Page 189 of Gates of Tartarus

“Maela,” I stammer. “Maela Driscoll. Sorry. I’m a little early.”

“That’s quite alright. Ah, yes, here you are. Would you like to check your coat? No? The Livery Hall is on the first floor, up the stairs behind you and then straight through the Court Room. Have a pleasant evening.”

I smile and turn, making my way up the wide, wood-paneled stairway lit by a triple stained-glass window. Reaching the top, I gasp for the second time that day. Everywhere I look there’s bright gold and marble columns and glittering chandeliers. “Oh my,” I say faintly. Then my eye is caught by a figure standing quietly on the landing, dressed in a tuxedo, his black hair shining like a raven’s wing, the skin of his smoothly shaven cheeks warm umber in the soft light. I can feel a wave of affection and desire radiating from him, emotions reaching out like a riptide and drawing me inexorably to his side.

“Priya,” he says simply, green eyes glowing.

I dimple, reveling in his admiration, cheeks pinking slightly under my silverwork mask. And I know.Tonight, I think.Tonight. No more waiting, whatever the world brings. I want to be with my gentle giant.“Kavi,” I whisper.

Then he’s leaning forward to take my hand, bringing it to his lips, and I shiver.

“You look lovely.” His breath feathers over the back of my hand, and my heart gives a little flutter. “I claim the first dance,” he declares, straightening to his full 6’4” height.

“You may,” I preen. “You’re looking quite handsome yourself.”

“You’re too kind.” He takes my arm in his, and we walk into the facing room. It’s hung with Louis XIV tapestries, and the green and gold coffered ceiling looks down on red-leather banquettes and a richly woven rug. “This is the Court Room,” Kavi tells me. “The others are in the Livery Hall, where the main event will take place.”

Walking through a set of heavy wooden doors, it’s all I can do not to gawp like a rustic. The room we’re entering could easily fit four-hundred people. It’s a long oval, decked with gleaming wood and burnished gold, dark-grey and rose marble columns holding up a balustraded balcony beneath a frescoed ceiling. From the walls, portraits of royalty stare down at me. “Well,” I gulp, “Elizabeth certainly spared no expense.”

“No,” Kavi agrees. “Just a pity she’s a criminal. Come. The others are over there.” He gestures toward the 24-piece orchestra at the far end.

I look up, and my heart skips a beat, my whole body quivering. Emlyn, Jorge, and Seef are standing round a small table on the side of the room, crystal tumblers in hand, and I take back every thought I had about black tie not being appropriate. Beautifully tailored, fine wool suits showcase broad shoulders and powerful thighs; crisp, white shirts, showing just a hint of cuff, and white, silk pocket squares providing dramatic contrast. As a group, they look sharply elegant and a little dangerous, an impression only heightened by their masquerade masks.

“Oh,” I breathe, looking from the group to Kavi, who is replacing his own mask. The guysdidlisten. They may not have gone for full fancy dress, but each mask is individualized. Kavi’s is a white Venetian Occhi, with gold filigree round the eyes and dark-green, braided edging; Seef’s is silver and black Art Deco, dotted with jagged squares of red; Jorge’s is a sheet of beaten gold, a treasure from a Mayan tomb; and Emlyn’s is intricate Baroque scrollwork, silver Acanthus leaves curling luxuriantly round brow, cheek, and nose. I pause, drinking them in, feeling alternately tender, grateful, proud, amorous, and what I think may be the inkling of more than affection. “Oh,” I repeat, my eyes welling up. Kavi gives my arm a squeeze, looking down at me with a warm smile, as we walk the rest of the way.

Emlyn is the first to sense our approach. Behind the mask his eyes lock on me and flare to silver. I can’t help it: my hips give a little swish, and I slow, almost gliding the last few feet. At that, Seef goes preternaturally still, raised hand holding the tumbler, and Jorge swallows. I reach up to untie the clasp of my overcoat, letting the material slide over my shoulders and down my back, revealing dip and swell, and there’s a collective intake of breath.

Emlyn is the first to speak. “Maela,” he pauses and clears his throat. “Maela.”

I tremble, waiting, suddenly shy. I’m no femme fatale to thrust and parry, teasing, tantalizing, stoking their desire. All I know is that they have all come to mean everything to me, and I yearn for them, body and soul. My skin flushes delicately, and I take refuge in a very feeble joke. “Hello, Mr. Bond.”

He quirks a brow. “Shaken, not stirred.”

“That’s my line,” Kavi cuts in.

“Drink, Maela?” Jorge asks. His hand touches the small of my back, a brand on my bare skin.

Seef says nothing, just raises his glass in salute.

Then there’s a bustle behind us as a new group enters the room, chattering animatedly, and the moment is broken.

“Please,” I say to Jorge. “But I’d better stick to sparkling water.” I sigh.

“Chin up, princess,” Seef grins. “All in a good cause. You can get blotto tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, thanks, Jorge.” I take a sip. “So, anyone seen Fallon? Elizabeth said I should look out for her so that she can introduce me to all the hugely important people.” I grimace, looking around as more and more guests arrive.

“She was in the drawing room earlier, but I haven’t seen her since,” Emlyn replies.

“And, uh, did you guys find out about the off-limit areas?” I ask, dropping my voice.

Seef shakes his head. “We tried, but every time we started to wander away from the main rooms, a member of staff shooed us back, and we didn’t want to call attention to ourselves. Even the rajah here couldn’t get through.”

Kavi looks down his nose at Seef. “Can I help it if my accent is a bit more cultivated?”

“Pretentious, more like.”

“Boys, boys.” I wave my hands, forgetting about the glass I’m holding and showering the carpet. “Oops.”