Page 9 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Des/Talon

I remember the galas so fondly. The world, decorated so extravagantly, the people so beautiful. I would admire Penna across the room or watch you—so distant and unobtainable. Life was simple back then. How often I yearn to return to it.

-Private letter from Lady Entia to Gemellus Instigo

The tightest security Des had ever seen stood vigil over Weisskopf Palace.

Beneath the glint of lanterns, steel shone in styles from all over the world.

The leather and tweed of Altanbern, the segmented plate of Thuatia, Dragosi fluted helms with long robes folded overtop, and elegant Athelstani surcoats of royal blue.

All in the accompaniment of noble families from across the Thruinc alliance.

Des held the hem of her black dress in one hand while the other looped around Talon’s arm. He cleaned up nicely, with his hair left stylishly messy. The stately black coat with golden trim she’d commissioned hugged his figure in all the right places—suitable eye candy to adorn her arm.

Carriages rolled up to the gates, depositing guests and their escorts. Two of Des’ guards pursued them into the palace, where a pair of Altanese servants in red ponchos greeted them and pointed them to the ballroom. Talon offered them charming smiles.

He certainly seemed at home here, for a simple merchant.

The cacophony of the crowd intensified when they passed under the great arch leading to the ballroom.

High vaulted ceilings of dark gray stone, shaded granite floors set with pinewood tables.

A wall of windows peered into the gardens; the other hung flags from every nation in the alliance.

At the head of the room rested a table decorated with red, yellow, and green streamers, one color for each clan of Altanbern.

Father had instructed them to watch and report anything unusual. Janus might not have understood Gemellus’ lessons on reading a room, but Des had paid rapt attention.

Name cards denoted each guest’s seat, and Des sought out hers, finding the name ‘Janus Vallides’ scrawled neatly on a card, with an empty seat beside hers for her date.

Leaning on the back of her seat, Des scanned the floor, spotting a table lined with various ales and wines and a bartender pouring drinks for the guests.

A familiar man, hair disheveled yet beard well-maintained, leaned on the edge of the table, clad in a black coat with golden accents.

“We should split up,” Des suggested, eyes fixed on the man Talon had met with the other night.

“Split up?” Talon asked. “What for?”

“We can cover more ground that way.”

“Cover more ground?” Talon repeated, smiling with amusement. “You make it sound like we’re on a mission.”

“We are,” Des stated, standing straight. “I’ll meet you here for dinner.”

“Fine, fine.” Talon shrugged. “Maybe I’ll find a pretty lady to talk to.” He winked and walked away, squeezing her shoulder as he passed.

Des watched him merge with the crowd. Lingering suspicions of his questionable character remained, but without proof to support them, she could not pursue them. Talon was, undoubtedly, not a merchant from Clodia. Was he a songbird or an assassin?

Adjusting her necklace, Des glanced down. She’d pushed her breasts up as far as this gown would allow and stuffed the empty space with padding. It didn’t look half bad.

Whatever she lacked would be made up for by the open-back. She caught a passing servant staring and smirked.

Vanity is a foul trait. Gemellus had told her once.

Says the blind man who stares in every mirror. Des had shot back.

I remember what I looked like in my youth. I imagine I catch a few eyes, still.

Smiling at the memory, Des lifted the hem of her gown and approached the man by the refreshments.

The man noticed her gaze was fixed on him and stood straight, setting down his drink to adjust and align his doublet.

Disheveled but sporting the sigil of Dragos on his shoulder cape—a torch wrapped in a wreath. Dinu, second heir of Dragos.

“You must be Princess Janus.” He said, voice thick with the heavy, staccato Dragosi accent. He looked her up and down. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Offering him a polite curtsy, Des wore her best smile. “Prince Dinu. It’s an honor.”

“An honor? I don’t think anyone’s said that before.” He picked up the glass he’d been drinking from and tilted it toward her. “Drink?”

“I prefer to wait until the night dulls before I drink,” Des said, leaning on the bar beside him.

“This is your first time at our little gathering of nations, eh? I thought your brother would be coming.”

“Evander always insists he’s much too busy. And why disrupt him when I’m far more charming?” She smiled coyly.

“Heh.” He seemed amused. “Some think being the younger kid’s a curse, but I say it’s a blessing. Nobody expects anything of you.” He smiled into his drink as he took another sip.

Nothing about this man struck Des as threatening. He had an easygoing air and a colloquial tone. His eyes flitted over the crowd, searching for someone.

