Page 18 of House of Embers (Royal Houses #5)

Chapter Fifteen

The Trap

“Now, this is a dress.”

Fordham’s eyes traveled down the length of her as she twirled in place.

The silver ball gown looked like liquid metal as it slid against her skin.

The bodice cut to a severe V nearly to her navel with a matching plunging back as well.

It wasn’t a Parris original, her favorite fashion designer in Kinkadia, but it was much better than the poofy monstrosity she’d been stuffed into before.

“Well, I did say a Kerrigan dress,” Fordham said as he slipped an arm around her lower back and drew her red-painted lips in for a kiss.

“You don’t like?”

“Like is the wrong word. Prefer it on my floor?” he suggested. “You’re going to shock the traditional crowd.”

“That’s the point.”

She pushed her bright red hair off her shoulders. Instead of going for a slicked-back look that her hair absolutely detested, she’d gone for natural waves and curls with big volume. If she had a target on her back, she wasn’t going to hide. She’d be ready.

“Did anyone have information on how Barron found out about our plans?” Kerrigan asked.

Fordham shook his head. “No. And I haven’t heard anything else from Prescott. We’ll just attend as prepared as we can.”

“Everyone is in position?” she asked.

“All set,” Fordham said with a nod. “And you?”

She swallowed. Half of this plan relied on her confidence in her new powers, and she hoped that she could pull it off. She worked best under stress—always had.

“I can do it,” she told him. “And I have my backup in place too.”

His eyes shifted to the set of gold bangles that adorned her wrists.

She’d hidden her mother’s bracelet in the midst of other similarly styled designs.

But she knew which one would give her the edge to open a portal in the event she needed to make a quick escape, since apparently shadow jumping was off the table.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said.

“Into the viper’s den we go.”

They left their meeting space and stepped up to the entrance to the ballroom.

The ball was in full swing. They’d arrived late to give Dozan’s spies time to infiltrate the party and set up a sufficient perimeter.

It would be foolish to step inside the room of their enemy and hope for the best. They had come with their weapons raised, ready for a fight.

The door swung wide, and a short woman dressed in the black-and-silver livery of the House of Shadows called out, “His Royal Majesty, King Fordham Ollivier of House Charbonnet, called the House of Shadows, and his betrothed and our future queen, Lady Kerrigan Argon, first of the House of Cruse of House Bryonica.”

A hush fell over the crowd as Fordham stepped forward with Kerrigan at his side. “Now.”

With a breath, she reached deep into her well of magic.

It answered with a soft thrum that nearly made her weep every time it was successful.

Weeks without her magic made her never take her renewed gift for granted.

But this wasn’t her own magic she was reaching for.

She crossed the bridge that connected her to Fordham and found the thread of black at his center—the ability that was a closely guarded Ollivier secret.

Only the Ollivier line had this power in all of Alandria.

Then, with the crush of the crowd’s eyes on her, she tugged that thread. The shadows in the room listened to her hungry, desperate cry. They answered with relish, leaping to her hands, wrapping around her wrists, and crawling like smoke up her arms.

A gasp rang from the crowd. The nearest group of female Fae scurried backward a few steps away from her, fear written on their carefully made-up faces. They ran into another set of Fae, who took a shocked step backward and braced the terrified women to keep them from fully fleeing.

Fordham took her hand and let the shadows crawl up his arm and pool into his other hand.

The pair of them in black and silver, wreathed in Ollivier shadow magic, was a sight to behold.

One of terror, based on the faces of those assembled.

It was sooner than they’d wanted to display this ability to Fordham’s subjects, but with the threat from Barron and Viviana evident, they’d agreed that this was the easiest show of strength.

The focus of their little display was the heads of the Laurent and Blanchard families, who looked murderous.

Viviana’s expression was more petulant and irritated.

She was the lesser of two threats. Barron looked like he was going to extend his canines, tear through Kerrigan’s throat, and enjoy watching her blood flood the ballroom.

She smiled at him—a taunt that she couldn’t help but throw in his direction. He’d made his move with this party. She’d made hers. Now it was time to see where the game led.

Barron arched an eyebrow and then took Viviana by the arm and stalked forward. “Welcome,” he boomed with syrupy sweetness that was beyond fake considering the deadly expression still painted on his face. “What a surprise that you chose to attend and with such spectacle.”

“And in such attire,” Viviana added with a wrinkled nose. “Quite a fashion statement.”

“Thanks. It’s all the rage in the capital,” Kerrigan said. “Perhaps I could set you up with my fashion designer back home. He’d really spruce up your wardrobe.”

Viviana looked aghast. “This is the height of fashion.”

“Oh. Yes. It’s very traditional. It’s just not what’s up-and-coming. It makes sense, what with the Society keeping you from leaving the mountain, that you wouldn’t know what’s in vogue in the city.”

“I don’t need city fashion.”

“I see,” Kerrigan said as she twirled a shadow around her finger. “That explains the treaty you signed, I guess.”

Viviana gaped at her. “The treaty to keep our people from being slaughtered ? By the Society that you were a part of.”

“Oh, Viviana, I don’t want to talk politics tonight,” Kerrigan said as she fluttered her eyelashes. “We all know that I’m fighting the Society for their terrible treatment of both my people and your people. We’re on the same side, right?”

