Page 22 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

Tani

M y heart pounded as Langnathin closed the gap. His fist was clenched at his side, and his whole demeanour agitated. I resisted the urge to step back, holding my ground even as he strode towards me with lethal purpose.

His red silken shirt was looser now, and one lock of his hair had come free at the front, falling against his forehead.

Even with his mouth pursed and his face lacking any warmth, he was still one of the most striking men in the room.

He exuded power, even as he passed much broader and taller men.

It wasn’t surprising, given he walked with the assuredness of a man with the most indomitable bodyguard there could ever be.

Why was the Dragon Prince coming to speak to me? If Thread Ersimmon had done as I asked, then he should have fled the room just as Duc de Fleur had.

He didn’t look revolted.

I searched the room for any sort of help, but the Thread had his back to me at the buffet table, and Seth looked even more terrified than I did, with an older noblewoman approaching him just as firmly.

Even Prince Brascillan seemed engaged, discussing something in a low voice with another competitor, but at least his eyes were on us. The Dragon Prince could not try to kill me in cold blood with so many spectators.

Langnathin swept into a deep bow before me. I performed my best wobbly curtsy in reply, grateful that the elegant dress masked what I lacked.

He raised his blood-red eyes to me and offered his hand. “Will you dance, Tanidwen?”

I swallowed. I should have asked Thread Ersimmon to use his power on me , for I hated that his smooth deep voice could grip me so. It held the baritone of a priest, but with none of its sanctity.

It seemed I was a novelty, again, then. They all wanted to dance with me so they could say they’d met me. I wondered what the room’s reaction would be to the announcement of my Fate. Scorn. Laughter, maybe.

I attempted to smile. “I do not dance well.”

He smiled back, but it did not reach his dragon-red eyes. “That is not what I asked.”

My feet already hurt, and I’d yet to have a bite to eat nor more than a sip of my wine. And I didn’t want to dance with him. “Yes.”

What else could I have said?

His shoulders relaxed a little as I took his hand, my gloved one meeting his calloused one. For a prince, his hands were very rough, but there was no roughness in his movement. He pulled me towards the centre of the room as the musicians picked up their instruments and shifted into the next dance.

It was one of the three I had learnt with the Thread, and I thanked my blood for it. The Tastelands suitor, Sparrospen, had pulled me around a lively jig where I knew none of the steps and barely stayed upright, and I was glad that I would at least not embarrass myself twice in a row.

The Dragon Prince dropped my hand, and we positioned ourselves across from each other on the two lines of men and women.

I repeated the steps under my breath as the music got underway. One step, then nod to honour your partner.

I stepped forwards and dipped my head, glancing to my left to check I was in time with the lady beside me. Raise up, make eye contact with your partner as you step back.

I straightened to find his gaze already focused on me. No, not all of me. He stared at the beads in front of my whispering lips. I closed my mouth quickly, but he must have already noticed me speaking to myself. He looked annoyed.

My cheeks heated as we both raised our left arms, moving closer as we completed the first turn around one another.

“It seems you have driven half the men here into a frenzy already, and I am certain the other half are hot on their heels.”

I held in my splutter. “Your Grace?”

“Admirably done,” Langnathin said. “Prince Brascillan is particularly enamoured.”

“He has been kind,” I replied, carefully.

The Dragon Prince rolled his eyes. “I am sure the victor will be thrilled to have won you. Alas, he will find his bride long gone.”

The words fell like the toll of a bell, clanging with doom. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“You should leave this island immediately. You shouldn’t be here.” He spoke in such a low voice I barely caught it, but I shuddered nonetheless.

I wasn’t sure if he meant here, at this ball, dancing so poorly I must have been dragging the tone down, or whether he meant here at all. Alive, talking and walking. I squared my jaw as we swirled back past each other. “I’m so sorry your plan failed.”

We turned back to our original positions across from one another, raising our right arms. I kept my chin high as I passed.

“Leave now, then, before the next one succeeds,” he replied.

Ice trickled down my spine. Had he admitted it, then? For what reason? There was no gain in confirming his plot, surely. And why would he warn me of another? What new game was this?