“I admit,” Des said, shifting to make herself more comfortable. “I could use a guide. Could I trouble you to point out names and faces I should become acquainted with?”

He set down his drink, finger ready to point. “Sure. Let’s see. . . Ah, there’s Prince Paulus of Sigilus.”

* * *

Prince Paulus was untouchable. Talon circled him again, pretending to peruse the selection of food lined on a thin, long table. He glanced again at the prince, observing the isolating air surrounding the man like a protective shield.

The rich green of Paulus’s vest matched his eyes and jade-studded circlet, a pleasant contrast to his almond-brown skin. Two guards stuck to his side, winged helms and verdant tabards denoting them as royal paladins.

A cold disinterest colored Paulus’ eyes as he observed the ballroom, foot tapping as he reclined in his chair.

Intrigue replaced the disinterest when his eyes fell upon Des and Dinu, who loitered by the bar.

But the intrigue lasted only a moment before Paulus returned to staring into his drink, bored.

Interesting. Maybe he concealed his feelings well, or seeing the princess alive and well was no cause for surprise.

As Talon circled the table again, pretending to have finally decided upon a leg of the refreshment table to tackle, he noticed a woman approach the prince’s table before nestling into the seat beside him.

A woman in a simple green dress, her fiery hair bound in an equally simple bun.

As she greeted her date and picked up her glass, her burgundy eyes met Talon’s, and she smiled at him.

Valkyrie had mentioned planning to slip in by Paulus’ side. Talon had bet against her odds. Looks like he owed her.

Leaving Sigillite affairs in Valkyrie’s capable hands, Talon let his gaze wander onto Des. Was she fishing for information from the Dragosi prince? It wouldn’t work. Lark had often said Dinu made an exemplary collaborator—nobody expected anything of him and assumed him incapable of the same.

Des certainly was pretty. Talon caught himself staring at her, watching her brush a curled bang from her tawny skin, a coy smile tugging at her lips. Her gown hugged her figure like the silk had been crafted for her curves.

Snapping himself out of his trance, Talon eyed the plates of roasted meats and pungent-smelling sauces. His eyes trailed up and down the table, landing on the picture of ghastly fashion.

Formless, puffy sleeves of bright flowery pattern peeked out from beneath a knee-length jerkin of deep blue fabric on a tall, muscular woman.

Her hand reached back to adjust her long, blonde hair before she bounced excitedly on her heels and marched toward the bar.

If Talon was not mistaken, that was Avalon, the fourth child of Athelstan’s ruling family.

Or, third, after an accident two years ago had claimed one of her brothers. Two rumors circulated about Avalon: she had not inherited her family’s evoking bloodline, and she was an outstanding knight.

Honest and uncontroversial. Des could handle her.

* * *

“Uh oh.” Dinu breathed, pushing his glass away from him.

“What’s the matter?” Des asked.

“It’s coming right at us.” He answered, pushing the glass further away.

“It?” Des repeated, following his gaze.

Driving through the crowd as easily as a scythe cut wheat, a blonde woman in Athelstani fashions marched toward them, her bright blue eyes fixated on Dinu with unbridled fury.

A fury that lessened considerably when the woman noticed Des.

Her steps slowed, her posture straightened, and the scowl softened into a slight smile.

“Ah, Princess Janus.” A high, strong voice emerged from the woman. “I was hoping to meet you tonight.”

“Ahem.” Dinu cleared his throat. “This is Avalon, Janus.” He pushed the drink another few inches away, and Avalon noticed, her strong, slightly hooked nose turning up at him. “Third heir to Athelstan,” He continued, “Expert jouster, brilliant knight, exceptional cook. . .”

“Go on.” Avalon prompted.

“Incomparable beauty, staggering wit. . .” Dinu continued. “Well, maybe not that last one.”

Shaking her head, Avalon offered Des a stiff bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Pray ignore him.”

“Oh, he’s been fine company so far.” Des waved a hand. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes. My eldest brother welcomed a child recently, and the other is newlywed, so they’re occupied.” Avalon explained.

Dinu reached for his drink before flinching and retracting his hand, pretending to neatly knit his fingers together before him. Avalon watched his movements carefully but with a hint of affection. These two had a storied history, by the looks of things.

“You’re an unknown.” Avalon directed her attention to Des. “Everyone knows your brother, but you’re rather sheltered, aren’t you? I could accompany you, take you to meet the prominent nobility before they realize who you are, and ambush you.”

“I was doing that.” Dinu protested.