Page 7 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)
Rhydor
I did not sleep. All night, the taste of her glamour lingered on my tongue, sharp as spice and sweet as sin. The memory of her hand brushing mine still burned, sparks leaping up my arm, leaving me restless and raw. I wanted her. Saints help me, I wanted her with a hunger that clawed at my chest.
And I did not trust a moment of it.
By dawn, though dawn was only a paler shade of twilight in this cursed kingdom, I had convinced myself it was trickery.
A spell woven to unmake me, to pull me into her palm like every other weak fool who had fallen for Fae charms. Still, when I closed my eyes, I felt her body angled toward mine, smelled moon-bloom and smoke, saw her lips curve in triumph as she left me half undone.
By the time the veterans gathered with me in the antechamber, I was raw enough to growl at their laughter.
Draven leaned against the wall, golden hair catching the silver light. “You look like a man who lost a battle and won’t admit it.”
Brenn barked a laugh, flame-red head tilting. “Or a man who tasted honey and found it poison.”
“Enough,” Kyssa snapped. Her voice cut sharper than steel. She sat rigid, collar gleaming, her dark hair a streak of defiance. “My cousin is no weakling to be toyed with.”
Tharos flexed his iron hand, the scrape audible. “Weak or strong, the court will keep testing.”
Korrath tapped his cane once, his single good eye glinting. “And so will she.”
Torian said nothing. He stood apart, arms folded, gaze steady. But when his eyes met mine, I read the warning there: Hold your fire. They want you to burn too soon.
I clenched my jaw, forcing my temper back into its cage.
That evening, the banquet spilled across Shadowspire’s gardens, illusions draped as thickly as the twilight air.
Trees glowed faintly silver, their branches hung with lanterns shaped like moons.
Pools of enchanted water reflected stars that did not exist, shimmering illusions painted onto their surfaces.
Music thrummed, a low pulse of harps and drums woven with glamour until it set the heart beating faster.
Courtiers swirled in masks of thorns and feathers, their whispers sharp, their eyes hungrier than the banquet tables laden with glowing fruit and spiced meat.
My mother-in-law, though the word soured on my tongue, watched from her high seat, veil flowing like silver smoke.
Her gaze slid over me, calculating, waiting for cracks.
Beside her lounged Iriel, mask tilted back, lips curved in a mocking smile every time his eyes found mine.
I hated him already.
The feast stretched on, each toast sharper than the last, each word a barb meant to draw blood. I endured, stone-faced, until the ripple of excitement passed through the court.
A servant girl had stumbled.
She knelt in the grass, trembling, a tray of opal goblets spilled at her knees. Wine soaked her skirts, glittering like spilled jewels in the false starlight.
“She disobeyed!” a lord crowed. His mask was carved in the shape of a fox, his smile vicious. “She failed her charge. Call the Masks!”
The cry spread like wildfire. “Mask her. Mask her. Mask her.”
The girl whimpered, bowing low, pleading incoherently.
Disgust rolled through me. This court lived on cruelty, fattened itself on blood and fear. My hand twitched toward my sword before I remembered it was sealed away, wrapped and useless. Rage coiled hot in my gut.
And then Elowyn stepped forward.
Her gown brushed the grass, her mask gleamed faintly in the lanternlight. Her voice cut across the cries, cool and precise. “The girl obeyed the steward who ordered her elsewhere. She did not disobey. She followed command.”
The court stilled.
Eyes swung to me, waiting.
I felt every gaze, every whisper, pressing like a weight. Elowyn had taken a stance. If I did nothing, she would be crushed. If I sided with her, I aligned myself with the enemy.
I clenched my fists. Fire burned in my chest.
“The princess is correct.” My voice cracked like iron on stone. “The girl obeyed. The fault lies not with her but with conflicting orders.”
Gasps. Whispers. The court recoiled, unsettled.
Vaeloria’s head tilted slightly, unreadable. Iriel’s smirk deepened, though the flicker in his eyes betrayed surprise.
The steward who had barked the order paled beneath his mask. “I, ”
“Enough,” Vaeloria said smoothly. “The girl is spared.”
The servant scrambled away, tears streaking her face.
The hall buzzed. Masks shifted uneasily. For the first time, the dragon prince and the Fae princess had stood together.
Later, when the banquet thinned and the music dulled, I found myself at her side. Too close, too dangerous. The scent of her perfume lingered, subtle and maddening.
She did not look at me as she said, low enough that only I could hear, “Even suspicious, you followed my lead.”
Her lips curved faintly, almost a smile, almost a taunt.
Heat coiled low in me again, anger and desire tangled until I could not tell them apart.
I should have denied her. I should have snarled that it meant nothing. Instead, I said nothing at all.
Because she was right.
And it had worked.
I stood there, silent, watching her slip away into the sea of masks, her twilight gown trailing like smoke, and I felt the bars of the cage close tighter around me.
And gods help me, I wanted her still.