Page 21 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)
THE WINTER SOLSTICE
LUELLA
T he throne room was a mass of icy blue and writhing bodies.
Luella’s steps faltered, and her back bumped into Graves, who was behind her, urging her forward with a hot, gloved palm against her waist. His fingers curled into the silk that was bunched over her hips like he didn’t want to let her go, but then he released her, stepping away with only the softest of sighs.
A blush warmed her cheeks at the sights in the room.
The embers of the chandelier overhead no longer dusted the room in a glow of gilded softness, but an icy sheen fell about the revelers and mingled with the Solstice decorations sprinkled around—sculptures made of ice, the image of entwined bodies cut into the glassiness.
Rippling swaths of blue silk drifted from the ceiling, and the very floor had been turned to an icy shade, the walls enchanted to match. It felt like walking inside a crystal.
The room held a nippy chill, but against her flushed skin, it was welcoming. Soothing.
Lovers mingled in the frost-tipped alcoves, little icicles hanging down and slightly obscuring what was going on within. Bodies swirled on the floor, dancing and reveling with passion. She wondered how they did not fall with the way slippery ice coated everything.
"Go on," Bastian urged from beside her. Strangely, he did not touch her, and neither did Graves—as soon as they stepped into the room, they had given her space.
That niggling feeling of unease welled within her, growing larger.
The gilded throne remained as such, the only speck of bright color in an otherwise icy tundra of lustful frost, but the King was nowhere to be found.
She took a step forward.
And another.
Another.
Whispers fell about the room, eyes boring holes into her skin. But they did not reach out and touch. Bodies swept back, giving her a wide berth as she walked into the room.
Luella stopped in the midst of it all, arms falling by her side and her teeth digging into her lower lip. Her heart was so loud, and every being in this room could hear each thunderous thump.
A warmth at her back. "Go stand before the throne. We cannot come with you," Graves whispered next to her ear, careful to keep his skin away from hers.
"W-why?" she stammered.
Please .
She did not want to be thrown into this pit alone.
A brush of feeling against her mind and a whisper of softly spoken thought. I will not leave you, pet.
Bastian spoke into her mind with the barest flutter of something amiss. His voice was laced with sensuality, and her thighs burned under the thin silk of her pure white gown, remembering his firm touches against her delicate flesh.
She exhaled a shaky breath, sending out a thought of her own, hoping its echo would reach him. Please, don’t leave me.
You’re killing me, he replied. She turned, then, and caught his red-tinged stare, brows winged with sorrow and eyes half-lidded with the debaucherous haze of crystalline winter. For her benefit, a smile was forced upon his lips.
Go, he whispered, before I risk everything and steal you away.
Just this once, she wanted to be stolen.
She seemed to forget he was inside her and could hear her every thought with ease, for a flicker of amused indulgence softened the pained expression on his face.
Go to the throne. I will be with you every step of the way.
And so she did.
She walked toward the throne, feeling anticipation sweep throughout the room like a cool burst of air.
Stop, Bastian ordered.
And she did.
Luella came to a stop right before the few steps that led to the raised dais upon which the throne sat. She still did not see the King.
Turn around.
She turned, fingers gripping the fabric of her gown as her hands pressed against her thighs. Every inhale she took hurt her tight chest, and every exhale felt like it was being blown through lungs made of ice.
She scoured the crowd. Hungry faces peered at her.
Bastian stood against one of the walls, Graves at his side.
Where are the others? she thought.
This time, the vampire did not reply.
Slowly, like the trickle of water, she saw flashes of white, growing closer.
More females dressed in pure white silks stepped from the confines of the crowd and walked to where Luella was standing nervously.
Bastian, what’s happening?
No response.
Her brow furrowed, and she resisted the urge to reach up and tug on a white curl.
Nine, she counted nine females, not including herself. They were all much more gorgeous than she, with fuller hips and more enticing chests. Luella looked down at her own body with jealousy.
You are the most beautiful thing to ever grace the sight of each of these beasts, pet. They don’t deserve to look upon you.
She found Bastian’s gaze—he was already staring at her.
And you do? She couldn’t help but shoot back.
