Page 23

The news of Queen Jhanette’s imminent arrival hangs over the palace like a storm cloud, and the failed assassination attempt leaves me raw, furious, and even more determined to take control of my own fate.

I try not to be insulted that my near-death pales in comparison to my mother’s impending visit.

Whoever thought a masked ball was a good idea to plan after one of the princesses almost dies needs to be strung up and quartered.

I have no intention of attending regardless.

The thought of parading myself before the court, of enduring their stares and whispers, of being in the same room as any of the other daughters of kingdoms, makes my skin crawl.

“You must attend,” Amber tells me, pacing again. I’m surprisingly calm comparatively, but then again, I’ve had time to let my rage simmer into a bubbling pot of vengeance I can tap when the time is right. “Your mother will be here soon, and we’re out of time.”

Despite my moment with the Overprince, however, he’s as elusive as ever, and my near-death has yet again suppressed my truthfulness with myself. “She can marry him,” I snap at our country’s ambassador. “I’m done.”

She’s furious, but she leaves me at last, and I go back to glaring out the window in sullen silence.

But when a message arrives, the girl who gives it to me trembling and reminding me of poor, dead Bele, I read it instead of casting it into the fire where I intend to toss it.

You are invited , it reads, as the companion of the Overprince to the Ball of Masques . It’s very official and gilded in gold and feels like a command that makes me squint and curse.

Except, there’s a short note written on the back that makes me pause.

Be my guest , Altar writes in his lovely hand. Please .

A second knock reveals three maids bearing accoutrements. I crush the invitation in my fist.

Before I exhale. And let them in.

Imagine my surprise when I’m presented with a soft velvet suit, elaborate tunic, and trousers in dusky purple, embroidered with gold thread in patterns reminiscent of Heald’s standard.

Not quite masculine, cut to fit my body to perfection, and even tailored further on me as the maids putter.

When they’re done, my hair is plaited in an elaborate braid surpassing what any of Heald would normally wear, with a solid nod to a crown formed from part of it.

The regal suit is practical, beautiful, and befitting as far as it allows.

Altar has done what he can to apologize through words no longer. He’s switched to deeds. Perhaps this has all been worth it after all.

Night has fallen when I abandon my escort with a stare, the guards hanging back, though they follow behind me when I stride out into the main hall of the Citadel.

The fine, lace mask that the maid wove into my hair makes it feel as though it’s part of my face, and though I was worried it might impede my vision, I find it does nothing of the kind.

Nor does it prevent anyone from knowing who I am, the stares and whispers as present as always.

To the fire with all of them. The Overprince’s gift will not go to waste, and even if an assassin has come to call, I’m going to have fun.

I pour my own drink before a servant can do so at the far bar on the wide end of the main ballroom. It’s full of people already dancing and chatting, the biggest gathering I’ve been part of since I arrived.

I’m lingering over my cup, debating another, when a pair of masked men pause near me, one hissing to the other.

“And I’m telling you,” the shorter one says, wiping at his upper lip with a kerchief. “It’s gone. Vanished. Out of a locked safe.”

I realize when the other man turns to chide his companion that the taller of the two is none other than Chancellor Hallick. I’ve seen little of him these past days, a few nods in the hallways in passing, a note from him to commiserate over my near-death that clearly didn’t warrant a personal visit.

Hallick’s tone is heavy, angry, though he smiles at the servant who hands him a full glass.

“You were responsible for keeping it safe.” The Chancellor’s sharpness has me lingering.

Could it be? The very same item, undisclosed to me or not, that my rogue friends liberated not so long ago?

“You fool. It’s worth more than both our lives together. ”

“What are we going to do?” The man’s quavering voice twists my lips, his fear a sickening thing.

“ We are doing nothing,” Hallick says. “ You are going to die. I’ll be very sorry to hear of your passing, but that’s what happens to those who fail him.”

The small, round man quivers, chokes, and then turns and totters away. By the time he’s halfway to the doors, he’s running.

Hallick watches him go, tossing back his drink and demanding another. When he spots me lingering, he freezes. Just a momentary flinch, but obvious to me. Hallick glides towards me then, the smile beneath his mask not reaching the eyes behind it.

“You’ve quite recovered from the attack, highness?” He tuts softly, reaching out to squeeze my wrist, fingers sliding over my skin. “I’m so happy to hear you’re safe and sound.”

Is he, though? “Of course,” I say, stepping away. Nothing obvious, but knowing he gets the point. He glares back as I go on. “The outcome was inevitable.”

Amber warned me not to make an enemy of this man, to keep him in good grace. But I will not abide his touch without my permission.

“Indeed,” he says. “I understand you’re here as a special guest of the Overprince? Has our heir made his choice at last?” Wait, Hallick suggested that was the point, as much as Amber did. Why does he sound almost angry?

