Page 60 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)
Chapter Thirty-Four
Shan
S han had prepped for weeks for this gala, an unfortunate necessity of her position.
It wasn’t enough that she had to oversee the Academies, had to keep the Eternal King’s schedule, had to aid him with his most complex and harrowing Blood Working—as Royal Blood Worker, she was also expected to be the living heart of Dameral’s High Society.
And though she had barely had the time to even sleep in the past few weeks, Shan had ensured that this little gathering to celebrate the Solstice went exactly to plan. A bright light of hope on the longest, darkest night of the year.
It was a tradition, and she had outdone herself indeed, turning the ballroom in the Royal Palace into a scene of winter wonder, with wreaths of pine and holly hanging fresh and fragrant, strategically placed evergreen trees brought in from the countryside, draped in ribbons and tinsel.
There were stations with mulled wine and ginger-spiced biscuits, tumblers of finely aged whisky and jam-filled tarts.
Shan had even hired the pre-eminent quartet of Aeravin to fill the space with the soft sounds of music, jolly and joyful.
It was a little triumph, only to have it be ruined at the last minute. Only for Isaac to have ruined it.
Despite the time of celebration, all the guests floated through the ballroom under a muted haze, whispering about the body that had been found early this morning, dismembered and brutalized.
It was a vile and gruesome affair, left there to be discovered.
Almost like he intended to make a point, and blood and steel, had he succeeded.
The time of splendor was ruined by the low buzz of panic, soft whispers of harsh conversation buzzing under the music. The dance floor was near empty, only two couples twirling together, a pathetic showing for such a large ballroom.
Shan considered taking to the floor herself, as perhaps seeing the host dance would spur some of the others into action.
But she glanced across the floor to find Samuel surrounded by a gaggle of Blood Workers, each and every one of them thinking that they would be the one to get a new piece of information out of him.
As if she had trained him that poorly, as if he’d break that easily. No, he might still have the sweetest, bleeding heart that she had ever known, but he wasn’t a fool. He was more capable than any of them realized, and she was so damned proud of him.
Samuel caught her gaze and lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug—an apology, brief as it was. He wouldn’t be able to free himself from the mob that dogged his every step, and Shan understood that.
She understood it all too well.
Turning, she sauntered over to one of the long tables along the wall, grabbing a small crystal glass and filling it with the fragrant mulled wine.
The spices tickled her nose and she lifted and inhaled deeply, only to freeze as she felt a potent aura of power wash over her.
She was intimately familiar with it by now, the way it slid across her skin, burned the back of her throat, threatened to overpower her.
The Eternal King was here.
“What a splendid soirée you’ve put together, my dear Lady LeClaire,” he breathed, his voice low in her ear. “It’s a shame everyone else is not taking advantage of it.”
Shan turned, dropping into a precise half-curtsy, her mug of warm wine held just so in one hand. “Your Majesty, I did not expect you to be here.”
“Rise,” he commanded, holding out a hand to her.
As she took it, her claws brushing against his, she was struck with the most intense feeling of déjà vu.
Another celebration that she had orchestrated, another party that the Eternal King had shown up to, not so long ago.
It felt like decades, though it hadn’t even been a year, but Shan had grown so much in such a short time.
And now, she didn’t flinch, matching the King’s appreciative gaze as they both looked each other over.
Her dress was exquisite, a custom creation from Laurens in the same deep color of her official state robes, blood spilled upon the snow.
But its style was nothing like the prim cut of the robes, instead hugging her figure tightly.
Lace braided up and down her arms, a nearly sheer fabric that hugged her chest and corset, showing her décolletage to her best advantage, all while leaving her breasts only the slightest bit obscured, like a present waiting to be unwrapped.
It was an effective style, Shan noted, as the King’s eyes lingered there for a heartbeat too long to be proper before sliding down to her skirts.
Even those were scandalous—instead of billowing around her legs, the silk hung tight like a sheath, drawing attention to the swell of her hips before it split along one side, allowing her freedom of movement while showing a scandalous amount of skin with each step.