His lips tipped into a half-smile, and he elbowed Graves, who had tugged his cowl up on his face, his hood back over his hair. She had been so wrapped up in nerves that she had not noticed him donning his armor of shadows.
The female by her side was plump and soft with golden ringlets and a face bare of rouge. Luella tried to get her attention.
"What’s going on?" she hissed through her teeth. "Why are we here?"
She felt the brush of invisible fingertips against her mind. Stop talking.
The female would not look at her, her eyes were downcast and hands folded demurely before her, but Luella could sense a hopeful excitement in her—evident from how her mouth curled into a smile and the way she kept biting her lower lip to remain composed.
Perhaps it was not bad if these females didn’t appear afraid, only excited…
The low hush of the crowd grew silent, so quiet she could hear footsteps. Heavy booted feet against the icy floor.
And the Prima strode toward the center of the room.
Tharen caught her eye before quickly looking away.
He was dressed regally, but all the silks and pomp in the realms could not contain his wildness.
His icy blue eyes and white hair matched the aura of the room, and he wore a golden shirt laced with blue.
His pants were a fine black weave, impeccable.
She was surprised to see he wore his well-loved, dirtied boots, the soles scrubbed carelessly to rid them of the dirt, but she spied the faintest traces on the heels, spots that he had missed.
The Prima faced the crowd, his back to the females.
"We are gathered here today for the reigning King of Serpentis to select his Chosen.
The Chosen will be bound to the King and stand as an icon to be venerated for the duration of the Winter Solstice celebrations.
" He raised his arms, white sparks of magic teeming at his fingertips, and the crowd swept back, pressing close to the walls as if they knew something she did not. Luella did not have time to think on Tharen’s words, for he proclaimed, "Let us begin," and the glass dome above shattered.
The skylight broke, raining down in a sharp, jagged threat. Luella was the only one to make a yelp of fear, ducking with her hands covering her head .
Stand, Bastian urged. Quickly.
She took a few breaths of fearful anticipation and then straightened, her hands trembling as she forced them back to her sides.
The shattered glass froze in midair.
The Prima’s hands rose, palms up, as he faced the crowd, head tipped back as he stared up at the collection of glass, poised to fall and cut them all. Magic sparked at the tips of his tanned fingers, and in the mere space of time between one breath and the next, the glass turned to… water .
Sprinkles of water fell from the sky, only a few droplets reaching the crowd of watching revelers before undergoing yet another transformation.
Snow.
Snow softly cascaded down from the now-open space where the skylight once stood. All at the behest of the Prima.
Luella’s head tipped back, uncaring that Bastian hissed a warning in her mind and the other females by her sides kept their heads bowed with reverence.
She watched, awed at the sight of the snow sprinkling down and dusting the ice-coated floors and settling atop the tip of her upturned nose and disappearing in the white of her hair.
She was so mesmerized by the sight that she nearly missed how the crowd went wild and then became silent.
The thunderous boom of dragon wings beat throughout the snowy night, and she saw a shadow overhead through the open space of the skylight, a blot of large darkness against the blanket of white of the snow-filled clouds.
The dragon’s wings tucked closely to his body, and he swooped down. Right toward the open hole in the ceiling.
Snow continued to fall, and she took the tiniest of steps backward as the dragon’s wings snapped out right before he descended upon the throne room, allowing his high speed to slow and granting him a graceful entry to the throne room.
His wings beat and beat, and her hair blew back from her face from the wind created by the powerful strokes.
Her heart was a matching rhythm to the beat of his wings, and then he stopped, talon-tipped feet clicking loudly against the floors as his wings unfurled behind him, the tips nearly brushing each side of the walls from how utterly large he was.
The females remained quiet and dutiful, but Luella wanted to flee. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her silken gown, and as she looked at each female waiting silently with heads bowed, wrapped up in white, she realized…
They were sacrifices .
She was a sacrifice.
"No," she breathed out.
The dragon’s green eyes snapped to her wide blue ones, and her heart stuttered in her chest, the dragon’s large head cocked, onyx scales glinting under the blue cast of the room, turning to an almost opal-hued brilliance cut with an underlying tinge of darkness.
The dragon moved closer.
The females by her side stayed still, but the air grew thick with hot, curious hunger.