Page 39 of Wicked Prince of Shadows (Wicked Princes #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My stomach twisted as the music turned more romantic and yet ghostly. No stringed instruments sang out. Only the soft simple calls of a flute and the rustling strokes against a water drum. I could feel his eyes on me. Even without seeing him, I knew it was him.

Slowly, I turned, my heart in my throat.

Vetle stood at the edge of the dance floor, still as stone as he watched me.

My breath caught.

He was surrounded by people who were milling about and talking, but it was as if it was just the two of us now.

All I could do was stare.

He’d been a king since the day I met him, but there was something so intensely beautiful and radiant about him.

Deep blacks and midnight blues melded into an elegantly embroidered robe with silver trim, tailored to him and open.

His high-collared tunic molded to his form, the cut of his garments emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean strength, a sharp hunger that was for more than food.

His spiked crown glinted atop his sleek dark hair, gleaming like starlight.

And behind him, his skeletal wings extended to their full span, giving him a silhouette as arresting as it was otherworldly.

But it was his eyes that held me captive.

Those amber depths burned with an intensity that made my knees weak. They tracked over me slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail of the lavender gown, the jewelry, the way my hair fell loose around my shoulders.

He moved through the crowd without glancing to the right or to the left, and the other partygoers parted like water before him. His gaze never left mine as he watched me, unblinking.

My pulse pounded in time with the drums. I was aware of everything—how the silk of the gown shifted against my thighs, the cool night air kissing the heat blooming along my cheeks, the way his approach made the rest of the world vanish.

I couldn’t look away even though every instinct screamed that I should lower my eyes, curtsy, do something other than stand there gaping at him like a fish out of water.

But that was all I managed to do.

He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could smell his rich cologne. With a faint smile, he offered me his hand, palm up. My own hand went to his at once, my fingers sliding over his palm until I remembered the stitches and drew back.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said softly. “And even if it did, it would be worth it. Just to hold you.”

A shiver chased down my spine.

He brought my hand to rest over his, cradling it as though the touch meant everything. His voice dipped lower, velvet and sensual. “What hurts is not having you in my arms.”

“Oh?” I found myself laughing despite the tension coiling through me and tightening by the second. “You are such a smooth talker.”

“This surprises you?” His eyebrow flicked up in an over-dramatic fashion.

“If you had sweettalked me when you showed up in the fountain, I might have come with you.” I twitched my shoulder at him.

“Oh?” He cocked his head, parroting the way I had said it. “Are you easily wooed with words, little thorn?”

I mimicked his pose. “I didn’t say I would be wooed. Just that I might have come with you.”

A hint of laughter escaped his mouth, and he stepped closer, his gaze flicking from my lips to my eyes. “I wish I’d known that. You’re breathtaking regardless. With this dress or without.”

My mouth went dry. Had he really just said that? I tried to form words, tried to think of something witty in response, but my tongue tangled. All I managed was a breathless, "Thank you."

His lips curved into a slow smile that showed the points of his fangs. "Will you dance with me, Sabine?"

The way he said my name sent shivers racing down my spine. I nodded, not trusting my voice. I had to get control of myself. This man was going to be my husband, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him just…make a fool out of me. Even if it felt unbelievably good.

He took my hand in his, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat flooding through me.

His other hand settled at my waist, fingers splaying across the small of my back as he drew me against his lean but powerful form.

The music swelled around us, the bone flute's haunting melody weaving through the steady rhythm of the water drum.

We began to move as one.

I'd never been a particularly graceful dancer.

At the few celebrations I'd attended, I'd always felt awkward and self-conscious, too aware of my feet and where to put them.

It was part of the reason it had been so easy to just agree to stay behind in the garden while Enola went to enjoy the festivities and I hung back in the shadows.

Yet here I was now. In a king’s arms. On the verge of the Witheringlands’ collapsing. Possibly living my final days. Taking my last breaths. And I was dancing.

Vetle made it easy. His lead was firm and confident, guiding me through steps and whispering guidance without seeming judgmental.

My body followed his. If I missed the dance steps, he didn’t let on.

Instead, he drew me out onto the dance floor and guided me, adapting and leading and holding me out as if he were proud to have me there.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I studied the sharp planes of his face in the flickering light.

The stitches that crossed his features were stark reminders of the violence he'd endured, yet they didn't diminish his beauty.

If anything, they made him more compelling—proof that he'd survived, that he'd fought, that he was still here.

They were markers of endurance as much as suffering.

"You're staring," he said, amusement coloring his tone.

Heat flooded my cheeks. "So are you."

"I am." His eyebrow arched. "I can't seem to help myself, and I have no desire to improve on that front."

He spun me gently, and my skirts flared out in a cascade of lavender that shimmered against the pale stone. It almost looked as if the creatures embroidered into my skirt danced along with me. When he pulled me back, his grip tightened at my waist and brought me up against him.

The music shifted, the tempo increasing slightly.

Around us, other couples had begun to join the dance.

I caught glimpses of Candice twirling with one of the guards, her faded red skirt flashing.

Doctor Rasoul had coaxed his companion onto the floor while another watched over the plant, and even stern Gehn was dancing with a woman whose grey hair was twisted up with a pale-pink ribbon.

Osric darted up to a girl about his age with a faded-blue shawl, and he put his palms on her shoulders.

The blue flared darker and deeper at once. He giggled and ran off.

"Everyone seems so happy," I observed, watching the smiles on faces that had been so drawn with fear and exhaustion just hours ago.

"They're choosing joy while they still can.

" Vetle's thumb traced small circles against my back through the fabric of the gown.

The sensation sent warmth pooling in my belly.

"That's what this dance has always been about.

Not pretending the danger doesn't exist, but refusing to let it steal every moment from us.

But with that said…" He tilted his head as he studied me. “May I steal you away for a moment?”

My heart skipped as my mouth went dry. “Of course.”

His hand slid along the small of my back as he drew me closer and led me from the dance floor.

The music continued behind us, the laughter and conversation of his people fading as we moved toward the edge of the courtyard.

Several guards tracked our movement with their eyes, but they maintained their distance, giving us space.

He guided me through a narrow archway on the left side of the landing, partially concealed by one of the massive support columns.

The passage beyond was dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from an iron hook.

The walls here were smooth, devoid of markings.

I wondered if there had once been carvings or embellishments rather than the plain marble.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Somewhere I can speak with you without an audience." His wings rustled as he adjusted his arm around my waist, his palm clasped against my hip as he curled me just a bit closer. "There are things I need to say, and I find myself wanting privacy for such words."

My pulse quickened. The intimacy of being alone with him, away from the celebration, made my skin prickle with awareness. Every place he touched me felt like a brand, cool and possessive.

We emerged onto a small balcony I'd never seen before. It overlooked the eastern section of the palace relatively far from the dance, stretching out toward the distant dark leafless forest. The blood moon hung lower in the sky, its dull red glow casting everything in shades of rust and shadow.

He released my hand and moved to the railing, his wings settling against his back as he stared out at the wasteland beyond as if to collect his thoughts.

For a long moment, he said nothing, and I studied the line of his shoulders, the way the moonlight caught on the silver embroidery of his robe, and the strength of his posture.

“I have celebrated many last nights of the blood moon cycle over the years,” he said.

“They are a time for contemplation and a time to choose joy, but the truth is that I have generally been cloaked with despair and terror that I did not dare show my people. The weight of this place has crushed me since the first night I arrived. But tonight—tonight is different.” He shook his head, laughing.

But there was something brittle in the laugh as it cracked.

I stepped closer, drawn by the raw emotion in his tone. "What?"