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My lips twitch, my eyes instinctively dropping to the ground even though he can’t see them. “Thank you.”

Cary weaves his way through the crowd and wraps an arm around Misha’s shoulders. “Hey, hot shot.” The easy smiles on their faces give credit to Mara’s claim that they are in fact a couple.

The fast-paced dance tapers down to a slower rhythm, and Jo extends his hand to me. “How about a dance, milady?”

“With pleasure.”

I’ve danced my fair share of waltzes, and to my delight, Jo doesn’t take advantage of my lack of corset to grope my body. He holds me at a gentlemanly distance and leads through the dance with a steady hand, not perfect, but with enough finesse to impress me.

“You’re a good dancer,” I praise him.

“My mother taught me. We don’t have a lot of opportunities to waltz in the new world. The way you dance, you must do this every day.”

“Such obvious flattery would be considered pretty forward in Demeter.” I add a false air of decorum to my answer to tease him, and I’m taken aback by his charming smile.

We sway back and forth, and the heat of his hand is pleasant on my waist. The bronze mask covering his eyes complements his skin nicely, and I find myself grinning back at him before the song is over.

“Thank you for the book,” I blurt out, suddenly wishing I could see his green eyes.

“Anytime, Old World.” The music tapers down again.

Jo adds a fun, silly twirl at the end, and I collide with his chest with a gentle laugh. “I’m almost done with it. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

Claps resonate across the sleek checkered floor to praise the musicians, and Jo and I join in. After a quick pause, the string quartet starts a languid, forlorn tune. It slowly picks up from a few timid notes, and my grip on Jo’s arm tightens.

The music seeps inside my pores, and the soul-shattering whine of the violin prickles my heart. Most of the lords and ladies stop moving and exchange quick whispers between themselves.

The cellist plucks the cords of his instrument like he’s hanging between life and death, and the bassline harmonizes with the violin in a powerful, intricate melody.

I glance over my shoulder to the Shadow King, surprised to find his throne abandoned, and my pulse quickens. A gloved hand taps on the shoulder of my partner, and Jo sidesteps, bowing to the king.

I curtsy at his arrival and drop my gaze to the ground. My whole body freezes as the king extends his hand in my direction. A sheen of cold sweat gathers at the back of my neck, and I swallow against the roil in my stomach, feeling faint.

For a moment, I think that the Shadow King’s magic has stopped the flow of time, but Jo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and the stares of the High Fae tickle my shoulders.

I search the masked faces in the crowd, but none of them can help me. Mara’s lips are pressed in a grim line. Lori gapes. Three pushes himself off the wall at his back, graceful as a cat, and abandons his female companion, but I quickly lose sight of him.

A discrete creak of leather booms in my ears as the king flexes his little finger and raises his offered hand by a quarter inch, signaling that I should take it now. At last, I succumb to his demand.

Snubbing him in front of his court… I shiver at the possible consequences.

The king’s blank golden mask shines in the darkness. He guides me away from my original partner to the center of the room, but my eyes are fixed on our joined hands.

Black and ivory gloves.

Leather and satin.

A firm yet gentle hand on my shoulder blade…

I cover his right arm with mine. He’s stronger than I knew, his body broad and powerful as he tugs me close and whisks me into a dizzying waltz. We fly around the dance floor. Our movements are so fluid that I glance down to check if I’m still touching the ground.

The other lords and ladies quickly follow suit.

Dark gowns flow around us, and my ivory skirt is the only white flag in the middle of a bloody battlefield. The music thickens in my bones as the two of us move in perfect synchrony. I feel drugged—or rather enchanted. The king’s bite of power sinks its claws inside me better than if he’d skewered me with a sword, and I jump at the chance to observe him more closely and fact-check a few tidbits of gossip. From this angle, I catch a glimpse of his neck and see no burns to speak of.

Nothing but smooth, tanned skin, interrupted only by the ghost of a crescent-shaped scar.

Leather brushes along my naked back, and the small caress packs a powerful punch. Two’s angry words resonate in my ears. She belongs to the king…