And for him—his suit was, as always, perfection.
Dark and fitted exquisitely to his form, the careful designs of Aeravin roses stitched into the waistcoat, winter white and just as intricate as the unique structure of each individual snowflake.
He carried himself with the sublime confidence of a man who always got everything he ever wanted, and Shan couldn’t hide the swell of jealousy that flowed through her.
Oh, what she would give to move like that through the world, unafraid and bold.
And as he took the glass from her hand, discarding it on the table before linking arms with her, she realized that she could be that way too, if she let herself.
Hanging off the King’s arm as he led her towards the now empty dance floor, she could be whatever she dared to be, because in the end, he had chosen her—and for all the flaws and terrors and little cruelties of her esteemed liege, there was power in it.
And she wasn’t afraid to seize it, not anymore.
“I hope Samuel doesn’t mind,” the King murmured as he swept her up against him as the music shifted to something low, sultry. “But as he is occupied, I thought it would be appropriate for me to stand in for him. It is the least I can do, as family.”
Shan flicked her gaze towards Samuel, who offered her a simple smile and a dip of his head.
Not quite permission—because even though they were engaged, they didn’t need the other’s consent for things as simple and trifling as a dance.
Still, there was a deeper understanding, an acknowledgment of the fact that what the Eternal King asked for, the Eternal King got.
She couldn’t have turned the King down, even if she wanted to. But as all eyes turned to her, an inhaled breath as the music shifted and the dance began, Shan knew that she didn’t want to be anywhere else but here.
It was exactly what she needed to turn the party around, and she moved into the dance with practiced precision, letting the King lead her as she followed a heartbeat behind.
It was different from her dances with Samuel, it was easier than her dances with Samuel, who even after all his practice still needed a strong guiding hand.
But the Eternal King was a master in this, as he could be in so many things while being Eternal, countless years of routine engraved into his very soul.
And as unfairly cruel as it was to Samuel, it was a relief to just be able to shut off her mind and dance.
To let her body lead her, without needing guidance or thought.
Oh, how wondrous it was to simply feel, if only for a moment.
They twirled around the dance floor, just a hair’s breadth too intimate to be entirely proper, but not quite enough to be scandalous. He led her with a strong hand, his presence washing over her like the heady burn of liquor.
The King was, as ever, a master of control, holding her just so, but she knew that there would be titters about this come morning.
The Eternal King, come down from his lofty towers, attending one of the many socials that he had historically ignored.
Pulling his Royal Blood Worker from the sidelines and into the first dance he had done in…
well, centuries. But he held her firm, unmindful of the low hiss of muttered conversation around them.
This close, Shan feared that she could drown in the run-off of his power—that he could overwhelm her with little more than the light touch of his hand against the curve of her waist, with a slight dip of his head, the soft exhale of breath against her skin, as he whispered, “Ignore them all, Shan.”
His words were a caress, pitched deep and soft just for her, and Shan couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine. “They are jealous of you,” he continued, his claws flexing against her before relaxing.
A brief fluttering of anger, true and unfiltered? Or another one of his many little manipulations? Shan would never know, but in the end, she supposed it didn’t matter. His motivations were unimportant, because he was right.
“They underestimated you,” he continued whispering in her ear, each passing word as soothing as a balm, pressing mortar into the cracks that she feared were starting to show, the long, slow eroding of the very foundation she had built her life on.
“They thought they were above you, they let their judgement against your fool of a father and their prejudice against your mother prevent them from seeing all that you have to offer.”
He pulled her closer as the song swung into its final movement, the low thrum of the strings reverberating in her very bones.
Her hands clenched on his shoulders as he swung her around the dance floor, feeling as light as a feather in the safe comfort of his embrace.
She could feel the heat of him, the awe-inspiring fount of power that swam beneath his veins, both a threat and a promise, and drunk on the potential of it, Shan wanted to run her fingers through the flames, even though she knew that it would only burn her.