Page 20

“You were not close with him.” It was more of an observation than a question, one Irin seemed to take in stride. Not that I was surprised. Every other time he spoke of his late father, it was with the same tone as mentioning the passing of an old acquaintance and not a beloved parent.

He shrugged, as if his father’s approval meant nothing. “After I chose to study terramancy, he avoided me almost entirely. He thought practitioners were weak because they relied on magic to make their lives easier.”

“That’s an extremely ignorant view of the world. Terrifying that someone that obtuse was ruling this country for sixty years.”

A smile curled Irin’s full lips, but it was sardonic. “I thought so too.”

Showing up to a masquerade party without a mask was a conscious choice on my part.

I wanted whoever thought they were hiding to believe they were bold enough to let some tidbit of information slip.

Tonight, I was the bait and the predator.

But walking into the main ballroom with a very eligible, very attractive prince brought on a whole other kind of attention I wasn’t particularly interested in.

We barely made it past the coat check before a rail-thin woman in a parakeet mask approached us out of nowhere, towing an equally thin daughter by her elbow.

Their outfits were obviously very coordinated, both in white, high-collared gowns accented by feathers around their throats and wrists in bright, garish colors.

“Your Highness!” She curtsied deeply, still pulling her daughter to dip just as low.

The poor girl wobbled on her heels to keep from falling, and I instinctively reached out to catch her.

“We are so honored you grace us with your presence tonight! You remember my daughter, Malita, don’t you?

We were so thrilled when the royal council reached out to us regarding her eligibility as your bride! ”

The mother’s face practically cracked in half from the beaming smile she showed Irin.

Malita, on the other hand, seemed absolutely miserable.

The only part of her face that matched her mother’s was the mask she wore.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” She was much less enthusiastic, but still polite in her subdued greeting. “I am… thrilled to be considered.”

Irin was visibly uncomfortable. “Thank you, that is very kind. However, I have not given much consideration to my potential bride yet. I’m still… in mourning over the sudden loss of my father.”

His voice was smooth and pleasant enough, but the arm mine was looped through flinched hard.

I thought someone had bumped into him from the other side, but something on his glove caught my eye.

His hand was fisted so tightly the fabric stretched over his knuckles, and across the top of his pointer finger, a patch of red spread slowly over what I thought was a ring.

For a moment, I couldn’t take my eyes from the bloody spot.

That violent red, creeping slowly over pristine white…

just like blood seeping through fresh snow.

The sight of it was confusing more than off-putting. Did he cut himself on something?

“Have a good evening Hilra Bavomont, Lady Malita.”

I felt Irin pull me away from the women, even as the mother sputtered and made to follow us. “Prince Irin, perhaps—”

I’m not sure what possessed me to stop and turn back to address her. Irin seemed just as shocked, accidentally pulling me ahead in his attempt to flee a confrontation. Malita was holding onto her mother by her dainty wrist and trying to keep her from following us.

“Step. Off.”

Both of the noblewomen reared back at my hostile tone. The whites of their eyes were visible even behind the masks, giving them an almost comical appearance of scared birds, ruffled feathers and all.

While my face couldn't have been visible, something had Irin pulling me lower by my arm, urging me to lean down slightly to match his height.

It didn't seem to bother him I stood a head taller, even when he had taken my hand and guided me from the carriage in front of Jinon's mansion. The softest brush of air hit my cheek through the veil, then a quiet chuckle tickled my ear. “Let it go. They’re not worth the fight.”

Irin pulled me again, guiding me to a tall table, but I kept my eyes locked on Hilra Bavomont’s gaunt, shocked face until the crowd of party guests swallowed us.

I wished for a moment she could see my face, so my glare could take full effect.

People became uneasy when I stared at them with my mismatched eyes.

They didn’t like the unnatural or unusual here.

“I need a drink,” I muttered. “Please tell me they have some decent goldtine in this place.”

A smile spread across Irin’s lips, and he navigated us to some long tables lining the left side of the ballroom.