Barron’s grip on Viviana’s arm tightened until she winced. She smoothed over her features as if she had just realized that everyone was watching them. “Yes, of course.”

Prescott sidled up then, appearing almost as if out of nowhere. For a second, it was as if he were the only person in the room who didn’t sense the tension growing between the heads of the royal houses.

“Are we going to dance?” His voice was pitched too high, and he teetered sideways, nearly knocking into Kerrigan. He laughed drunkenly. “We’ve been waiting for you to begin.”

“Gods, Prescott,” Fordham snarled. “Can’t you keep yourself together?”

Prescott took another long sip of his wine in answer. “I guess not then?”

Fordham’s eyes were deadly as he said, “You’re a mess. Go somewhere and sober up. It’s a disgrace.” Then he physically pushed Prescott aside to offer his hand to Viviana. “Shall we?”

Barron did the same to Kerrigan. “My lady?”

Kerrigan shot a glance at Fordham, who looked like he wanted to eat glass before he gave Kerrigan over to their enemy. But what else could he do in the situation? They had come to show their strength in the crowd of their enemies. She had to do this too.

“Absolutely. It’d be an honor,” she crooned, stepping away from Fordham and into the arms of his rival.

Fordham was still watching her as Viviana dragged him into position on the dance floor. When bloodshed didn’t follow their entrance, the rest of the room went back to gossiping, and a line of dancers got into position around them.

Barron drew Kerrigan in close, positioning their arms and then sliding his hand to the small of her back.

She held back her distaste as her hand went to his shoulder.

The only good thing about all this was that she was an excellent dancer.

She’d loved it so much as a child growing up in the House of Cruse in Bryonica.

The dances came to her with ease. It was one of the reasons she was so good with her footwork—it had felt like an extension of her dancing skills.

Unfortunately, Barron Laurent was also an excellent dancer. She should have foreseen it, considering Fordham had confirmed that Barron was an exceptional soldier. She hadn’t seen him in action, but she didn’t doubt Fordham’s praise on the matter.

Barron whisked her around the space as if she were a doll and he was in complete control. Normally she would have adored that in a partner, but right now, she didn’t want to be out of control.

“So do you expect me to believe that those shadows belong to you?” he asked after a few tense moments.

Kerrigan glanced up into his dark eyes with an arched eyebrow. “You think they’re not mine?”

“You’re not an Ollivier.”

“Not yet,” she purred.

He smirked. “Not yet, and even then, none of King Samael’s wives have gained this incredible talent by marrying into the line.”

“That’s unfortunate for them.”

“Even though it was a trick, it did look formidable,” he said. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” she said without pretext. Then she gathered shadows toward her and let them wrap around both her and Barron’s attached hands. “I’m a fan of them.”

His expression never changed. He looked at the shadows like they were a little nuisance. “I know he has his eyes on you at all times.”

Not just his eyes. She could feel the fear through the bond.

The worry about leaving her in Barron’s arms. But she could take care of herself.

She’d dealt with worse. Ashby March had tried to force her into an arranged marriage.

She’d almost been sold into sex slavery by Tarcus Valerii.

She’d stared down Vulsan Andromadix, a full-blooded Doma, and survived. Barron wasn’t anything new.

Men were always trying to control her. It had become a new fact of life.

Their power was threatened by her very existence.

She was strong in all the ways they wanted her to be weak.

She was smart and clever in all the ways they wanted her to be dumb and submissive.

She wasn’t silent in the face of oppression.

She didn’t back down in the face of adversity.

She refused to be compliant or complicit in their bigotry.

When she persevered despite all the ways they held her back and the obstacles they put in her path, they chose another tactic.

If control didn’t work, then they wanted to break her.

At the end of the day, the men that were in her life didn’t need her reassurance that they were the good ones. They did that every day just by existing with her strength. Fordham would never have to question where he stood with her because the answer was always by her side.

If only there were more like him and less like Barron Laurent.

“Well, we could get out of his eyesight,” Kerrigan said, “but I have a feeling that’s what you want.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked with the same sullen look. “That I would want to be alone with you? Preposterous. I would never degrade myself so.”

“Oh, certainly not,” she said as he twirled her away from him. When she turned back in, she added, “Your affiliation with half-Fae is entirely pure, I’m sure.”

“I don’t have affiliation with half-Fae. They’re servants, nothing more, nothing less,” he said, even and steady.

He was goading her at the same time as she was trying to goad him. But it wasn’t working. She didn’t know his pain points well enough to know what would addle him, just that he wanted power and she was in the way.

“Servant. Got it,” she said with a smile. “Must really irritate you that I’m going to be your queen.”

“Not if I can help it.”

She blinked at him. He didn’t even give her an evil smile, just said it as bluntly as ever. “Well, that was the nicest threat I’ve ever gotten.”

“Was it?” he asked. “I didn’t mean for it to be.”

She laughed because what else could she do? “Fordham might have something to say about that.”

“Well, when he’s off the throne, I won’t care what he has to say.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

“I know Ollivier’s strengths,” he said, unconcerned. “I’ll win the denouncement, and then I’ll take the throne. If you’re lucky, you’ll belong to me after he’s gone.”

Kerrigan couldn’t believe his gall. She’d known his play was the coronation, but she hadn’t thought he’d spout it off like that. “And here I thought you wanted me gone.”

He shrugged. “Half-Fae should be servants or dead. Your choice.”

And he meant it.