all pretense and elegance shredded by desperation.

Fights between them had always ended so well. But Vin had changed, he reminded himself. He wasn’t going to get dragged back down that path. Not even for Hamilton.

Hamilton had given some cue that slipped by Vin, because the sitting room door opened and masked servers came in, bringing food to the table. Hamilton was silent as they worked, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t speaking. His gaze never left Vin’s, a challenge, a dare, and a question all bound together in those bottomless amber eyes.

The food smelled of home. Point for Hamilton. Chili and curry and cloves struck Vin with all the power of nostalgia. Hamilton had eschewed anything fancy, presenting Vin with old favorites, comfort food.

Hamilton had ever been the expert at seducing with the sensual, and he knew Vin down to his bones.

Suddenly, everything was awful. He had wanted to see Hamilton, but not like this. Not a careful exchange of barbs and witticisms like they were strangers, and not the intimate, bleeding cuts they could inflict because they weren’t. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

He moved to stand, and Hamilton’s face shattered. “Vin, wait.” He reached across the table, then pulled back, the indecision utterly alien to the man Vin had known. “I’m sorry. Truce. I…” His voice became soft, pleading. “I wanted to see you.”

Vin settled back down. He couldn’t have walked away from that plea if his life had depended on it. But he didn’t believe it changed anything. “I’m not the person you knew. Not anymore.”

“Then I’d very much like a chance to get to know the new man who sits before me.” He held out the platter of bread. “If he’s willing to stay.”

Vin took the offering, a gesture of surrender, but he said the words anyway. “I’ll stay.”

After that, things were easier. Hamilton did most of the talking, light gossip about the Suri court mixed with entertaining reports of trouble Devitri had been getting himself into—as inexhaustible a topic now as it had always been. As the conversation went on and Hamilton seemed to have truly dropped the adversarial approach, Vin relaxed, which made him more inclined to talk.

He had no gossip to share, but Hamilton listened with what seemed to be sincere interest as Vin talked about his newest hobbies—his art, the history he’d been reading. He talked about Yeijiro, the friendship they’d built. It was all—it had to be boring, but Hamilton’s attention never wavered.

Through it all, Vin kept checking in with himself to figure out how he felt about any of this. Like poking at a bruise to see if it still hurt. Honestly, he didn’t know.

What he did know was that it was so easy, so familiar, sitting here with Hamilton. How had he forgotten what it could be like? How had he forgotten—because he had forgotten—that before the power games and the seductions and the battles, they had been friends.

Maybe they could be friends again. If Vin could convince himself that was what he wanted.

At no point did he open himself to the nima. It took some effort, but he kept his gift locked tight. Until he could figure out how he felt himself, he had no business prying into Hamilton’s emotions.

Dessert was a simple, but delicious, rice pudding, rich with cardamom and vanilla, just the way Vin liked it. It had been a long time since anyone had gone to all this trouble for him. That was another bruise that might or might not still hurt.

It was time to go, before the temptation to find out what else Hamilton remembered about what he liked grew too strong. “Thank you for this. For the invitation. For dinner.”

“Thank you for the company.” Hamilton rose with him, his face back to the polite mask he’d been wearing when Vin had first come in.

He walked Vin to the door. They both paused as Kaveh butted his head against Hamilton’s hip, demanding more pets. Which meant there was an opening for Hamilton to say, “You never told me what happened. You never told me why you left.”

They’d avoided this topic all through dinner. Now, after the good food and the comfortable conversation, Vin’s defenses were at their lowest. The question was probably genuine, but the timing was calculated—a flash of the Hamilton Vin had come here expecting.

Which was why Vin gave in to the temptation that had been riding him all night, leaning in so Hamilton would feel the heat of his breath against his ear as Vin murmured, “And that must drive you to utter distraction down to the depths of your inquisitive Serpent soul.”

Hamilton’s hand clenched in Kaveh’s mane, a visible, uncalculated reaction. He looked up, need in his eyes and in his voice as he said, “Vin…”

Snapping lightly for Kaveh to follow, Vin walked away without another word. He spent the entirety of the long walk back to his own rooms trying to figure out if he had just rejected the game—or committed to it.