Page 77 of Wicked Salvation

That’s when I hear it.

The subtle rustle of fabric.

I glance up.

There’s another woman in the room, standing by the mirror. She’s reapplying her lipstick with the slow, unbothered elegance of someone used to being watched. Her gown is dark—deep green or black, it’s hard to tell in this light, but it fits her like it was poured onto her—and her earrings catch the glow like tiny, dangerous stars.

I straighten slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t?—”

She glances at me through the mirror, and for a moment I forget whatever apology I meant to offer. There’s something completely arresting about her—the glowing russet skin, the dark curly hair.

“I get it,” she says, her voice soft but amused. “The hiding. These parties are a little like drowning, aren’t they? Especially when you’re the center of attention.”

A rock on her finger catches the light. If she’s here, then she probably had a huge engagement party as well. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Nothing’s wrong with me for feeling overwhelmed with it all.

“Is it that obvious?”

She closes her lipstick tube, using her finger to blend it. It’s the color of fresh blood. “You’re Lady Eden Lockhart.” She rinses her hands.

I nod.

“I’m Alizé.” She holds out a slender hand. “Alizé Duke.”

I blink.

Duke.

That name had been whispered through the ballroom like a warning. Their money is blood-soaked, the kind of people you keep close because you want to ensure you keep your wealth—and your life.

But, I’d expected someone older. Colder. She married into power—a dangerous dynasty—and already bore her husband an heir. I shake her hand, trying not to look startled.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say.

She studies me for a moment. Not rudely. Not even critically. Just…thoroughly. Like she’s reading a book I didn’t know I’d written.

“You’re different from what I expected,” she says lightly. Her accent is distinctly American, though I know the Dukes are British. “They talk about you like you’re a crown jewel.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means you don’t know how rare you are,” she muses. “Or maybe you do, and you’ve just been taught to hide it.”

I don’t know how to respond to that.

But I do know that I feel…understood.

Alizé steps closer, head tilting slightly as her eyes fall to my shoulder. “Do you mind?”

I hesitate, but shake my head.

She reaches up and adjusts the strap of my dress with the care of an older sister. Her touch is oddly comforting, like she’s been here before—at a party she didn’t want to attend, in a life she didn’t ask for.

“Why?”

She doesn’t even ask what I mean. “You looked like you needed someone who doesn’t expect anything from you. Most of the women outside want to be around you simply because of who you’re marrying.”

My throat tightens. “I did, I mean…I do.”

Her smile is small.