They were laden with exorbitant amounts of food, the likes of which even a gathering this large couldn’t finish, arranged in intricate displays of Resparian fauna interspersed with game caught in Ber’s Forest nearby. It was revolting.

How could Jinon put this elaborate party on when he assumed his own daughter was dead?

“This is probably not your typical scene, is it?”

The veil I wore hid the smirk I could feel spreading across my painted lips.

What a haughty little princeling. He thought he was sweeping me off my feet, bringing me to this gaudy event and allowing me to hang off his arm like holding the lead of a prized kisteral.

Something to show off his power and status and essentially snub the council fighting to control his future.

I was using him, and he thought he was using me, too.

But he forgot to discuss those terms with me beforehand.

I gave him a taste of the freedom he longed for when I snapped at the mother and her daughter, so they would go and titter to the other ladies about his prickly date.

His little scheme of keeping away all the hungry scavengers would only work if I agreed to keep up the appearance.

Irin didn’t realize how long I’ve been playing this game of deception.

His hand crept around my back, fingers wrapping around my waist, as we wove through the collections of guests absorbed in their own conversations.

My gaze roamed the crowd, noting the doors that led from the room and the alcoves along the walls guests could tuck themselves into for their own nightly entertainment.

It was no secret the kind of balls Jinon Pid hosted were of the sensual variety.

They were part of the reason Trisne distanced herself from him and hosted her own parties, notably tamer but no less elaborate in scale.

“For you, my lady.”

A flute appeared in front of my face, the delicate stem gripped in Irin’s gloved fingers. It wasn’t the one that was bleeding. Actually, that hand was shoved deep in his pocket. My curiosity got the better of me.

“Is your hand injured?” I plucked the glass from his hand and lifted it slightly in gratitude.

He had picked up a glass for himself with the same hand he offered mine to me and raised it halfway to his lips when it stopped.

His hazel eyes locked onto my face, and for a brief moment, I had the eerie feeling he could see right through the lacy pattern of the black veil covering it.

We studied each other, neither of us willing to back down first.

But finally, he relented. “No need to worry about it,” he answered and took a sip of the goldtine.

“That didn’t really answer my question.”

He shot an annoyed glare, then tossed his drink back. “Didn’t you want to talk to the guests? Come, let’s mingle.”

I’ll be filing this conversation for later.

“What a delicious-looking woman you are escorting, Your Highness.”

I was grateful for the dark veil covering the snarl that leapt onto my face.

It gave me just enough time to squash the disgust before Irin turned us around to face the source of the compliment.

Of course, half his face was also covered with a rather grotesque trebegnon mask.

The top jaw was lined with blood-stained fangs cutting the man’s face in half at the nose, and the lower jaw traced his own with more teeth.

Whoever designed the mask kept functionality in mind — the mask was hinged at the jaw to move when the wearer spoke.

All that was visible was a particularly smug grin that set my teeth on edge.

All along the mask’s edge real trebegnon fur was swept back to cover the newcomer’s head to imitate a mane.

Notable for its iridescent-black sheen in bright light, the fur was cut bluntly at his wide shoulders.

The rest of his attire was equally gaudy, playing on the dark purple-black of the feline trebegnon form with a double-breasted coat over a white dress shirt, with frills at the collar spilling over.

The rest of him matched every other noble in the room—black pants, knee-high leather riding boots hardly used for their purpose, and all matter of jangling medals and adornments hanging off the breast pocket of his coat to denote minor nobility.

We stood for a good minute in silence, eyeing the other up. His gaze had yet to make it near my face, his dark eyes glued solidly to my ample bust. Even modestly covered to the neck, I drew unwanted attention from the likes of this slimy bastard.

“Good evening.” Irin finally broke the tension. His arm tightened around my elbow, drawing me closer to his side. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet. These masquerades make for challenging socials, do they not?”

A rather smooth way to ask, ‘who the fuck are you?’ I applauded Irin silently.

If I let my tongue loose from between my teeth for two seconds, I would probably regret whatever came out of my mouth.

Being called a ‘delicious woman’ was far from my idea of a compliment, and I attended plenty of high society functions like this.