“Who knows his mind?” I salute the Chancellor with my glass. “Enjoy the party.” I stroll away, that uncomfortable feeling between my shoulder blades, a target wide open to attack, dominating my attention.

That’s how I miss the fact that Altar is suddenly at my side, his hand on my wrist. The same place Hallick just touched.

I don’t react well, spinning on him and pinning his arm behind him. It’s a lucky thing that I realize who he is before I hurt him, though from the widening of his blue eyes, the stiffness of tension, he knows how close he came to real harm.

“Don’t,” I snarl, “sneak up on me like that.” My fault. I need to pay attention.

Altar nods once, though he doesn’t fight me and simply stands there as I slowly release him.

The masked faces, the glittering jewels, the swirling dancers are suddenly too much, this grotesque parody vile to me. I am a wolf among sheep, a warrior among peacocks.

“Excuse me.” I stride away from the Overprince, heading for the furthest door, for escape. I’m blind to the people around me, but for the threat they pose, the taste of the wine I’ve drunk thick and revolting in my mouth.

When another hand grasps mine, I don’t get to lash out. Not because I don’t want to. The sizzle of his touch cuts off my protest immediately, and I know then, am reminded instantly, that the fear I felt is baseless.

Had it been the gorgeous rogue with the amber eyes like mine who had tried to drown me, his bare hands on my skin would have triggered this. The familiar grip wasn’t his, then, and I’m safe to allow him to twirl me around.

My breath catches. He’s not dressed as a guard tonight, but a nobleman, though where he came across his finery is a tale for a thief to tell, no doubt.

He’s somehow able to think past the back and forth of heat that passes between us, and I find, as our touch lingers but doesn’t intensify, so can I.

I don’t dance often, not in public, but I’m capable, and when he tugs me to the dancefloor for a formal moment, I go with him.

Now fearful that I will always do so when Zenthris calls.

Whatever control he has over me, I will not show it, this kinspark he claims is likely just another means of teasing me. I don’t believe it, but it’s comforting to think I can say no if I choose, though my heart sighs otherwise.

Ridiculous and utterly captivating.

He is masked, like everyone else, but I would know him anywhere, even without those eyes. The scent of wild earth and something ancient, something untamed, radiates from him, intoxicating me.

“Remi,” he says, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “Won’t your Overprince be jealous?” As though to challenge the words he just spoke, his body presses close, his hand burning against my back.

“Just shut up already,” I snarl and grasp his hand, leading him off.

It’s Zenthris’s turn to follow where I lead.

We end up in a small, darkened room off the corridor, the air thick with the scent of flowers, pots of fresh ones stored just a short walk from the ballroom barely granting us room to squeeze into.

I pull the door shut, my back against the wall, Zenthris’s weight pinning me down as though I’ll fight what’s coming.

I fall into what I want, my first kiss hard, teeth catching his lip.

His mouth is hot, hungry, his hands already beneath my tunic, jerking free my silk shirt from the hem of my breeches and dropping the fabric covering my legs to the floor.

There’s fire here that began the night we touched in the tower, that we fed on that rooftop.

For a brief instant, I’m reminded of the small, round man whom Hallick so casually sentenced to death, and then I belong to the moment again.

I moan when he crouches, mouth devouring the wetness between my legs, and I pull his face into me, his tongue circling and circling, barely needing suction to make my back arch.

I come as my knees sag, but he catches me as he rises, one arm around my waist, the other pulling at his own straining need.

I help, hear something tear, laugh low and hot, fingers grasping for the thick, pulsing length of him that leaps from soft fabric, softer yet, that flesh. My fist pulls him to me, one leg hooking his hip and shoving me forward, as he stabs me deeply, all the way.

The dull impact of his tip against me is a pleasure I’ve missed, craved, and I push him back only to draw him against me again, harder. “Harder.” Gods and fire, harder yet.

He obeys, body arching against me, forehead pressing to my cheek, the taste of me on his lips when I lick his mouth.

It’s the sweetest, deepest agony when he explodes inside me and I ride his wave into my own one last time.

We need a moment, both of us. We don’t get one.

The door bursts open. Kell’s silhouette fills the frame, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Now,” he says. “We have to go.” He doesn’t seem to care what we’ve been up to. “Now, Zen. They know we’re here.”

Zenthris growls low, furious, but frees himself from me, tugging at his clothes, heading for the threshold.

I don’t try to stop him. I’m satisfied, for now, at least physically. And I know he’ll find me again. But I have questions, insistent ones this time. And when he turns back and meets my eyes, he knows I won’t let them rest until he answers them.

“Be safe,” he says. And is gone, the door closing behind him.

“You, too,” I whisper into the dark.