“Or call your plan off,” I said, as we passed back across.

Back to our starting positions, we each held hands with the two people to the sides of us. An older blonde woman, and a young lady of around my age who appeared to be with child.

We formed a small circle, moving in two steps, and then back two steps. It was far easier to see this dance actually come together with other people and the proper music. But there was no part of me that could enjoy it, I was only focused on my feet as I tried to quell my rising panic.

What could I do? Maybe he only made this threat because his plan had already succeeded. Was it the wine again? Twins, was I already dying?

I fought to keep my breath steady, refusing to fall and give away the depth of my spiral.

My hand broke from the women beside me, and the Thread’s words swirled in my memory like a threat: Hold hands with your partner, stepping forwards and back.

I wished now I had taken off my gloves before our dance. I needed to know what he was feeling. Would there be a gloating satisfaction?

I breathed in and out, missing the beat as I offered my hands. He clasped them, so gently it felt like a mockery. Once more I forced myself to meet his gaze. His face was a mask, blank of all the emotion I could have felt .

He swept me around, and I spun in his hands, him holding them above my head as we stepped in formation. His mouth was only an inch away and the heat of his breath fell on my face.

“Leave tonight,” he said, quickly, his mouth barely moving as he clasped my hands. “I will not tell you again.”

“And what of my Fate?”

“Forget it,” he replied.

Forget my Fate? Forget the one thing that could raise me from a freakish monstrosity that the Brotherhood didn’t even want, to a valued member of a court?

The only thing sadder than a girl all alone on Eavenfold was a Broken one with no power to speak of.

The Brotherhood didn’t like me as it was, but without a Fate, I would be shunned.

I could return to my parents, return to that hut in the dusty hills. They would take me back, I was certain. But to what end? I would only be a burden. Another mouth to feed with no chance of employment nor prospects.

“Impossible,” I said, and we lowered our hands and broke apart once more.

His eyes flashed as he mumbled something under his breath. Cursing me, probably.

Did he think this was just about power? I didn’t care about whether I could feel emotion again.

I cared about having choices, having some semblance of agency in a world that had already decided to hate me.

This marriage I never wanted was my only route to anything resembling a life.

There was no alternative. If I didn’t fulfil it, I would be cast out from society entirely.

At least with a husband, I could try to find a facet of a life around him.

I could have friends, books, and a world to explore.

I wouldn’t lose the hope of that on a callous threat.

Our dance ended, and I fell into a curtsy and turned from him without a backwards glance.

Rage wasn’t an emotion I was prone to. I felt it sometimes on others, the clawing redness of it all, and didn’t envy it.

It was consuming, and yet powerless. But I felt the edges of rage now. I didn’t deserve any of this.

A man I barely glanced at tried to speak to me, but I pretended not to hear his address as I strode directly to Thread Ersimmon, struggling to keep my steps light and my pace normal.

He turned to me before I reached him, and I saw his face cloud with worry. “Are you well?”

I breathed in and out slowly before I checked around me for possible listeners. There were too many, half a dozen in earshot on a low reading. I just shook my head at him.

“You’re shaking.” He frowned. “Have you eaten?”

Again, I shook my head.

He turned and generously filled a plate with all manner of decadent foods. I recognised venison stew, a heap of cockles and oysters, and a thick soup laden with melted cheese before my stomach rolled with tension, and I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on my breathing.

“Here.”

I opened my eyes and took the plate from him. He touched my shoulder in what looked to be a brief reassuring motion, but I knew what he was doing.

I felt his emotions like a wave. Concern first, but caution and worry, too. Somehow, it helped. It grounded me away from my anger and fear, and reminded me where we were, what we were doing.

“I know these things can be overwhelming the first time, with all the new players,” he said, and I felt his understanding under the surface. He knew there was something afoot.

“Yes, I think the dancing has gone to my head,” I replied, taking a few more deep breaths.

He nodded at me as he dropped his touch. “It is to be expected. Eat that, and then I’ll speak to the Master of Ceremonies about announcing you properly. ”

“The Master of Ceremonies?”